#3. Oh, Dove of Peace!
She couldn’t bring herself to admit aloud that he had killed her multiple times. Cryer didn’t press her for an explanation. He simply looked at her. His eyes, like blades slicing through a moonless night, revealed nothing—just as they had in the last regression, and now again.
“It seems like you need help.”
“I’m perfectly sane! And why are you being formal again… No! Don’t go!”
Despite her desperate pleas, Cryer didn’t stop. Olivia’s instincts screamed at her: if she let him go now, she’d meet her end at his hands in this life too. She wanted to survive. So, she resolved to use every possible means to keep him here. Though she hadn’t expected that to mean grabbing onto the hem of his pants so soon.
“How much do you want?!”
Clinging to Cryer—the very man who triggered the Great Continental War—as he turned to leave the secret room, Olivia desperately held onto his pant leg.
But Cryer continued walking unfazed, dragging Olivia along the floor.
“Let go.”
“No!”
Still dangling from one of his legs as he headed for the door, Olivia shouted her refusal with unwavering determination. Cryer glanced down at her, her resolve evident in her grip.
“I said let go.”
“I said no! How much do you want? No—what do you need? What can I do to stop the war?!”
Cryer extended a hand toward her with a soft sigh but paused when she continued.
“You’re a slave, right?! Whatever contract you’re under—I’ll end it for you… Ugh!”
Before she could finish, Olivia found herself face to face with Cryer’s abyss-like eyes. He leaned in close and growled.
“Who told you I was a slave?”
“Hi—hiccup. Hic. Hiccup.”
As the distance between them closed to near-zero, Olivia’s nervous hiccup escaped her lips. She slapped her hands over her mouth and trembled. Cryer peered deep into her soul, his teeth bared like a beast.
“Who are you?”
“The dove of peace!”
…Dove… dove… Her words echoed off the walls of the secret room. Cryer stared at her with an expression that was hard to define. Then, without a word, he grabbed Olivia by the arm and lifted her into the air.
“What did you just say?”
“Th-The dove of… peace. A symbol of… peace…”
Cryer carried her over to the sofa and sat her down, trapping her with his arms so she couldn’t escape. He whispered.
“Alright, Dove of Peace. Let me ask again. Who gave you that information?”
“You… you did! It was you!”
Olivia jabbed her finger at him with everything she had. Cryer narrowed his eyes at her, his brow furrowing.
“It’s not a lie, but…”
“Of course it’s not! I heard it from you directly!”
“I told you that?”
“Yes! You said you were a slave and had to do as you were told. You! You said it yourself!”
After blurting everything out in a rush, Olivia panted for breath and added,
“In my previous life.”
As the furrow in his brow deepened, Olivia hurried to clarify.
“I’ll explain! I’ll explain everything.”
She summarized everything about her regression and the previous life, recounting it in detail to Cryer.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but it all really happened…”
As she trailed off, Cryer reached toward her. Though she flinched, she didn’t resist—resignation painting her expression. He pulled his hand back.
“You really did die, didn’t you?”
“I did! I died four times—you killed me each time!”
She thumped her chest, signaling him to believe her, but soon lowered her head. Asking the man who killed her to trust her—it was almost pathetic. But then, she raised her head with resolve. No! The fact that she could even talk to him like this meant there was still hope! As she clenched her fists with renewed fire, Cryer asked,
“Did you put on a whole show by yourself?”
“Uh… yeah.”
Lowering her awkwardly clenched fists and clasping her hands in front of her stomach, Olivia tried to appear polite. Cryer chuckled softly.
“Your mannerisms and speech don’t match that of an imperial princess. And for someone who died four times, you’re oddly lighthearted.”
“That’s because you taught me something. That death makes everyone equal—princess or not. And after dying four times, I learned something.”
“What?”
“If you’re in a pit, the only way to not sink deeper is to move quickly and lightly.”
She brushed a stiff hand over her neck.
“And I also learned that trying to act lofty and elegant around you doesn’t work. I’ve tested it with my whole body.”
“You really do seem to know me.”
“I do! Want more proof?”
“No, that’s enough. I wouldn’t believe it even if you said more.”
Just as Olivia was about to speak again, Cryer reached for her. She reflexively tensed, squeezing her eyes shut.
“I’m not going to kill you. No need to be that wary. You should know, after dying—you can’t avoid me. I can kill you any time.”
“I know. I really do.”
She nodded vigorously, her eyelashes fluttering like butterflies in a storm. The memories of her past death played vividly in her mind.
“Your Highness! You must escape!”
“Your Highness!”
Despite the desperate cries of bloodied knights, Olivia couldn’t look away from Cryer, who slowly approached. If she looked away, she felt like she’d be torn apart. He was drenched in blood, his face unrecognizable, yet grinning savagely. Then he waved his hand—and the castle wall behind her crumbled, raising a giant dust cloud. Leaping up, Cryer closed the distance toward her.
“Protect her! The Princess—!”
“Your—!”
A wave of blood sprayed before her. Cryer slaughtered elite imperial knights with a mere swing of his sword. He reached toward Olivia with a predator’s grin, like he’d found the most exquisite prey. Trembling, she blinked away the memory.
He said he wouldn’t kill her now—but immediately followed it up with “I could kill you anytime.” So, which is it? Kill or not? While Olivia flailed in the depths of confusion, Cryer calmly pulled her out.
“I won’t kill you.”
“Thank you.”
The words flew out automatically, and her face instantly flushed red like an apple. Cryer continued speaking, ignoring her embarrassment.
“So you died and came back several times, and in the process, learned I was a slave.”
“Th-That’s right.”
It was a strange feeling, hearing her traumatic life summarized so casually by the man who ruined it.
“I’ll believe you—for now. If ridiculous contracts exist, then I suppose dying and returning isn’t too far-fetched…”
Before he could finish, Olivia suddenly slumped forward. Cryer caught her with his body. Her face was smushed against his chest in a funny pose, but she just laughed softly. It felt like she’d passed the first stage. Like finally grabbing a lifeline after drifting in a vast, endless sea.
But the feeling didn’t last long.
“Earlier, didn’t you say you could free me from this contract?”
That was the real reason Cryer had so easily accepted her insane-sounding story—because she’d mentioned “freedom.” If the imperial princess could truly break his cursed slave contract, then he’d use her in whatever way necessary. Olivia’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening in vain. At the time, she was just desperate to stop him from leaving. She didn’t even know what kind of contract he was under. “Freeing” him? Ridiculous.
“I can hear your thoughts spinning.”
“Well… about that…”
“I didn’t say you had to do it right now.”
“Th-Thank goodness. I mean… Ahem. If you tell me what the contract is, I’ll look into it in every possible way. That’s what the power of a princess is for!”
Eagerly nodding and perking up her ears, Olivia was ready to listen. But Cryer gave an ambiguous reply.
“Who knows.”
“What do you mean, who knows?”
“It won’t be that simple.”
“Well, of course it’ll be hard, but…”
“For starters, can you use your princess authority or whatever to dig up old, mostly forgotten magical records?”
“I could if I gathered the right people… Wait. Magic? Don’t tell me—”
“Yes, that.”
“Th-That slave contract is magical?”
Before her regression, she joked that Cryer’s existence felt like a nightmare or a cursed spell. And now it was literally magic?
“Yes.”
“Th-That’s going to be tough…”
She almost said impossible, but barely managed to swallow it. Cryer noticed her nervous reaction. Standing so close their breaths nearly touched, he locked eyes with her and whispered:
“You have to take responsibility for your words, Princess.”
Meanwhile…
As Olivia and Cryer exploded with desperate pleading, mild curiosity, and absurd reality inside the secret room, the conference chamber outside was on fire with two major topics.
“World peace? Ha!”
“No way.”
“Don’t even say ‘no way.’ Ever heard of ‘words become reality’?”
“Ahem… that’s true…”
The mood grew tense.
“War? Seriously?”
“We agreed not to even mention that!”
“Whether it’s words or seeds, it doesn’t matter. The topic of this prematurely convened Continental Assembly is world peace.”
“Isn’t world peace always an ideal worth preserving? Don’t exaggerate—”
“It’s not exaggeration—it’s about preparation.”
“Even trying to prepare can stir unnecessary trouble.”
“Better to prepare than to be ambushed.”
“That’s dangerous talk. World peace! Peace!”
Though they spoke differently, each nation’s leader shared the same concern: the Empire’s conquest. A nameless giant occupying the heart of the continent, the Empire had long shown signs of coveting more.
Thanks to the Continental Assembly—a diplomatic bridge—large-scale war had been avoided so far, though small conflicts still broke out. If the Empire started a full-scale war, every other nation would need to unite. With enough coordination, perhaps they could even push the Empire back. But…
Everyone glanced at each other. Could they trust one another? Could they really fight together?
Unlikely.
Even in a united front, someone would surely side with the Empire to grab the spoils—no, the giant slabs of meat falling from the Empire’s table.
“No matter what we say, unless the Empire declares something, nothing is certain.”
“For now, let’s do our best to maintain the current state.”
While they skillfully concealed their motives, another group was engaged in a completely different battle—over who would sit next to Olivia.
“If they met alone, that must mean…”
“Exactly. The princess clearly noticed that knight right away.”
“Come now. He looked the part, sure, but do you really think she—?”
“Love needs no reason.”
“Careful with that word—love. Ahem.”
“To be the Empire’s consort, one must at least—”
“Wrong. What matters is who the princess chooses—”
“Someone fit for the Empire’s future—”
Their ridiculous chatter continued until break time was almost over.
“Pardon the interruption!”
A servant burst into the chamber, panting.
“T-The King of Norden!”
None of the sovereigns flinched. No dignified leader would react to a mere servant shouting.
But then came the words that shook the room.
“He… he has passed away!”
“What?!”
“What did you say?!”
“The King of Norden has just passed away!”
Whoa. That’s ominous.