A dream.
This was a dream.
And I knew that.
What was that called?
Right. A lucid dream.
A dream where you know you're dreaming.
In the dream, I was still a kid.
Taking a hard hit.
The world spinning before my eyes.
I felt no pain—this was a dream, after all.
But it still hurt.
My head throbbed, and I must have had a cut inside my mouth—
I could taste the blood.
Even though I was dreaming.
How strange.
Was this really a dream?
I spotted my hand.
Small and dirty.
Definitely a dream.
My hands aren't that small now.
What a relief.
Just a dream.
My eyes moved.
No. I don't wanna stand. But I have to.
I picked up the club and got to my feet.
My mother stood before me.
No expression. Like she was wearing a mask. Glaring down at me, her
eyes cold.
A club in her hands, the better to beat me with.
She swung.
Now, I could block that. But at the time, that was impossible.
A sharp pain, and I was in the air.
Slammed into the ground—more pain.
My vision blurred.
Tears.
I found myself wondering when was the last time I cried.
My eyes moved.
My mother was speaking.
I'd lost my club again, and my eyes sought it out.
Had my mother told me to get back up?
I couldn't.
It hurt. This was too much.
I must have whined about it.
Her expression never changed. She just slowly raised that club.
Another voice.
My eyes moved and saw a plump woman running over.
She'd helped with the housework. Made great food.
Nazul.
She'd made the best omelets. My favorite. Her cooking was ingrained in
my memories, my standard for good eating.
Sadly, she'd long since passed. I'd rather be dreaming about eating her
food than training with my mother.
Later, I'd learned other people's mothers cooked for them, but I'd never
once had that happen. Someone said she didn't have time for anything but
training me.
I was dumb enough to buy that back then.
But now that I was grown up, I could see that farce for what it was.
I barely even remembered sharing a meal with her. I mostly ate alone.
"Good morning…"
The world took on color. Was I waking up? Then let's get that over with.
I never once forgot.
I knew all too well.
My mother hated me.
I was a child of rape, and she had no love for that.
She'd never once celebrated my birthday.
She gave me no blessings.
No thank-yous.
No congratulations.
Not even a good job.
Everyone else gives those freely.
Had I ever heard her speak my name?
Who named me?
If she hated me that much, why hadn't she just killed me?
That would have been easy.
But she kept me alive.
So she must not have completely hated me.
Or was I just clinging to a forlorn hope?
"W-wait, Lady Faine. She's still so young. Training past this point will
achieve nothing."
My mother glared, but Nazul did not back down.
In hindsight, Nazul was made of pretty stern stuff.
"Sh-she needs a rest. I have refreshments ready…"
"We're fine."
"Lady Faine, while you drink, we can tend to these injuries…"
"We're fine."
My mother waved a hand, and all my wounds closed.
The pain was gone.
"You're fine, right?"
My mother leaned in.
Eyes like marbles, face devoid of emotion. Sinister.
"…Mm, I'm fine."
"See?" My mother turned back to Nazul. "…You heard her. She's not
done yet. And I've already made her strong enough that she can be brought
back if she dies. See? Nothing to worry about."
"...…As you—"
"—Good morning. Um, Lady No Death, are you here?"
It was the faint voice of a woman—it went beyond timid and verged on
fearful. That wasn't part of the dream. It was real.
Consciousness arrived.
The ceiling above was her own. Movement in the next room. The fog of
sleep was not yet cleared, but she sensed no hostility.
"If I must dream, let it be chaotic and wild," she muttered. Sighing, she
pulled a hand into view. Her fingers damp—with tears? "I'm up," she said,
louder. "Gimme a minute."
"A-absolutely! Pray do not rush for the likes of me. I can wait as long as
it takes!"
She'd said nothing that could be construed as a threat, but the woman
took it as one. Repressing the urge to sigh again, she got up, grabbing a robe
from the chair nearby.
She knew her visitor's voice.
With a female colleague, she need not worry about making herself
decent. And she didn't want to make her wait out there that long.
She opened the door, stepped out, and found the woman standing at
attention. Like she had no clue what else to do with herself.
"—Sorry for the delay. You should have sat down, at least."
"No, no, this hardly counts as a delay. And, um, eh-heh-heh. Lady No
Death, I cannot apologize enough for disturbing your slumber. I hope you
will forgive this trespass."
She was forcing a smile and bobbing her head. Worse—though likely
unconscious—she was rubbing her hands together. A pathetic bearing for
one of the Theocracy's finest, a hero of humanity, the eleventh seat of the
Black Scripture, the one they called Infinite Mana.
"Then have a seat."
"No, no, no, no, that won't be necessary. I'll be on my way the moment
I've said my piece. I could not sully the couch in your room…"
Her hands were waving all over the place.
No Death could not imagine why she was being so extreme.
"Sitting won't do any harm, and I'd never be angry with you for it.
You…really don't need to be so servile. We're colleagues."
The woman's smile grew all the more obsequious.
"Eh-heh-heh, an insect like me is not worthy of that designation, Lady
No Death."
"Seriously, don't— Look, of all the Black Scripture members who've
sparred with me, you're by far the most servile. And you started out so
cocky!"
The Black Scripture were heroes. And that could go to people's heads,
make them overconfident. One of No Death–No Life's roles was to beat
that out of them. The result was that the only Scripture members who knew
her were the ones who'd gotten arrogant.
But most Black Scripture members made that error eventually. This
woman was no exception. The captain had also survived training with her—
frankly, she regretted going too far with him—but was now talking to her
normally. This lady was the only one who acted like this.
Maybe she'd beaten too much of her.
I'll have to factor core personality in next time.
"Being arrogant's a problem, but you can act like yourself."
"Eh…eh-heh-heh. I could never do that before you, Lady No Death."
Her hands were rubbing faster.
No Death didn't think she'd done anything to provoke this.
She'd just received all her spells head-on and emerged without so much
as a scratch, walked right up to her, knocked her down, climbed on top, and
then repeatedly punched her in the face. Since it was training, she'd been
careful not to kill her.
Even on her back, the woman had refused to concede, desperately
casting more spells. No Death had considered her one of the tougher
cookies. And one who clearly burned with ambition. Her efforts had paid
off, and now she could keep casting through pain.
And that high opinion of her made this attitude all the sadder.
"…So what brings you here? I think I can guess."
"O-oh? You are a brill—"
"Spare me the flattery."
"Erm. Right. The elf extermination army have made further advances, so
I've been sent to ask you to ready yourself, Lady No Death."
"Ah…"
When No Death smiled, the woman before her winced. Was her face that
frightening? This was her usual smile.
"Then I can finally get this bone out of my throat."