PMEVBO 107

My earliest memory was nothing special.

It was when I, or rather Lucariel, was around five years old.

I was crouched in front of a mirror. There was a large mirror in the Pope’s room, and doodling on it was all the rage back then. It wasn’t a trend among the general public; it was a trend all my own.

As I let my artistic spirit run wild, scattering colorful paints all over the floor, my gaze naturally drifted to my reflection in the mirror. I pulled my shoulder-length bob taut. My wavy silver hair stretched out like straight hair under the tension.

I didn’t like my hair, which was dull and pale, nor my eyes, which were as lifeless as burnt ashes. I hated the mark on my face just as much.

I glanced sideways at the Pope, who was working at his desk, and drew black hair and red eyes over my reflection in the mirror. Then, on impulse, I squeezed black paint into my mouth.

Just as I was at a loss for what to do because of the foul taste that surpassed my imagination, the Pope hurried over and placed his hand under my chin without hesitation.

“Don’t swallow it, spit it out. That’s poison.”

I spat the black paint into his hand. After roughly wiping the paint from the corner of my mouth with the back of his hand, he simply picked me up and headed for the bathroom. He thoroughly brushed my teeth for quite a while.

The Pope sat me back down in front of the mirror and said dryly.

“Paint isn’t for eating. Do you understand?”

I stuck out my lower lip and didn’t answer. He looked at me expressionlessly, then stolen contentsmoothed my tangled hair with his hand.

“You have to answer, Lulu.”

“Why is my hair white?”

Because I’d started losing my baby teeth early, I was missing two front teeth. My pronunciation was already unintelligible, and with my mumbling on top of that, the words that came out were incomprehensible to anyone.

But the Pope understood without much trouble. He sat down in front of me, placed his chin on his hand, and said,

“Not long after you were born… I rolled you around in the snow, and this is what happened.”

“What?”

I stared at the Pope’s face.

Back then, I was a question-mark-obsessed kid. I was curious about absolutely everything in the world, and I poured all that curiosity into the Pope alone. Perhaps a thousand years of experience couldn’t be ignored, because he usually gave me appropriate answers. But about once in ten times, he’d said nonsense like this.

His expression was as impassive as ever, and his tone was as dry as always. There was no way a five-year-old could see through a thousand-year-old’s poker face. That day, as always, I fell for it.

“……Why did you roll me?”

I asked gloomily. The Pope lied without batting an eye.

“Lulu was so small, so I wanted to make a big snowman body for you.”

“Wow, really?”

That was kind of cool.

But my excitement was short-lived. I sensed something was wrong. I lowered the hand that had been covering my mouth and asked,

“Then where’s my snowman body?”

“It melted that summer.”

I was disappointed.

It just so happened that it was snowing outside the window. At first, I wanted to ask him to use that snow to make my snowman body again. But I decided against it because I thought it would be sad if it melted away in the summer again.

Instead, I decided to ask for something else. I pointed at the snow beyond the window with my finger, and said,

“You roll around in the snow too. You’ll turn white like me.”

“Not just anyone turns white by rolling in the snow. It’s a privilege reserved for those blessed by the snowman. Enjoy it.”

“Really? Well, I guess I have no choice, then…”

Just then, the Pope’s gaze fell on the mirror. More precisely, on the black and red painting there. After [stolen content]staring at it for a moment, he suddenly asked,

“Shall I show you your mom and dad?”

“Huh? Do I have a mom and dad?”

I blinked, then replied a beat too late.

“……I’d like to see them.”

“Alright, I’ll show you.”

Back then, being carried in the Pope’s arms was a daily occurrence for me. That day, too, the Pope left the room with me in his arms.

We walked down a long hallway and arrived at a spacious room. Countless portraits hung on the walls. I was told it was a place where portraits of those appointed as bishops were collected. Not long after, the Pope stopped walking and took my hand in his. Then he pointed to two portraits, one after the other.

“This is Lulu’s mom, and this is Lulu’s dad.”

I tilted my head and asked,

“But neither of them looks like me?”

“Take a closer look.”

I widened my eyes and tilted my head this way and that. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a single resembunauthorized copylance. Finally, I asked him for help.

“I don’t see it. Tell me.”

“Personality.”

“Personality…?”

“You especially take after your father’s personality.”

Looking back now, I suspected he was just saying that as a roundabout way of telling me I didn’t look like them. But back then, I took his words at face value. I tried my hardest to find some trace of personality in the drawing. Eventually, I got so exhausted I just gave up.

“……Where are the real one, not the picture?”

“They’re dead.”

“What does that mean?”

The Pope paused for a moment, before answering, which was unlike him.

“……Well, I don’t know. I haven’t died yet myself.”

That was probably the first time I’d ever heard him say he didn’t know something. It was simply amazing to me that there were things in this world he didn’t know.

“Tell me Mom and Dad’s names.”

“Mom’s name is Hadelin. Dad’s name is Maacheva.”

I engraved both their names in my mind. Then, a sudden thought occurred to me.

“Who named me?”

His gaze, which had been fixed on Maacheva’s portrait, returned to me.

“I did.”

I wasn’t particularly surprised. Even back then, as a child, I must have vaguely suspected as much.

“Why did you name me Lucariel?”

“I wanted to call you Lulu.”

“What does Lulu mean?”

The Pope didn’t answer. He just looked at me in silence. That made me feel uneasy.

“……Why? Does it have a weird meaning?”

“It means ‘baby’ in an ancient language.”

***

That was as far as my memory went.

Just a single, fragmented memory from my childhood.

Even with just that, Lucariel felt like me. I knew why.

…It must be because of the Pope.

Since fusing with Lucariel’s soul, I had never had a proper conversation with the Pope. But the me in my memories was different. The way I treated him was similar to how I treated my older brother back when I was Kang Je-in.

The Pope’s manner toward me also bore some resemblance to my brother’s. However, unlike my brother, who was cheerful and affectionate, the Pope’s face remained impassive even when he spoke in a hoarse voice about the snowman’s blessing. His tone was also stiff and high-handed, considering he was speaking to a child.

Perhaps it was because I was sitting in front of a mirror that this memory came to mind?

In the mirror was a version of myself who resembled Kang Je-in, except my eyes were red. The Pope, too, resembled my brother, except for his red eyes.

The Pope, who resembles my brother. And… Maacheva, who resembles my father.

Maacheva, Lucariel’s biological father whom I had encountered as a portrait in my memories, had the exact same face as the father I had only seen in photographs back when I was Kang Je-in. Just like the Pope and me now, everything was identical except for one thing: the color of his eyes.

Then… are my brother and father also reincarnations of people from this world, just like me…?

It was at that very moment. I felt all the strength drain from my body as if my blood were being sucked out, and I grew dizzy. I had felt a similar sensation just recently.

I immediately checked my status window.

HP: 20/100

……My HP dropped by 80?

Just a moment ago, my HP was still at 100. But I wasn’t surprised by the fact that my HP had dropped. Since the system was designed so that HP decreased as the cost of casting skills, I had been somewhat prepared for it. But a sudden drop of 80 was unexpected.

When I asked about Chepony Castle, even though the amount of information was great, it only cost me about 30.

On the other hand, this time, when I asked about the relationship between Kang Je-in and Lucariel, there wasn’t even a scroll indicator. Just to read those few short lines, it cost me 80? It said the HP cost varies depending on level and the scale of the spell… What kind of calculation method is this?

But unfortunately.

HP: 19/100

HP: 18/100

HP: 17/100

The calculation wasn’t over yet.

“Shit…”

This was the second time I’d watched my HP drop in real time. No matter how experienced I was, nothing could compare to a life-or-death situation. With every 1 point of HP lost, my blood ran cold.

To make matters worse.

Bang!

The locked door was smashed apart, and someone burst into the room.