“Her strength isn't talent.”
The other Bell’s voice was calm, as if he were stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.
“It is the experience accumulated through hundreds of loops, built upon loneliness and failure.”
“With every rebirth, she loses the vast majority of her memories, leaving only that obsessive emotion, layered time and time again.”
“Only when she comes into contact with specific information can she briefly remember some fragments, like she is now.”
The other Bell looked at Bell, his eyes filled with an indelible exhaustion and plea.
“So...”
“For my sake, spare her this once, alright?”
As the words fell.
The other Bell’s figure slowly dissipated like a sand painting in the wind.
The frozen world resumed its flow.
The dust dancing outside the window continued its journey.
The Mithril flowing on Tia’s arm rippled once more.
The ominous light of the array again cast flickering shadows across Bell’s face.
Bell’s hand stopped in midair.
He was just a hair’s breadth away.
Just a hair’s breadth away from completely dragging that struggling mass of soul belonging to Cecilia out of her shell.
But he stopped.
In his mind, the countless memories that didn't belong to him washed over his sanity like a tsunami.
The youth handing over a rose in the garden.
The girl weeping while holding his corpse.
The madwoman who had consumed herself time and again through hundreds of loops just to see him once more.
“Bell!”
Tia’s voice came from the side, her mechanical-toned voice filled with urgency and confusion.
She saw Bell’s hesitation.
Bell did not look back.
He looked at the center of the array, at that face distorted to the extreme because the soul was on the verge of being stripped away.
Then, under Tia’s shocked gaze.
Slowly, he pressed that mass of soul—which was already halfway out of the body—back in, bit by bit.
“Bell!”
Tia’s voice rose, filled with disbelief.
Bell’s movements did not pause.
Not until the final glimmer of the soul had completely vanished into the crown of Cecilia’s head.
Only then did he slowly withdraw his hand.
“Wait.”
Bell’s voice was incredibly hoarse.
“Let her go first.”
Tia’s pupils shrank sharply.
She didn't want to.
How could she possibly want to let go of this monster who had killed her and her child!
This was the best opportunity!
But since Bell had said it.
She could not refuse him.
The liquid Mithril coiling around Cecilia retracted slowly and reluctantly into Tia’s arm, like a receding tide.
The restraint was lifted.
Cecilia collapsed onto the floor like a pile of mud, gasping violently.
A few seconds later, she looked up.
Traces of blood still leaked from her facial orifices, but her eyes were startlingly bright.
There was no fear of having survived a disaster in them.
Only a volcanic, pathological euphoria.
She scrambled toward Bell on all fours, crawling to his feet. She lifted her blood-streaked face, tears bursting forth.
“Brother...”
“I knew it... I knew you loved me!”
“You couldn't bear to lose me!”
She reached out with her crushed hand, trying to grab the hem of Bell’s trousers.
Bell took a step back.
He dodged her.
He looked down, staring at this madwoman immersed in her own delusions.
His gaze was complicated to the extreme.
There was hatred.
There was disgust.
But deep within that hatred and disgust, there was a trace of... a heavy emotion that even he didn't want to admit.
He slowly crouched down.
Reaching out, he pinched Cecilia’s chin, forcing her to look up and meet his eyes.
Cecilia’s cheeks instantly flushed crimson, her eyes turning misty. She seemed to enjoy this rough treatment.
“Cecilia.”
Bell’s voice was very soft.
“Let’s talk alone.”
Bell’s fingers did not relax their grip on her chin.
Cecilia was forced to keep her head tilted back. Her red eyes were filled with tears, and dried blood stained the corners of her eyes, making her look like a small animal that had just been tortured.
“Cecilia.”
Bell repeated her name.
There was no response. Cecilia just stared at him infatuatedly, her breathing rapid and her chest heaving violently. Her hand—the one that hadn't been crushed—trembled as she tried to touch Bell’s fingers hanging by his side.
Bell let go.
He stood up and turned to look at Tia, who was standing nearby.
The liquid Mithril on Tia’s body had completely solidified, turning back into that silver-white skin. She stood there with a slight frown, her blue pupils reflecting Bell’s profile.
“Take Horn out,” Bell said.
Tia didn't move. She glanced at Cecilia slumped on the floor, then back at Bell.
“She is dangerous,” Tia said softly, her voice steady and warm. “Even though her mana circuits are blocked, her soul strength remains. That blast earlier didn't completely destroy her consciousness.”
“I know.” Bell looked at Tia. “But there are some things I must say to her alone.”
Tia took a step forward. Her palm pressed against Bell’s forearm. The touch was warm and delicate; he could even feel the simulated pulse beating under her palm.
“I can stand guard outside the door,” Tia said. “If there is any mana fluctuation inside, I will rush in immediately.”
Bell reached back and grasped Tia’s hand.
He patted the back of her hand twice.
“No need.” Bell shook his head. “Go downstairs. Take Horn away and find a place to wake him up; don't let him die. Also, lock down the bell tower. Don't let anyone come up.”
Tia was silent for two seconds.
She looked into Bell’s eyes. There was no bewitched confusion in those black depths, only a deep, bottomless exhaustion.
“Alright.”
Tia let go.
She turned and walked toward the corner. Horn was still unconscious there, clutching the fired cylinder tightly in his arms. Tia grabbed Horn’s collar with one hand, lifting him like a sack full of straw.
When she reached the loft door, Tia stopped.
She looked back.
Bell stood with his back to her, facing Cecilia. The setting sun poured through the broken window, stretching their shadows long and overlapping them until they were indistinguishable from each other.
“Bell,” Tia called out.
Bell turned his head slightly.
“Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” Tia asked.
Bell was stunned for a moment. Then, he nodded.
“I am.”
“Then I’ll make tomato beef stew.”
After Tia finished speaking, she pushed open the creaking wooden door and carried Horn out.
The door closed.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs until they vanished completely.
Only the sound of the wind remained in the loft. And Cecilia’s heavy breathing.
Bell turned around.
He didn't go to help Cecilia; instead, he walked over to an old wooden chair nearby. It was covered in dust, but he didn't wipe it, sitting down directly.
The height difference changed.
He was no longer looking down from above; he was looking levelly at Cecilia, who was kneeling on the floor.
Cecilia’s gaze had been glued to him the entire time. Seeing that the outsiders had left, the expression on her face underwent a subtle change. The terror faded slightly, replaced by a tentative, placating smile.
She shifted her knees, moving a bit closer to Bell.
Glass shards on the floor pierced her knees, and blood seeped out, staining her white skirt red. She seemed not to feel the pain.
“Brother...”
Cecilia’s voice was soft, with a hint of a sob.
“That tin woman finally left.” She reached out with her intact left hand and grabbed Bell’s hand resting on his knee.
This time, Bell didn't dodge.
Cecilia’s eyes lit up. She pressed her face against the back of Bell’s hand, rubbing gently. Cold tears and warm blood smeared onto Bell’s skin together.
“Brother, it hurts so much.”
She lifted her crushed right hand to show Bell. The back of the hand was severely swollen, the bones deformed, and purple-black bruising spread under the skin.
“Can you blow on it for me?” Cecilia looked up, her eyes as clear as a child who had never done any wrong. “Whenever I fell down before, Brother would always blow on it for me.”
Bell looked at her.
He watched this practiced, heartbreaking disguise.
Without knowing the truth, anyone would be fooled by this shell. They would think she was just a spoiled, somewhat willful sister.
“Cecilia.”
Bell spoke.
“Stop acting.”
Cecilia’s movements stiffened for a moment. But quickly, she resumed that aggrieved expression.
“What are you talking about, Brother?” She blinked. “I’m not acting... it really hurts...”
“I said.”
Bell pulled his hand back. He wiped the blood from the back of his hand onto his trousers.
“Stop acting.”
“Or rather, the current you truly feels that this is just a failed attempt at acting spoiled.”
Bell leaned forward. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped under his chin.
“What do you remember in your head right now?”
“Do you remember that you are the genius girl of the Duke's family? Remember that you've loved your brother since you were little? Remember that to have me, you killed many people, did many bad things, and were finally defeated by me and that ‘tin woman’?”
Cecilia was stunned. She looked at Bell, a hint of daze flashing in her eyes.
That was indeed the case.
Her memory only held these things. She had lost, and lost miserably. But as long as her brother hadn't killed her, she still had a chance. As long as she acted spoiled and showed weakness, her brother would always soften his heart.
“Isn't... that right?” Cecilia asked in a small voice.
Bell stared into her eyes.
Deep within those red pupils was a mass of chaos.
“No.”
Bell said softly.
“You have forgotten many things.”
“You forgot those hundreds of years. Forgot those times and spaces you tore apart with your own hands. Forgot those... versions of yourself who died to save me.”
Cecilia frowned.
“Hundreds of years?” She let out a stiff laugh. “Brother, what nonsense are you talking? I’m only twenty this year.”
“Yes, twenty.”
Bell nodded.
“How many times have you turned twenty now?”
The smile on Cecilia’s face vanished. She felt an inexplicable chill crawl up her spine. It wasn't because of Bell’s tone, but because deep in her mind, something seemed to be triggered by those words.
A needle.
It pierced into her cerebral cortex.
“I don't understand what you're talking about.” Cecilia lowered her head, avoiding Bell’s gaze. “I want to go home... Brother, take me home, alright?”
Bell ignored her evasion.
He looked at a point in the air, as if recalling a scene that didn't belong to him but was incredibly real.
“The garden of the Duke Lucas family estate.”
Bell said suddenly.
Cecilia’s body gave a violent shudder.
“That summer was very hot,” Bell continued, speaking slowly, every word clear. “You were wearing a pale yellow dress. It wasn't as grand as this one; the hem was stained with dirt.”
Cecilia covered her ears.
“Stop it...”
“I picked a rose for you,” Bell’s voice passed through the gaps in her fingers and drilled into her ears. “But I didn't hold it steady, and the thorns pricked my hand. You were scared and cried, sucking the blood from my finger while you wept.”
“Shut up!” Cecilia screamed. She began to shake. Shake violently.
“...”
Bell did not stop.
“The dragon breath descended.”
“The Star Dragon King’s flames were blue. Bluer than the purest gemstone.”
“I shielded you beneath me.”
“My back caught fire. It hurt so much. But I didn't dare move. Because if I moved, the fire would burn you.”
“When I died, you were crying.”
“You cried and said...”
Bell paused. He looked at Cecilia.
At this moment, Cecilia had curled into a ball. Her hands were clamped tightly over her head, her forehead pressed against the floor, and she let out a guttural sound like a dying beast.
“You said...”
“Save him.”
“Someone... save him...”
“No matter the cost.”
“Even if... I have to sell my soul to the devil.”
Boom.
The moment those final words fell.
Cecilia stopped shaking.
She remained in that kneeling, prostrate position, motionless.
A deathly silence fell over the loft.
Immediately following.
Two lines of blood-tears flowed slowly down her cheeks, which were pressed against the floor, seeping into the cracks of the dust-covered wooden boards.
The memories didn't flow back.
They smashed in.
Like a dam that had held back centuries of floodwaters, it collapsed instantly under the impact of those keywords.
Countless images.
Countless voices.
Countless deaths.
In this single second, all of it was stuffed into a brain with only twenty-some years of capacity.
“Ah...”
Cecilia opened her mouth.
There was no scream. Because her vocal cords were locked in extreme spasms. She could only make a hissing sound as air passed through her throat.
The first loop. She held the charred corpse, kneeling in the ruins for three days.
The second loop. She learned forbidden spells and tried to reverse time, but blew the entire Duke’s estate into flat ground.
The tenth loop. She found a way, but because her mana was overdrawn, she died the second before the reversal.
The fiftieth loop. To gain power, she swallowed the heart of a magical beast raw.
The hundredth loop. She finally succeeded, but the look Bell gave her was like he was looking at a monster.
The two hundredth loop. She killed every woman who approached Bell. Bell committed suicide.
The three hundredth loop...
The four hundredth loop...
Every loop was a session of slow slicing.
Those sealed sensations of pain, those forgotten despairs, those feelings of love that had gradually distorted over the long years.
Right now.
It all came back.
Cecilia’s body suddenly arched backward.
“Blegh—!”
She opened her mouth wide and vomited a large amount of blood. It wasn't blood from internal injuries; it was a physiological rejection caused by brain overload.
She rolled around.
Her fingers scratched at the floor, her nails breaking, wood splinters piercing her fingertips.
She slammed her head against the floor.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each blow heavier than the last. It was as if only this physical agony could alleviate the nuclear-explosion-like impact inside her skull.
Bell sat in the chair.
He didn't move. He didn't go to stop her, nor did he go to comfort her.
He just watched quietly.
Watched this girl roll and wail on the floor like a fish thrown onto the shore.
His hands were on his knees, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force of his grip.
He was enduring.
Enduring the urge to go over and hold her.
The memories passed to him by the ‘past Bell’ allowed him to empathize. He could feel the pain of the fire burning his back, and he could feel the despair of watching a lover die in his arms.
But he couldn't move.
The current Cecilia was an unstable bomb. Any external interference could lead to her consciousness completely collapsing.
This process lasted a long time.
Perhaps ten minutes. Perhaps an hour.
The sun went down.
The last sliver of afterglow disappeared from the window frame. The loft fell into darkness. Only moonlight spilled in, illuminating the glaring pool of blood on the floor.
Cecilia finally stopped.
She lay in the pool of blood. Her long hair was a mess, plastered to her face, and her skirt could no longer be seen in its original color.
Her chest rose and fell weakly.
“Ha...”
An extremely faint laugh leaked from her mouth.
She slowly rolled over. Lying on her back. Staring at the cobweb-filled ceiling.
Then, she raised her hand.
Her intact left hand covered her eyes.
“You remembered.”
Bell’s voice rang out in the darkness.
Cecilia’s fingers trembled slightly.
“Yeah.”
Her voice had changed.
It was no longer that sweet, spoiled sister. Nor was it that mad, hysterical demon.
This voice was very light. Very hoarse. Carrying the exhaustion and raspiness of someone who had lived through the vicissitudes of time.
Like an old person who had lived for an unknown amount of time.
“I remembered.”
Cecilia moved her hand away.
The moonlight illuminated her face.
There was no expression on that face. The tears had dried, leaving only mottled bloodstains. Her gaze was very empty, as if passing through the roof of the loft, passing through time, seeing that distant summer filled with smoke and fire.
“I remembered everything.”
She turned her head. Looking at Bell.
This time, there was no greed in her eyes to swallow him whole.
Only a deep sorrow.
“You’ve met him, haven't you?” Cecilia asked softly. “That... silly Bell who belongs to me.”
Bell nodded.
“Just now. While your soul was out of your body.”
“No wonder.”
Cecilia curled her lips. She gave a smile that looked worse than crying.
“No wonder you stopped.”
“No wonder you stuffed my soul back in.”
She propped herself up and slowly sat up. Her movements were very slow, as if her joints were rusted.
She leaned against the wall. Lowering her head, she looked at her twisted and deformed right hand.
“Since you know everything now.”
“Why didn't you kill me?”
Cecilia lifted her eyelids, looking at Bell.
“I’m already mad, Brother.”
“These hundreds of loops have turned my brain into a pile of mush. I can't distinguish between love and possession. I only know that I cannot lose you.”
“Even if I have to turn you into a specimen. Even if I have to lock you in a basement. Even if I have to kill everyone around you.”
“As long as you are in my hands.”
“I feel... safe.”
She stuck out her tongue and licked her parched lips.
“Someone like me.”
“What use is there in keeping me around?”
Bell looked at her.
Looking at this self-analyzing, self-loathing soul.
He stood up.
His boots stepped on the wooden floor, making dull thuds. He walked step by step until he was in front of Cecilia.
Cecilia did not dodge. She closed her eyes. Waiting for the final judgment.
But the expected pain did not arrive.
A hand lightly landed on the top of her head.
There was no force.
It just gently ruffled her long hair, which was covered in dust and blood.
Just like when they were children.
Cecilia snapped her eyes open.
“Because he said,”
Bell’s voice came from above her.
“This is what he owes you.”
Bell crouched down. His line of sight was level with hers.
“He saved you once.”
“You saved him hundreds of times.”
“This debt cannot be calculated clearly.”
Bell withdrew his hand. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment. He pulled out a clean handkerchief—not the one he used to wipe his gloves earlier, but a new one.
Holding the handkerchief, he wiped away the blood on Cecilia’s face, bit by bit.
His movements were clumsy. But he was very serious.
“That Bell is already dead.”
Bell looked into her eyes, speaking one word at a time.
“I am the current Bell.”
“I don't love you.”
These words were spoken very bluntly. Very cruelly.
Cecilia’s eyes dimmed for a moment. But she didn't speak. She just listened quietly.
“I have Tia.”
“She is my lover. The person I want to spend my life with.”
Bell finished wiping her face.
“However.”
His tone shifted.
“You are my sister.”
“Whether you are that genius girl or that regressor who has lived for thousands of years.”
“In this world, there are some things only we know.”
Bell folded the soiled handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
“So, I will give you a choice.”
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