The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Ravian climbed out of the river in his clothes—black trousers with a white shirt over them, both pieces from the clothing Karius had bought for him and sent to his tent—and he did not appear to be carrying anything, since he had hidden the longsword and the two daggers inside his trousers and covered them with the shirt.

Ravian now stood in the middle of the street as people passed by, casting a few glances his way—whether because of his handsome appearance and his distinctive white hair, made even more striking now that both he and his clothes were drenched in water, or simply because of the state he was in to begin with.

”Phew.”

Ravian exhaled slowly, shaking his head from side to side to clear the water from his hair.

Then he looked around.

The streets were a little wider than what he had seen in the City of Light, and the paved stones beneath his feet were smoother now, as though designed for elegant carriages rather than heavy cargo wagons. On both sides of the road rose houses of two or three stories, built of polished stone and pale plaster, their façades crossed with dark wooden beams that seemed less structural than deliberately ornamental.

The shops here were not loud or crowded. There were no cheap stalls, no goods piled on the ground. Instead, elegant storefronts presented themselves—high-end tailors, small jewelers, document scribes, perfume sellers, physicians, and quiet cafés frequented by those with money enough to perform their leisure. Even the hanging signs were smaller and more refined, made of painted wood or black metal, bearing delicate emblems.

Inhale~

Ravian drew the clean air of the streets deep into his lungs after so long without a single moment of rest, and at last...

’Some peace.’

Ravian thought, smiling like a man who had finally found happiness in life—despite standing in the middle of the street at night, his clothes soaked and his appearance somewhat disheveled. Anyone who saw him might think he had lost his mind, smiling in a state like that.

But Ravian alone knew how much he had suffered to get here—among people, not danger; to see flowers and the beauty of the night, not swords and sleepless nights like in the camp, where he had feared losing his life to treachery at any moment.

”Umm, excuse me?”

That same soft, lovely voice came again, interrupting his beautiful, quiet moment.

Ravian turned and found the same beautiful girl, with her golden hair and almond-shaped blue eyes. But this time, he saw that she was dressed in finery beyond anything he had seen so far.

She wore a long, layered dress made of luxurious fabric—heavy silk, satin, light velvet, or perhaps soft cloth embroidered with dark blue threads that matched her beautiful eyes perfectly.

The dress was slightly fitted at the waist, then flowed outward in a measured spread down to the ground. The sleeves were long, adorned with lace and embroidery at the cuffs. The collar rose slightly high, yet it could not entirely hide her marble-white neck.

Pinned to her left shoulder was a small brooch bearing the emblem of a winged tiger roaring at the sky, and that brooch drew Ravian’s eye more than anything else he had noticed about her. Her neck was graced with a thin chain from which hung a clear blue stone, while white silk gloves covered her hands up to just below the elbows.

”A princess?” Ravian said involuntarily as he looked at her.

”Huh? Me, a princess? No, no, no.” The girl’s cheeks flushed red again with embarrassment as she quickly waved her hands before her face to emphasize her denial.

”Then what are you? And what do you want, miss?” Ravian said, his interest fading as quickly as it had come.

He had only been startled by her noble appearance before. Now, he wanted to leave the vicinity of this place as quickly as possible. Though catching him now had become almost impossible, since he had already blended in among the people.

”I-I’m... I’m Larette. Larette Viola. Pleased to meet you,” Larette said, extending her hand to Ravian.

”Rayan. I’m Rayan Veyr,” Ravian said without batting an eye, raising his hand to shake hers. But he stopped mid-motion before touching her, realizing that he would soak her glove.

To his surprise, Larette reached out and took his hand anyway, wetting her glove without hesitation and without the slightest concern, smiling at him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

An innocent smile, untainted.

”It’s a pleasure to know you, Mister Rayan,” Larette said as she shook his hand.

”And you as well, Miss Larette,” Ravian said, returning a polite smile.

”Is there something you need from me, Miss Larette? Forgive me, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Ravian said apologetically, withdrawing his hand.

”Umm, wait...” Larette said, catching hold of him before he could pull his hand fully away.

”Hmm?” Ravian turned back to look at her, then down at her hand gripping his.

”Ah—sorry. That was improper of me,” Larette said, quickly releasing his hand.

”It’s fine. Do you need something from me? It’s all right, you can tell me,” Ravian said in a calm, encouraging voice.

”N-no. I just wanted to ask where you’re headed in that state?” Larette said, gesturing at his thoroughly soaked appearance.

”Oh.”

Ravian finally registered the strange condition he was in.

”You look about my age, and I noticed you seem to be from outside this city. How about you come with me?” Larette said with overflowing enthusiasm, practically bouncing in place.

Ravian stared at her expression, replaying what she had said over and over in his head.

’This girl... is she a fool?’

Ravian thought as he looked at the smile that had not faded once since she had started talking to him.

”There you are, young miss. Earl Patrick will be truly saddened to learn that you slipped away during the promenade again.”

A voice, gentle yet not lacking firmness, suddenly came from behind Ravian and Larette.

When they turned, Ravian found a man who looked to be in his fifties, with white hair, brown eyes, and a short mustache the same color as his hair. He wore the attire of a high-ranking servant: a black long-sleeved suit over a white shirt, with a bow tie at his collar.

’A second version of George?’

That was the first thing that crossed Ravian’s mind when he saw the elderly servant.

’Wait... did he just say Earl?’

”Uncle Shmichael... I didn’t run off. I was only taking a stroll around the area,” Larette said, avoiding the servant’s eyes entirely and looking everywhere else without once making eye contact with him.

’A terrible liar.’

Ravian thought as he watched her act exactly like a fool—an innocent fool who somehow believed herself clever.

”Hoho, you will have to say that to the Earl himself. And this would be...”

Shmichael chuckled lightly before his gaze landed on Ravian, and he was slightly surprised by what he saw.

Ravian was now completely different from when he had first arrived in this world. Back then, he had been thin, unattractive, weak in presence, distinguished only by his eerily calm demeanor, his white hair, and his crimson eyes.

But now, after Ravian had endured physical and psychological torment in the face of every hardship he had gone through, after the deadly battles he had fought and won despite his slim chances of survival, all of it had given him an air of confidence, an aura of steadfast resolve, and a contentment that filled him no matter what fate awaited him in the future.

And more than all of that, there was the experience of dying once again, of meeting Fate itself and surviving.

Those two ordeals had transformed his very essence.

And even now, it had not stopped...

It had only just begun.

So Shmichael did not see a mere disheveled young man with a measure of good looks. He saw before him a knight of the battlefield, a cunning schemer, a young man returned from death. Soaked through and unkempt, yet his dignity remained intact, his pride firm and unshakable as he met Shmichael’s gaze—as though Shmichael were the one who ought to feel abashed looking at him standing there in that sorry state, and not Ravian who should feel any shame for his condition.

”This? He’s—” Larette was about to speak, but Ravian quickly cut her off.

”I’m Rayan—Rayan Veyr, at your service. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, and that of your young lady, Miss Larette, Mr. Shmichael,” Ravian said in a tone that could not have been calmer, extending his hand in greeting to Shmichael.

Shmichael was taken aback by the gesture.

For a moment, judging by the pride in Ravian’s eyes, he had assumed him to be some young noble who would refuse to greet a servant. But now, Shmichael knew that Ravian deserved respect, because he realized that what lay in Ravian’s eyes was not mere arrogance.

But a humble man with pride like no other.

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End of Volume One: Battle on the Border

The next Chapter begins Volume Two: Children of Sin