"Rita."
The very moment Maxwell uttered the name of his love, the rhythm of his heartbeat cranked up a notch, and his pulse danced.
In the next moment, the warm memories that clung to that name rushed into his head, flowing like a never-ending stream.
The blue-haired young man smiled. He smiled wide, clenching the chest area of his chest in a bid to quell that rapidly echoing drum.
With his wide, almost crazed smile, a series of heavy breathing followed because, for the first time, the weight of it all dawned on him.
This was the reason he had rebelled against fate, the Guardians, the High Celestial Elders and even the Celestial King.
All to return to this moment that he could only daydream of in the past. That he could only imagine.
The wyvern hunter's brows furrowed, and he stepped an inch backward, scrunching his nose like the man in front of him was more disgusting than the blood smeared all over his clothes and armor.
"Uh… Maxwell? Are you okay?" The hunter asked, genuinely worried now.
Just then, Maxwell blinked, realizing the undignified state of his stature.
The blue-eyed youth cleared his throat, straightening his back and adjusting his overall posture.
"Well, yes. I'm okay." Maxwell smiled. "More than okay, in fact."
The wyvern hunter also cleared his throat, letting out a soft sigh.
"Great." He uttered, scratching the back of his head as he gazed back at the collapsed wyvern. "Now we have to get that thing to the mercenary guild."
Maxwell, with slightly widened eyes, gazed at the fallen wyvern.
"That beast? Why, though?"
To this question, the wyvern hunter frowned.
"What do you mean by why? Don't you remember?"
Maxwell chuckled, shaking his head.
"I'm having issues recalling some things."
"Is this your way of avoiding the tedious duty of packaging the wyvern corpse? Because if it is, then it's not working." The man frowned. "I'm definitely not doing it all by myself. You begged me to come along with you for this hunt, wanting to impress the guild master and all for a rank-up. Why are you trying to ba–"
Maxwell walked forward, ignoring the ranting hunter. Or mercenary, as he called himself.
'I see,' Maxwell thought, walking toward the corpse. 'My mercenary days, huh.'
"Did you just… ignore me?" The wyvern hunter asked with a weak, dumbfounded voice.
'It's all coming back to me.'
Maxwell, standing just in front of the wyvern corpse, crouched and calmly accessed the skin of the dead creature with keen eyes.
Then, after some thought, he turned to the wyvern hunter, smiling.
"Vin, was it?"
Vin, the wyvern hunter, widened his eyes. A look of apparent confusion surfaced on the man's expression.
Of course, he was already aware that Maxwell knew his name. After all, he'd introduced himself to the blue-haired youth a couple of weeks back.
The cause of Vin's confusion — or surprise — wasn't Maxwell uttering his name without any honorifics, but the tone with which the young man had said it.
See, the man had noticed the sudden change in Maxwell's temperance as well.
The way in which the young man walked and even talked differed in every way from earlier.
And as absurd as it sounded, Maxwell's new, unnaturally calm tone demanded respect. He spoke like one who'd seen all the highs and lows that Cryst had to offer.
Vin's mind replayed the feat that Maxwell had performed earlier, how he effortlessly took down a wyvern with one shot, without even chanting like the normal low-circle mage he was…
The wyvern hunter subconsciously held his breath as he stared at the regressed god.
Maxwell, however, was simply ignorant of the man's contemplations. He simply raised a brow.
"Well?"
The wyvern hunter blinked, nodding as he finally breathed out.
"Yes. Vin. That's my name."
Maxwell, seemingly satisfied with the man's answer, closed his eyes and nodded solemnly as he stood up.
"Good. Now look, Vin. I cannot sully my hands with the corpse of that low-tier," He looked down at the dead wyvern. "Thing."
Vin's eyes widened.
"Low-tier? A wyvern?" Vin whispered. A trace of fury spun in his deep gaze. And his lips parted to spit out an enraged retort.
But the angered mercenary calmed down as he caught a glimpse of the faint blue light that shone in Maxwell's eyes.
A subtle chill ran over Vin's body as he felt the overwhelming weight of a pressure that disappeared almost immediately.
Vin's fingers trembled slightly.
As a retired warrior turned mercenary, he recognized that pressure. The pressure of intent.
Vin bit his lips, lowering his head as he clenched his trembling fists.
Seeing Vin's resigned posture, Maxwell's eyes lit up, and he smiled.
"I'm glad you understand," he motioned toward Vin and paused, tapping his shoulder. "I'm the one who did the real killing, after all. And when you do get the reward from the mercenary guild, be sure to keep my share."
With that said, Maxwell walked away from Vin.
'Initially, my memories were blurry as it'd been eons since I last saw this place. But luckily, the memories of Rita that played through my mind stirred up the most of my memories,'
Maxwell pondered as he stepped out of the fields where grass was replaced by cobblestone.
The cool, natural and soothing breeze that blew in the fields suddenly ceased, replaced by an air that felt almost unclean to Maxwell.
The air of the city.
"Ludia." He murmured, staring at the bustling city.
The young mage took in a deep breath, chest inflating. Then, he breathed out.
Although the air in the city of Ludia was 'unclean,' it was still an air that Maxwell missed.
And so, as he took a step on the cobblestone of the city, filled with tenements of mundane, medieval-looking buildings on either side of the street, Maxwell couldn't help but smile.
Even the warm scent of baked bread, the loud noises of kids and adults alike, and the occasional high-rise, deemed spire buildings that towered above the tenements, it was just like he remembered.
But as the young man took several steps into the city, he paused.
'Where am I supposed to go again? Where did I live at this time? Wait, this is when I just got thrown away from my noble house, right? So that means I didn't have any residence at this point!'
Maxwell facepalmed. And he'd left Vin, that young man, alone there. Now he felt kind of bad… that he didn't ask Vin the direction of the mercenary guild before leaving.
"The mercenary guild gave me a place to stay. That was why I registered and tried hard to rank up for years to gain more perks, until I gathered enough money and tried to settle down with Rita, but even that didn't last…"
Of course! Now, faced with the reality of his situation, the memories came in bulk.
At this time, he hadn't yet met Rita. He hadn't even yet met Malin or any of his trusted allies.
In fact, he was still a struggling low-circle water mage who got kicked out of his noble house for being a good-for-nothing, and he was just trying to find a stable footing in this damned medieval world.
So it meant Rita was still trapped in that cage of a house, pretending to endure the countless pains she had to suffer.
It meant, at this point, Rita was still the daughter of a Marquis.
Maxwell suddenly halted in the middle of the street.
Passersby, both the ones walking on foot and the ones riding in wooden wagons or carriages, stared at the lone, dignified, noble-looking man who stood in the middle of the streets, seemingly in deep thought while clenching his fists.
Maxwell exhaled.
"Not this time, though." He murmured, smirking. "This time I have enough knowledge and strength to protect what's dear to me."
The noble man raised his hands, rolling his wrists as he closed his eyes.
This attracted the attention of the passersby:
"What's that young sire doing?"
"I have no idea."
"Has he gone mad, m'lord?"
"Perhaps. Or maybe he's just…"
"A mage."
Maxwell felt the ambient mana in the atmosphere. It had been a while since he dealt with this mortal energy.
No, not even a while. It had been eons. Divinity was what he was used to.
And for a mage like him, divinity could only be achieved once a few criteria were met. One of which included having 10 circles — the conduits of a mage's bodily mana. The battery.
Currently on Cryst, the highest, strongest mage, Archmage, was an 8th circle, as the realm of 9-circles was only a myth to the people.
Maxwell eventually scanned the mana in his body, different from the ambient mana in the atmosphere. The mana in his body had a soft, drifting element. The water element.
He then felt the rings revolving around his heart.
Two blue rings.
He opened his eyes, and his eyeballs glowed a blue hue.
'Pathetically weak.'
'Well, I've been feeling like I still have my divine authorities with me ever since I regressed. It might be possible since they're linked with my soul. But they'll be severely weakened as this body lacks divinity. Mana will have to suffice.'
"Hooo." Maxwell exhaled, closing his eyes.
'Let's see.'
Suddenly, the world around Maxwell seemed to still and pause as he tapped into his soul, whispering:
"Frilo."