Chapter 209 - Damn Reincarnation

Darkroom

Deep beneath the Lionheart estate lay a secret place, revealed only to a select few of Lionheart’s legitimate descendants who had reached the sixth star of the White Flame Formula.

The Darkroom.

Carmen had described it as a place to shatter a world, reflect on yourself, kill yourself, and be born anew. Eugene had wondered what the hell she was talking about, but Gilead and Gion’s additional explanations gave him a clearer understanding of the Darkroom.

“You mean it’s a place where I face an illusion of myself?”

“To put it simply, yes,” Gion answered, scratching his chin. “Though I’m not sure... ‘illusion’ is the right word for it.”

“Rather like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was an exact reflection. In a sense, the illusion I faced in the Darkroom was ahead of me.”

Gion, Carmen, and Gilead each described it a little differently. What one saw in the Darkroom depended entirely on oneself.

“Its appearance... is different, too. Ultimately, it is a projection of ‘me,’ but I didn’t think it was necessarily me as I was at that moment.”

“At first, it seems unskilled,” Gilead murmured. “But only at first. The moment you understand your opponent and cross swords to defeat it, the unskilled ‘you’ projected by the Darkroom changes. It becomes your equal, then something better than you are now.”

“That isn’t something unique to martial artists.” Carmen crossed her legs, her cigar resting between her fingers. “However objectively people assess themselves, everyone imagines an ‘ideal self.’ Someone a little better than they are now. A little faster, a little stronger. A self capable of doing what they cannot yet do.”

The Darkroom projected those desires. It didn’t add any meaningful changes to the actual person, but the ‘self’ it projected was superior to the person they were now.

“The Darkroom is a place to face that illusion and train yourself. Which also makes it an exceedingly harsh place.”

Gilead gave a wry smile and turned to Carmen.

“... Gion and I failed to overcome the Darkroom’s trial at first. We caused Lady Carmen and the previous head of the Council of Elders a great deal of trouble.”

If the Darkroom’s illusion defeated you, it possessed you. It had no distinct consciousness of its own, nor did it take over your body for life. According to precedent, the possession lasted half a day at most.

But there was no telling what might happen in that half day, so masters of the main family who had already overcome the Darkroom waited at the entrance.

“It was quite a struggle back then. And I suspect this time will be even worse.”

Eugene understood what she meant.

Gilead, Gion, and Carmen knew his abilities well. His level in the White Flame Formula alone was no measure of him.

Carmen remembered how skillfully Eugene had fought Iris. The same went for Gion and Gilead. They had watched him since childhood, and deep down, they acknowledged that in some respects his skills might surpass their own.

Now that he had reached the sixth star as well, if an illusion took over his body, subduing him would be anything but easy.

“... My ideal self, huh.”

Muttering under his breath, Eugene sank into thought. Indeed, the Darkroom’s illusion posed a troublesome problem even for him.

His ideal self. That was all too easy for Eugene to imagine. He remembered his past life. Though he had rapidly built up his strength since reincarnating, he had yet to catch up to the ‘Hamel’ who had roamed the demon lands.

‘... Can I win?’

He considered it dispassionately.

‘If I use both Ignition and the Empty Sword, my momentary output would match his. No, this body responds better than my old one, so I could overwhelm him for an instant. But if I can’t finish it in a single strike, I lose.’

Having reached that conclusion, Eugene raised his head.

“Can I take weapons inside?”

“No,” Carmen answered immediately. “You enter the Darkroom with nothing. But you needn’t worry about being unarmed. The moment the illusion appears, you will have a weapon in your hand.”

He had hoped to make up the difference with weapons he had never used in his past life. So much for that.

“What if the self you imagine is so absurdly strong that you couldn’t possibly win?”

“Our great founder gave us, his descendants, a trial we could overcome,” Carmen answered. She winked at Eugene without Gilead or Gion noticing. “Before entering the Darkroom, I imagined myself as a dragon, but I didn’t actually face a dragon version of myself. The illusion I saw then... was only a little stronger than I was at the time.”

Fair enough. If an illusion really were as powerful as anything one could imagine, overcoming it would generally be impossible. Eugene ignored Carmen, who kept winking and placing subtle emphasis on the word ‘dragon.’

“And illusions aren’t the only things you see in the Darkroom,” Gilead added with a chuckle. “I’ve never hovered on the brink of death myself... but I imagine the journey from entering the Darkroom to meeting the illusion resembles having your life flash before your eyes.”

“My life flashing before my eyes...?”

“Yes. The things you have experienced throughout your life pass before you. That, too, is probably our great founder’s magic. The illusion emerges from the past you have just watched go by.”

Vermouth the Great.

He had been an outstanding warrior and an outstanding mage as well. In some respects, his magic had rivaled Senya’s, a fact Senya herself had acknowledged.

“What happens if I defeat the illusion?”

“... Your White Flame Formula changes,” Gion murmured. “Not that your current White Flame Formula is necessarily incomplete, but if you defeat the illusion in the Darkroom... you’ll experience a remarkable change.”

Even the three who had already overcome the Darkroom could not give an exact answer to that. Unlike its earlier stages, the sixth-star White Flame Formula produced flames tailored entirely to the individual. What further change those flames would undergo was impossible to imagine before overcoming the Darkroom.

“Understood.” Eugene rose to his feet. “I don’t have anything to prepare. Can’t we go right now?”

“... Ah, to be young.” Gion stood up, making light of it. “Even if you lose, we’ll be sure to stop you, so don’t worry too much.”

“And even if you lose, you can keep trying until you win. Provided defeat doesn’t break your spirit along the way.”

Carmen glanced at Gion as she spoke. He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed.

“Surely a little disappointment was understandable, considering I lost far more helplessly than I’d prepared myself for.”

“The more accustomed you are to victory, and the less you know defeat, the more easily your spirit breaks. ... Eugene, the Blood Lion. That is why I am a little concerned about you. You, of all people, have been a genius who has never known defeat since childhood.”

“May I be honest? Being called the Blood Lion by you hurts me more—more than losing does, Lady Carmen.”

“Why is that? Doesn’t it fill you with motivation instead? At your age, I didn’t have a magnificent nickname like the Blood Lion. Of course, now I have an even better one: the Silver Lion.”

Carmen looked thoroughly pleased, apparently genuinely proud of the nickname. Ignoring her, Eugene removed his Cloak of Darkness. He wondered if he should at least tell Mer or Kristina before leaving, but decided there was no particular need.

He didn’t know how long it would take to overcome the Darkroom. Eugene was by no means overconfident. He would have to go inside to find out, but he didn’t assume he would succeed on his first attempt.

‘It’s nice that failing doesn’t matter. That means I can try as many times as I like.’

He didn’t know how his White Flame Formula would change afterward. But quite apart from that, he liked the idea of looking back on himself and overcoming himself.

The illusion he encountered in the Darkroom would be stronger than he was now.

But it wouldn’t be some absurd existence. Carmen had imagined herself as a dragon, yet that wasn’t what had appeared before her. Eugene thought of the illusion as the realization of a possibility.

Perhaps he could call it his future self. An embodiment of his present potential and ideals. Even if it was only an illusion, the prospect of meeting such a being and crossing swords with it set his heart racing.

‘... Could it be...?’

Why had Vermouth gone to the trouble of making something like this for his descendants? To train those who would come in the distant future? That could be it, but...

He stopped that pointless train of thought.

Gilead, Gion, and Carmen led the way to the underground Treasury.

Eugene followed with his cloak in hand. This was his first visit to the Treasury since drawing the Holy Sword.

The lion-shaped door knocker drank Gilead’s blood, and the doors opened.

None of the weapons Vermouth had used remained here. Eugene had the Holy Sword, the Storm Sword, the Devouring Sword, the Lightning Bow, and the Dragon Spear. Cyan possessed Gedon’s Shield, and Ciel the Flying Sword.

Deep within the Treasury stood a large, blank canvas in an antique frame. It was as tall as a person. Gilead stopped before it.

“Pay your respects.”

As he spoke, Gilead took the family head’s seal from inside his clothes. Eugene looked puzzled, but Carmen and Gion were already down on one knee, their heads bowed. For now, he followed suit.

Then Gilead knelt as well. Reverently supporting the seal with both hands, he brought it close to the canvas.

The pure white canvas began to ripple. Delicate lines appeared, filling with color.

A portrait of Lionheart’s founder, Vermouth the Great, emerged. It was a very familiar image to Eugene. Portraits of Vermouth had hung in the mansion in Gidol where he had spent his childhood, and several hung in the main estate as well.

This was their original: the first portrait of Vermouth, painted three hundred years ago. Though magic protected its colors from fading, the original possessed a dignity absent from the other portraits, however faithfully they copied it.

Eugene stared blankly at the portrait. He had seen that image countless times since childhood. It was the same face he remembered from his past life, its expression revealing little emotion. Yet the mere fact that this was the original brought the Vermouth of his past life vividly to mind.

“... The entrance to the Darkroom is connected to this portrait.”

With a careful touch, Gilead pressed the seal against the painting. In a sudden flash, Vermouth’s portrait vanished, replaced by a ‘painting of stairs’ leading underground. Once he had confirmed it, Gilead stood first and stepped toward the canvas.

Though contained within a canvas, it was no painting. Gilead descended the stairs within it, followed by Carmen and Gion. Eugene belatedly stood and stepped inside the canvas.

‘... This is ridiculous.’

That monstrous bastard.

Eugene meant it sincerely. He reached into his discarded cloak and grasped Akasha. Yet he couldn’t begin to understand this ‘spatial magic.’ Was it really magic? He could understand that this was another realm formed by isolating a space, but...

‘... Is this even magic?’

He descended the dark stairs. His eyes could see through most darkness, but not this. Even with Akasha in his hand, he couldn’t see the magic composing this space—no, this other realm.

Eugene had read through most of the grimoires in Akron’s Hall of Space. The mages whose names appeared there had once been renowned masters of spatial magic, but this space had no connection to any of the magic described in those books. Was it on an entirely different level? Or was it simply alien to the utmost degree?

He couldn’t tell, but of one thing he was certain. No archmage could understand this place through magic.

And Eugene, too, was a mage. Though he had yet to reach the level of an archmage, he dared define this other realm according to his own judgment.

This was not magic.

“This is as far as we can go.”

The long staircase ended, and they reached the bottom. Beyond the thick darkness, a door glowed faintly. Gilead pointed to it.

“Open that door and follow the path. Eventually, you’ll reach a place densely covered in magic circles.”

“There’s no need to sit down. The moment you pass through, the Darkroom will already ‘show’ you.” Gion patted Eugene’s shoulder. “... Again, it’s all right to lose. It would be stranger not to suffer even a single defeat. I... honestly share Lady Carmen’s concern. You won’t be used to losing—”

“No.”

Eugene smiled and shook his head. Setting down the cloak he was carrying, he said, “I’ve lost an awful lot of times. I’m used to it.”

“What?”

“It just isn’t known.”

Not ‘Eugene Lionheart,’ but ‘Hamel Dynas’ had suffered countless defeats. Most had been at Vermouth’s hands. Had defeat ever broken his spirit? That went without saying. He had broken with every defeat, then simply built himself back up.

So Eugene walked forward without hesitation. When he reached the door across the darkness, it opened on its own to welcome him, without his even needing to reach out.

He stepped through.

The world changed. Outside the door, it had been so dark he could barely see ahead, but here it was bright. No, white. A white space containing nothing at all. It resembled Vermouth’s mausoleum at Black Lion Castle.

But unlike the mausoleum, there was no temple here.

“And they call it the Darkroom.”

Outside the door, it had been dark enough to deserve the name, but this place was white rather than dark. That made it feel all the more wrong. ... The mana in his cores churned against his will. Eugene walked through the Darkroom, calming his mana.

He spotted the magic circle Gilead had mentioned. Bizarre patterns were engraved densely across the floor. Before stepping inside, Eugene spent a moment studying its characters.

They resembled an ancient language, but he couldn’t decipher them. He couldn’t even read them.

“... Where the fuck did you learn magic like this?”

Giving up on reading it, Eugene stepped into the magic circle.

But nothing happened. He was plainly inside it, yet no magic activated.

“... What?”

Grumbling, Eugene kept walking. Without stopping, he stepped out of the magic circle.

At that instant, a slight wave of dizziness swept through his head.

“Huh.”

Eugene stood still, staring ahead.

He saw a boy he knew well.

With sandbags heavier than his own body strapped to his limbs and heavy armor on top of that, the boy swung a large spear. It was Eugene in the past. Beginning with that scene, the past of ‘Eugene Lionheart’ appeared in succession.

He grasped Wynnyd.

For the first time, he raised flames of mana around his body.

He studied magic in Aroth.

In the desert tomb, he summoned the Moonlight Sword’s light.

He drew the Holy Sword in Lionheart’s Treasury...

Eugene watched it all. With time flowing swiftly, the boy became a young man. Then the young man’s ‘present’ form scattered and disappeared.

What appeared next was the end of his past life. Hamel’s death. With an impassive face, Eugene watched ‘Hamel’ dying with a great hole in his chest.

From the end, it worked backward. Hamel’s life had been longer than Eugene’s. Eugene had experienced a beginning but not yet an end, while Hamel had experienced both. Moving backward from the moment of his death, he saw many things.

The past life he missed because he could never return to it.

He saw so much. Hamel in his prime. The less skilled days before his prime. His time as a mercenary before joining Vermouth. And before that. When he had been far less skilled, far weaker.

A boy living in a small village lost everything and came to hate the Demon Kings. He didn’t want to do nothing and live in hiding, as did so many of that era’s countless war orphans.

He had no grand sense of justice. You fucked up my life, so I’ll fuck up yours. With that thought alone, the boy took up a chipped sword and became a mercenary.

Even that boy disappeared.

‘... Does it start now?’

The ideal self he had imagined in his heart.

A self stronger than he was now would appear as an illusion.

Prepared by what he had been told, Eugene readied his stance. There was still no sword in his hand. The illusion had not appeared yet, either. But soon it would—

“... What?”

The entire Darkroom warped. That was how it felt to Eugene. Something else was seeping into the once-empty white space.

He smelled blood.

Hundreds, thousands—no, far more than that. A battlefield strewn with corpses like ordinary rubbish. He saw a man staggering across it. The man was already far away, so all Eugene could see were his shoulders, slumped beneath the weight of despair.

CRACKLE.

The scene changed again. The smell of blood remained. But the man was no longer staggering across the battlefield. Instead, he sat atop a towering mountain of corpses, a greatsword caked in blood and flesh resting on his shoulder. Again, Eugene couldn’t see his face. Sitting with his back turned, the man gazed at some unknown battlefield far away.

‘... Who is that?’

Startled, Eugene looked up at the man. The man now sitting atop the mountain of corpses, and the man who had staggered across the battlefield before. He hadn’t seen their faces. He wasn’t even sure they were the same person. If he went closer, he would be able to see the face.

His necklace was hot.

A tremendous wind swept it all away. Holding down his windblown hair, Eugene stared ahead with wide eyes. Neither the corpse-strewn battlefield nor the man remained in sight.

Instead, countless weapons appeared. Weapons Eugene had wielded since his past life stood embedded in the ground. At some point, an ordinary, long-bladed sword had appeared in his hand as well.

“... What?”

The weapons weren’t all that had appeared.

His face and body covered in scars like Hamel’s in his past life, an ‘Eugene Lionheart’ rougher-looking than the present Eugene stood facing him.