Impulsive

Clang.

Before I could process the meaning behind the Sect's words, Siridan's curved blade had already slashed forward with blinding speed. As terrifying as it was elegant, it arced and cut through the air in one fluid motion with enough strength to make its whistling reach my ears.

That time, however, it encountered more resistance than before. The arm it had previously struck against and severed blocked the blow simply by rising to meet it. Once the blade hit it, a blueish glow emanated from the point of impact, deflecting it aside and reaching forward.

Though the Sect was off-guard when attacked while disguised as a person, it was suppressing its mana to limit emanating an aura that would've caught the eye of anyone adept in the perception of magic. This time, it did not need to hold back.

Still, the degree of strength that Siridan displayed was just as I remembered it; even though I'd seen countless others wield a weapon with masterful technique, he was likely the strongest swordsman I had ever seen up close.

The Sect called him a Grade Nine Adventurer – and it was no exaggeration. That moronic drunkard was strong enough to earn himself the highest classification legally given to independent adventurers that do not have a contract with the capital.

If I had to bet, he'd have been more than a match for Almir-den's elite. After all, he was the one person who ever struck terror in my heart.

"Ha! Would you look at that!" Siridan stumbled backward with a drunken yet graceful step, recovering from the reverberating impact in the blink of an eye and dodging the hand that had tried to grab him. "They actually built you out of something worth cutting, after all!"

The fact that he was directing crazed expression at anyone but me was, in part, a relief. The patrons, who had by then all realized this was their opportunity to disassociate themselves from the situation, hurried to flee the scene.

But I stayed. It wasn't like Siridan would have let me run away anyway, but that wasn't what crossed my mind back then. All I could think of were the stories I had heard of the Sect – about them and their creator. The kingdom's most renowned magus had a hand in making them.

Few ever bested them, and fewer still alone. Siridan was strong, and maybe he could've beaten it alone, but the consequences of winning and destroying it could only lead to something worse, right?

...Well, I expected it, I suppose. Siridan's crimes were going to catch up to him at some point. Everyone knew what he did, and the only reason no one had tried arresting him before was because the locals of Woodknock Village were no match for him.

But even before he had engaged in combat with the Sect, he looked tired.

His blade reflected the candlelight from the walls with every flourish. An echoing of steel rebounding against magical protection filled the air, and the longer I watched, the more convinced I became of it; something was wrong with Siridan.

It wasn't the alcohol. I could tell. That slouched posture was not Siridan's regular one. His back usually seemed solid enough to handle his drunken stumbling and prevent him from becoming fully debilitated by his inebriation.

His already pale complexion seemed duller than ever, and his hold on the blade was unusually loose. Those who didn't know how could have chalked it up to the drinks he had and the late hour of the night, but that couldn't be it.

Thud.

Siridan crashed against the wall with a groan. I cringed at the sight, even though I shouldn't have. Why should I have cared for him? He was a murderer. His arrest was happening for a reason.

Don't you remember, I asked myself. —Don't you remember what this man did? How he… How he..!

...

...

No.

No, I didn't remember. I knew it was true. Everyone else did, too. But those memories had long faded from my mind, even before I came back to life as another person – A girl named Alysia Rookthin, who didn't have to cling to any past.

Finally, I found myself able to move my fingers and with my legs responsive to my wishes again. Again, I should've ran. Again, I found myself not doing so.

Whatever thing that drove my impulsivity that night kicked in again. To be honest, this decision alone might've made me consider the idea that I'm the stupidest person to have ever lived.

Without thinking, I darted behind the bar, gripped the hilt of Zakuli's old arming sword, and pried it from its display stand on the wall. It wasn't well-maintained, but I was too surprised by its weight to stop and consider that.

I overcame it with a light grunt. If Siridan died, those lost memories would have been gone forever. If he died, the answer to the questions I had ever since I found myself in my new body would have gone unanswered forever.

A vision from my past life flashed before my eyes – a memory in which I comfortably handled a rapier made of metal hefty enough to intimidate a blacksmith twice my size. I had neglected to train my new body out of fear of meeting the same fate as my past self.

✿✿✿

"Handy with a blade, aren't you, now? Good on you!" That forgotten, irredeemable smile flashed toward me. "—But you gotta be careful with these things. Stab too deep, and their powder will puff and put you right to sleep."

What a mess of a scene. I had nearly gotten overwhelmed and killed by a swarm of fae creatures that looked fluffy and easy to hunt at the time. Siridan's experience saved me.

"No worries. I got your back, Jin. You got mine, too, right?"

✿✿✿

Could you really blame me? I wanted to know what changed – what went wrong. Call me an idiot all you want. Sure, that memory helped me decide, but I did what I did for myself. I rushed over to stab the Sect from behind right as Siridan sluggishly rose back to his feet.

That's right. Against all reason, I lunged forward to save the man who killed me.