Otherworld TRPG Game Master

22 – Epilogue: Crown Hall of a Century Ago

Prince Erid, the second prince, was impetuous and awkward. This was because he had been constantly compared to the capable first princess and the third prince as he grew up.

The imperial household was unbearably strict, even cruel, to a child. To ascend the throne required one to be the strongest in mind and body. The second prince had been thrust into the orbit of endless competition as soon as he began to speak.

His decisiveness was underlaid with the psychology of ‘needing to stand out at any cost,’ and the same went for his suspicion. For someone lacking self-assuredness, there was nothing they could trust with certainty.

He was like a person with a hole in their heart. No matter how much good is poured in, if there’s a hole, nothing remains and it all flows away.

That’s why he must have been drawn to Centra.

She filled the parts that no one else could, the gaping voids within him.

The secret passage from a hundred years ago looked quite different. It was cleaner, and the lighting was relatively brighter. Naturally, there were no marks of strife between Irid and Ronya. No bloodstains or bodies, only a little dust had built up.

Irid knelt on one knee and touched the spot where Centra had lain. He remembered everything: the way she cried for him, her scent.

When he closed his eyes like this…

The memories were as vivid as if they had just happened.

“Second Prince, I heard you have some improvements to suggest for the secret passage.”

“I wish there was a device for lowering a barrier… Even if the enemy doesn’t know the magical password to the secret tunnel, if they have enough power, they could break in.”

“I’ll request funding for the secret passage improvements.”

“Let’s get it from the reserves.”

The Second Prince stood up. He planned to inspect various parts of Crown Hall that day. Not for the safety of the Imperial citizens… He was intensely missing her today, so he had come out hoping to refresh his memories.

From Noble mtl dot com

The Second Prince thought that someone should commend him for his self-restraint in not riding his purple magical horse. Preferably, it should be a woman with black hair and blue eyes.

————-

The Second Prince walked through Crown Hall.

The city was bustling. A war was going on at the border, but the Imperial Capital was nothing but affluent and beautiful. The citizens were busy, each tending to their own work.

Prince Irid adjusted the hood that covered his hair. Before he had experienced dimensional travel, he had worn his blonde hair prominently, basking in the admiration of the citizens. Everyone kneeled before the royal bloodline.

He wanted to reconfirm his worth that way.

“Second Prince, would you like something to eat?”

Bodyguard Agency Officer C exhibited quick thinking. Being an analyst was a profession that thrived on acute observation, so at the end of her multi-faceted calculations, she suggested they should have lunch at a perfect time.

Glancing around, the Second Prince pointed his chin towards a café with a clear view of the church spire.

“Let’s go there.”

“Yes, understood. Should we ask the customers there to leave?”

“No, it’s alright.”

The corners of Officer C’s eyes crinkled in surprise. The former Second Prince would have naturally flaunted his authority, which was the right thing to do in the empire. Between the Prince and ordinary citizens, there was an insurmountable gap.

However, the current Second Prince knew how to look at the world from a lower position. He had scrupulously checked even the points in dark alleyways during his inspection, places where the guards’ touch couldn’t reach.

The original stance would be to firmly assert ‘we should empty the café due to fear of assassination, for the royal family’s safety,’ or say, ‘The empire runs perfectly well without you paying attention to such minor details.’

But being an analyst from humble circumstances working for the Guard Agency, she found it gratifying to see a noble person genuinely understand and worry about the lower classes. She was ready to forgive the Second Prince even if he said, “You pay for the coffee.”

————-

Two coffees and a well-baked madeleine.

The kitchen’s head chef had found himself rooted to the spot when he glimpsed blonde hair under the Second Prince’s hoodie. And analyst C shot pleading glances from behind her expressionless mask, saying “You need to eat first so I can…”

But the Second Prince paid no attention to such external events, propping his chin in his hand, gazing out the window. The church spire was a place he would never forget, even if he wanted to.

“…”

The grappling gun, hugging each other, we flew in the sky.

Pondering upon the most beautiful time of the second prince, the memories just keep extending, one tail biting onto the other. What happened before we flew through the sky with the grappling gun?

And so, Centra had embraced him. The weight he felt on his chest and stomach … the moving sensation he felt from the clinging suit.

“… It wasn’t intentional.”

Without realizing it, Irid spat out those words. It was a mumble no one could know whom it was addressed to, a justification that would never reach her.

“Now that it’s come to this, justifying my gaze is inevitable … or rather, an excuse. If it was unpleasant, I should have apologized in advance, I suppose …”

C, having waited for about 25 minutes, decided to finish eating alone and proceeded to do so.

————-

The stables were clean and well-maintained. The owner of the stables came out barefooted to greet them and the second prince told him to pay no mind, as he wanted to look around alone.

Irid gazed blankly at the stack of hay. Only two of them snuck inside, holding their breaths and warding off pursuers.

He remembered the promise he made with her.

Irid raised his little finger. The promise that if they ever met again, call out his name.

But, what did it mean?

C, observing the second prince, who was absent-mindedly staring at the stack of hay, initiates a conversation.

“Are you … reminiscing someone?”

“Yes, someone who I can’t see anymore.”

“Do you want to provide any physical descriptions, Prince? We might be able to find out if there are any relatives or family.”

“… Is that so. There was a way to bestow riches upon my family.”

Even if a period of 100 years separates them, the blood of Centra should still continue. He might even be able to find her distant ancestors.

As he recollected her appearance, Irid spoke.

“She had long eyelashes and blue eyes. So blue and refreshing as if they contained a broad sea. Her hair was black and long enough to cover half her back.”

“…By any chance, was her black hair mixed with a bit of blue?”

“Indeed, but…”

“I’m not sure if it’s the same person…but I know someone who matches the description.”

C had an inkling and plucked out the past. It was an incident that he had reported himself. The location was also coincidentally the same.

“It’s a person who was listed in the Dangerous Individual Report of the Defense Agency. A person who only sold conversations in Rosaria chamber, known by the name Heart. Her identification name was the Woman of Fantasy.”

“… Is there any remaining portrait?”

“Yes. Many painters have left portraits. I’m sure, there must be some portraits left in Rosaria too.”

“Can I see it?”

“Yes.”

Erid and C made their way upstream, once again headed towards ‘Rosaria’.

————-

“……”

Erid stood silently in front of the portrait of Hart.

He vividly remembered Centra’s facial features. Comparing Hart and Centra, they bore such a striking resemblance that one could hardly believe they were distant ancestors.

If they were in fact the same person.

She must have sought out a dimensional mage. Didn’t she mention it herself, without saying it out loud? There was a genius mage at the Purple Tower who had restored dimensional magic. Through that magic, she claimed to have transcended time.

With some undisclosed sacrifice… she must have performed the dimensional magic. To meet Erid. If so, why didn’t she seek him out directly? Why use the pseudonym ‘Hart’?

After crossing over to the past through dimensional travel, Centra must have grappled with a dilemma.

Now, whether it was ‘before Erid experienced the dimensional travel’ or ‘after Erid went through it,’ she could not be sure. The imperial family and the young knight, fearing an uproar over dimensional magic, had kept the restoration of it at the Purple Tower a secret.

She could find no rumor that ‘the Second Prince had experienced dimensional travel’.

If it was ‘before Erid experienced the dimensional travel,’ revealing the name Centra would be poisonous. If Erid were to learn about Centra in advance… the future would change.

Because the Erid who had undergone dimensional travel would have been an Erid ‘unfamiliar with Centra’.

If she couldn’t approach or summon him, she would have to wait. At an inn, a place laden with their shared memories. At the old tavern ‘Rosaria’, waiting for love, under the assumed name ‘Hart’.

Praying he would notice, come to her, and call out her name.

And so, three years passed. Finally, when Erid did not come, as time ran out, she must have returned. Back to her own world, to the future.

She had come searching. Searching for herself.

————-

Erid staggered up to the third floor.

There, was Centra’s room. It was also where Hart had stayed.

He opened the door. The interior was the same. A small room, a bed taking up a corner of the space, a modest desk, writing paper. An assortment of books. And, a single empty vase.

Her fragrance was absent.

He had to be certain. The current innkeeper’s choice to retain the interior of the very room Hart had stayed in was exactly the same as it would be 100 years in the future. The only changes were the variety of books and the empty vase.

She had come for him.

Thud, thud. His heart seemed to shake his entire body with its pounding. Erid was trembling. The surging emotions felt as if they might shatter his heart and burst out, and to withstand it, he clenched his teeth.

In the small room, too cramped for even a table to be unfolded, Erid carefully sat down on the bed. Here, he and she had sat side by side.

He remembered.

Centra had rested her head on Erid’s shoulder. The pleasing weight was felt, and happiness melted into him. In silence, the two communicated through the exchange of body heat, their weight, the ambiance and scents, and their spirits.

He remembered. The promise.

“If we ever meet again, would you call out my name?”

I had remembered.

Irid, gazing at the vase atop the desk, kept the belated promise.

“…Centra.”

No reply came.

Irid buried their face in their hands and wept.

Rain began to fall.

It seemed like it would never stop…