Across Seven Hundred Years

Seven hundred years ago, Beltira Augustus had actually attended Gawain Cecil's funeral...

That truly caught Gawain by surprise. He had no recollection of it at all—though that was only natural, since the main duty of this body at the time had been to lie in a coffin for people to pay their respects. But there had also been a group of big shots at that funeral. The first generation of founding old geezers had all been hot-tempered types, the kind who would grab chairs and brawl from Silver Castle to Iron Cross Street whenever they disagreed during court meetings. Yet Beltira, already a Dark Druid at the time, had still dared to approach...

All he could say was that she had truly cared about Gawain Cecil's death.

"It wasn't actually difficult," Beltira said. She seemed to know that Gawain was surprised, and shook her head with a helpless smile. "The End of All Things wasn't nearly as 'well-known' back then as it became later. You should know that—we had only just begun our activities. Besides... as a high-ranking druid, I always had my ways."

Gawain gave a quiet hum and did not pursue the matter further. "As you said, Gawain Cecil used his soul to make a deal, so after his death, his soul was exhausted and his body was merely an empty shell. Therefore, he could never possibly be resurrected. Then..."

An idea gradually took shape in his mind. It was bizarre, yet impossible to dismiss.

He let out a breath and said in a low voice, "This empty shell really does seem as though it was prepared for me, doesn't it?"

Beltira's eyes widened. Clearly, she had never considered things from that angle before today.

Her personal feelings and instinctive wariness toward an Outworld Wanderer had clouded her