Chapter 3: Ch3: Liliana Return
I wanted to run.
How could this be?
Was it really that cursed novel I got reincarnated into?
I didn’t want to believe it, but the groan from the injured Liliana proved me wrong.
"Ehm..." she whimpered, clutching her bleeding stomach, her eyes clenched in pain.
Her armor was destroyed—nothing but a torn black tunic with a spreading bloodstain, ripped trousers, and a broken belt remained.
If I were just some villager in this world, I might’ve felt pity for her. But as a reader, I knew the truth. The girl before me wasn’t ordinary. She was the strongest character in the story. For her to be injured like this... her enemy must’ve been terrifying.
I crept closer, my little hands shaking. Hunger clawed at me, my head spinning. Would this body collapse on me now of all times?
But then... I noticed something strange.
Liliana wasn’t as I remembered.
Not the legendary warrior, not the feared prodigy. She was... smaller.
Not exactly a child, but... a teenager.
Huh? She was supposed to be an adult. Why was I staring at a girl only a few years older than me?
"Uh... Who’s... there?"
Liliana’s eyes fluttered open, her voice weak. She tried to push herself up but collapsed again, groaning.
"Stay still!" I shouted, rushing to hold her shoulder. Of course, with these tiny hands, I might as well have been a kitten pawing at a lion.
Her gaze blurred. "Huh... who are you?"
The blood loss was too much; her vision was fading.
Think, Luther, think! I’m just a kid—I can’t do anything! I need an adult!
I turned to run, then bashed my forehead against the wall.
"Idiot! It’s the middle of the night. Where am I going to find anyone sane?"
Jobin? Mari? Forget it—the tavern’s full of drunkards.
No choice.
I pressed my hands against her wound. Pathetic as they were, maybe they could slow the bleeding.
That’s when I saw it.
A shimmer.
Liliana’s sword lay a few feet from her, the ruby gem embedded in its hilt glowing faintly.
Huh?
Oh, how could I forget!
He tore his blood covered hand free and stumbled toward the weapon. With both hands, he lifted it, staring at the gem that pulsed like a living heart.
From what he remembered in the novel Magic Crystals Reign Supreme, this world was one ruled by magic—but not the kind born within people. No one here was naturally gifted; every man and woman relied on magic gems.
The gems were everything. Forged into swords or gloves for warriors and crafted into cufflinks or necklaces for nobles, they were the measure of power and worth. For royals and those of high status, a gem wasn’t just an accessory—it was proof of supremacy.
But they were rare. Too rare. Only the wealthy could afford them. Commoners could only dream of owning such treasures.
And now, in his hands, pulsed one of those very gems.
I scrambled back, dragging the blade with both hands until I dropped it by her side.
Damn, the sword was so heavy.
How did she carry this around all the time?
I bent down and shoved the hilt into her hand. Using both of my tiny paws, I wrapped her fingers around it. Hoping it doesn’t fall off and hit my leg.
"I brought your sword! You can use it, right? Use it to heal yourself!"
She murmured, but Liliana’s eyelids sank shut again. Her head rolled. She was out cold.
Oh no.
I shook her desperately. Nothing.
Again. Still nothing.
Her skin grew darker.
Panic gnawed at me. I pressed harder on her wound, blood soaking my rags, stomach growling but ignored.
She couldn’t die. Not like this. Not before the story even began.
That’d be too cruel.
Liliana’s color drained further. My own chest tightened.
Tears welled.
"No... no no no!"
"Hello?! Anybody there?!"
"Please, someone help!"
"Someone’s dying!"
"PLEASE!"
My voice cracked, hoarse from crying. My fists pounded the ground, tears streaming down a child’s face I couldn’t control.
Damn this world!
A world where only gem holders can use magic. A world where everything depends on worthless stones.
Why did I even read that book?
Why did I care so much for these characters?
Why?
The sobs wouldn’t stop.
And then—
The world stilled.
The moon glowed brighter.
Shimmers of blue light appeared, blinking like fireflies. They drifted past houses, people, carts... as if drawn to me.
Drawn to my hand.
My crying stopped.
"...Magic?"
I stared as the glowing motes swirled around me, fusing into my palms.
No time to think. Liliana was fading.
I pressed my glowing hand into her wound.
And for the first time in my life—
I prayed.
"To whoever’s listening—whatever stupid god is watching..."
"HEAL HER!"
The mana erupted in a blinding light. The alley shook. Objects lifted into the air. The wind howled, dancing around me as if the world itself bowed to my will.
Liliana groaned, her eyes cracking open. She tried to see me—just for a moment—before fainting again.
The glow dimmed. The wind fell silent. The floating objects touched back down.
I gasped for breath, looking at her wound. It was healed.
I should’ve been happy. Relieved.
But terror gripped me instead.
Had I... healed her?
Without a magic gem?
My gaze darted from her to her sword, back to my trembling hands that still shimmered faintly with mana.
This wasn’t supposed to be possible.
I needed to hide. Fast.
Without checking further, I stumbled to my feet and bolted back into the tavern.
The door slammed shut behind me. My knees buckled.
I collapsed to the floor.
So... tired...
The world went dark.
---
Six Years Later
The evening sky burned a soft orange, streaked with violet as the sun sank beneath the rooftops. The streets below bustled with late night chatter, the clink of mugs, and the faint sound of a lute drifting from a tavern down the way.
Then. A blur.
A figure darted past, boots pounding against the cobblestone, the sound of his laughter trailing behind him. Two angry voices followed in hot pursuit.
"Stop right there, you brat!"
"You think you can run after pulling that stunt!?"
The blur came into focus as the runner slowed just enough to glance over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. His silver hair, now tied neatly into a short ponytail, shimmered in the fading light. A gray crystal glimmered on his left ear like an ornament. His brown boots and trousers were scuffed from the chase, but his cream colored shirt and short jacket gave him a surprisingly neat look for someone sprinting away with a heavy coin pouch.
He raised the bag high, the clinking of gold inside sharp enough to sting the ears of his pursuers.
"If you lot wanted to drink," he taunted, "did you seriously think it was free?"
The two men groaned, their anger boiling over as they lunged for him. One swung a wild fist, but the silver haired boy moved like water, ducking and twisting aside with an ease that looked almost lazy. In the same fluid motion, he drove an upper kick into the man’s jaw.
Crack.
The man dropped instantly, clutching his mouth as a couple of teeth clattered against the cobblestones. His companion rushed to his side, panic flashing across his face. He rounded on the boy with a snarl.
"You little bastard! You won’t get away with this!"
The boy only shrugged, tossing the coin bag into the air and catching it again. His eyes shimmered, which revealed it was Luther.
"If you try drinking for free again, it won’t be me who comes after you next time." His smirk deepened. "It’ll be Jobin himself."
At that, both men paled. Silence hung in the air before they muttered curses under their breath and backed away, dragging the injured man with them. Luther waved lazily, his boots carrying him back toward the glow of lanterns that marked Jobin’s tavern.
---
The bar was alive, as it always was in the evenings. Patrons filled every corner, their laughter and drunken shouts shaking the wooden walls. The scent of roasted meat and spilled ale lingered heavy in the air.
Mari weaved her way through the crowd, balancing a tray of food in one hand and a mug of mead in the other. Her navy blue hair, now tied into a bun, revealed a face that had grown sharper with age, though her mischievous smile hadn’t dulled one bit. The years of carrying trays and dealing with drunks had carved muscle into her arms, giving her the look of someone you’d think twice about trying to grope.
"Hey there, Mari!" one drunk called, raising his glass.
"Looking stunning as ever, girl!" another slurred, earning a round of laughter from his table.
Mari tilted her head, flashing them a playful wink without slowing her pace. She’d long since learned how to flirt back just enough to keep customers entertained—without letting them get any ideas.
She stopped at a table where a broad shouldered man and his wife sat waiting. Setting down the food with a flourish, Mari placed the mead mug just as the husband’s hand shot forward to grab it.
Clink!
A wooden spoon cracked against his knuckles, the wife holding it like a sword as she glared at him. "Eat first."
The man grumbled, rubbing his hand. Mari burst into laughter, earning a bashful giggle from the woman.
"Oh, Betty, I’ll never understand how you manage to keep him in line," Mari teased.
Betty, cheeks flushing, leaned closer with a conspiratorial smile. "You’re making me blush. Honestly, if you were a man, Mari, I’d marry you in a heartbeat."
The two women shared a laugh as Betty’s husband sulked. But then Betty’s eyes began to wander, scanning the room with curiosity.
"Looking for someone?" Mari asked knowingly, balancing the tray against her hip.
Betty nodded sheepishly.
"You won’t find him here," Mari said, smirking. "Luther went out on an errand. He’ll probably be back later—"
The door slammed open with a bang.
Luther stumbled inside, coin bag still swinging from his hand. The tavern roared in greeting as a handful of patrons called out his name. Mari pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, while Betty covered her mouth to hide her giggle. Her husband, seizing the distraction, sneaked a sip of mead—only to yelp as Betty smacked him on the head with her trusty spoon.
Luther cut through the laughter and greetings with a nod, making his way behind the counter and through the swinging door into the kitchen.
---
The scent of sawdust filled the backroom. Jobin stood over a block of wood, axe in hand, muscles flexing as he brought the blade down with a grunt. His hair, once dark, was streaked with gray now, and though he was older, his presence still carried the weight of a man not to be trifled with.
"Still hacking away at logs, old man?" Luther said, annoyed, as he strode forward. He grabbed the axe from Jobin before the man could raise it again.
Jobin’s eyes narrowed. "You’ve gotten cheeky."
"Sit down before your back breaks," Luther muttered, setting the axe aside.
Jobin chuckled deeply, then glanced at the coin pouch in Luther’s hand. "Well? Did you find them?"
In answer, Luther dropped the bag onto the table with a heavy thud.
Jobin grinned, weighing the pouch in his hand before opening it. Gold gleamed inside. His laugh echoed through the room. "Good work, boy."
He plucked out two coins and flicked them toward Luther.
Luther caught them, slipping them into his pocket with a frown. "All that trouble, and I only get two?"
Jobin smirked, leaning back. "Someone else pays me more than you do. And the funniest part is," he jabbed a finger at Luther, "it was me who took you to her in the first place."
Luther scowled. "You’re insufferable."
Jobin just laughed harder.
The kitchen door cracked open. Mari poked her head in, her usual teasing expression replaced by something tense. "Jobin," she said quietly. "There are knights here."
The room stilled.
Jobin and Luther exchanged a look, worry flashing between them, before they followed Mari back into the main hall.
The tavern had gone silent. Four royal guards stood at the door, their armor gleaming, swords at their sides. No one dared move. No one dared speak. The guards blocked both entrance and exit like a wall of steel.
Jobin stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "If you’ve come to eat, you’re welcome. What’s your order?"
The guards said nothing. The silence stretched—until a voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
"We didn’t come to eat."
The guards parted, revealing the figure who had spoken.
Luther froze.
Stepping into the light was a young woman he recognized instantly—not just from the world he lived in now, but from the pages of the story he had once read. Long hair, eyes that gleamed with authority, and a smirk that felt both confident and dangerous.
Liliana.
Not the injured girl he had once found in the alley.
Not the half broken child struggling to stay alive.
But the Liliana he knew from the novel.
Her gaze swept over the room, landing squarely on him. And when their eyes met, her smirk deepened.