Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 77

For a brief second, the maid’s face seemed to flicker, as if the image were unstable. Beneath the polite smile, there was emptiness. It was not the emptiness of a calm servant who knew her place. It was hollow, like a mask with nothing behind it. The eyes did not move with warmth. They only reflected light. The garden around them felt thinner, as if the roses and the sky were painted on fragile glass.

Sara felt a chill move down her spine, yet she did not step back. Instead, she slowly reached forward and took the cup of tea from the tray. The porcelain felt warm in her hands. The heat seeped into her fingers and traveled up her arm. The scent rising from the cup was soft and sweet, almost inviting. She held it near her lips but did not drink at once. A strange feeling settled in her chest. It felt as though the tea was more than tea. It felt like a key. Like the turning of a page in a book that had already been written.

If she drank it, something would change. The garden would not remain the same. The prince would not simply arrive and take her away while she stood still. The tea was not a trap in the usual sense. It was a passage. A quiet agreement to continue.

Sara looked at the maid one last time. The empty smile remained. The garden was silent. Even the birds had stopped singing.

She raised the cup and drank.

The liquid was warm and smooth. It tasted faintly of honey and something bitter beneath it. As soon as she swallowed, the world twisted. The roses blurred. The sunlight shattered into streaks of gold and white. The ground beneath her feet vanished. Her vision spun as if she had been dropped into deep water.

Her eyes swirled with light.

When she opened them again, the movement had stopped.

She was sitting upright.

The gentle rocking of a carriage surrounded her. The sound of wheels turning over stone reached her ears. The air smelled faintly of leather and polished wood. For a moment, she did not understand where she was.

Then she looked down.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She was wearing a white gown.

It was not the blue engagement gown from the garden. This dress was pure white, layered with delicate lace and fine silk. The sleeves were long and embroidered with silver patterns that shimmered in the light. The skirt spread around her in soft waves. A veil covered her face, thin and light, falling from the top of her head down past her shoulders.

A wedding gown.

Her hands trembled slightly as she touched the fabric.

The carriage continued to move at a steady pace. Through the small front mirror mounted inside the carriage, she could see her reflection. The veil blurred her features, but she could still make out her own eyes staring back at her. They looked uncertain. Quiet.

She was not alone.

Beside her sat the prince.

Her body stiffened at once.

Memories rushed into her mind without warning. The month she had spent in the royal manor after the engagement. The sharp tone of his voice. The way he had spoken to her when no one else was present. The coldness in his eyes. The pressure of expectations. The humiliation she had swallowed in silence because she had no power to refuse.

Her hands grew cold despite the warm carriage.

Slowly, carefully, she turned her head toward him.

He was dressed in formal royal attire. His coat was deep white trimmed with gold. A small crest of the royal family was pinned near his chest. His hair was neatly combed back. His posture was straight but relaxed.

He was looking out of the carriage window.

For a few seconds, he did not notice her gaze. His eyes were fixed on the horizon beyond the road. There was no impatience in his expression. No arrogance. His face looked calm.

Then he turned toward her.

He smiled.

It was not the sharp smile she remembered. It was soft. Gentle. Almost shy.

"I hope the ride is not too uncomfortable," he said quietly. His voice was warm and even. "The road is uneven in some parts, but the horizon makes it easier to bear."

Sara blinked.

She did not respond at once. Her mind struggled to connect the man in front of her with the one from her memories.

"The horizon?" she repeated softly.

He nodded and glanced back toward the window.

"Looking at the horizon," he said, "Makes me feel at peace. It reminds me the world is bigger than the castle walls and bigger than my job. It helps me breathe."

Sara stared at him in silence.

This was not how he used to speak. The prince she knew had spoken of power, status, and control. He had complained about the burdens of the throne and blamed others for his frustrations. He had treated her like a piece placed on a board for strategy.

Yet the man sitting beside her now seemed different.

"I thought you disliked long journeys," Sara said carefully.

He gave a small laugh, soft and honest.

"I used to," he admitted. "But I learned that I disliked them because I felt trapped by expectation. When I stopped fighting it, I began to notice small things. The sky. The fields. The quiet between thoughts."

His gaze returned to her, steady but not demanding.

"I hope we can find that quiet together," he said.

Sara’s chest tightened.

They were alone in the carriage. There were no servants inside. No guards listening. There was no reason for him to pretend kindness for an audience.

She studied his face closely. There was no flicker of cruelty. No hidden sharpness. His eyes looked clear.

"Are you nervous?" he asked gently.

Sara hesitated.

"Yes," she answered truthfully.

He nodded as if that answer pleased him.

"I am as well," he said. "Marriage is not a small thing. It is not only a contract between families. It is a choice to walk beside someone for the rest of your life. I hope I can be worthy of you."

Her breath faltered.

Worthy of her.

Those words had never left his mouth before.

She remembered the prince who had criticized her posture, her tone, her silence. The one who had told her that a noble woman must obey without question. The one whose anger had flared easily when she failed to meet his standards.

Yet here, in this carriage, he spoke with patience.

"People change," he said suddenly, as if sensing her doubt. "Sometimes we are foolish in youth. Sometimes we hurt others without understanding why. I wish to be better."

Sara felt a strange conflict inside her. If this version of him were real, then her suffering would not exist. The humiliation would not exist. The cold nights in the royal manor would not exist.

If this prince had always been like this, perhaps she would not have feared marriage.

The carriage slowed slightly as it passed over rougher stone. The movement caused her veil to shift gently. The prince reached out without thinking and adjusted it carefully so it would not cover her eyes.

His touch was light. Respectful.

"Do not be afraid," he said softly. "Whatever happens after today, I will protect you."

The words echoed in her mind.

Protect.

In her waking world, Edward had been the one who changed everything through force. Through blood. Through strength. He had torn apart the old order so that she could breathe.

In this dream, protection came in another form. Gentle. Kind. Peaceful.

For a moment, Sara allowed herself to imagine it.

A life in the palace where the prince treated her with respect. A life where she was not insulted behind closed doors. A life where she could walk beside him without fear. The kingdom would be stable. The Vistro name would remain respected. There would be no need for violence.

Her heart wavered.

Was this the good future the dream elixir had chosen to show her? Was this what her mood had shaped?

The prince continued speaking about small things. He talked about the sky being clearer today than usual. He mentioned that he had ordered her favorite flowers to be placed in the royal garden. He spoke about visiting the coastal cliffs one day after their wedding, saying that the sound of the waves calmed him more than anything else.

His voice remained gentle.

Sara lowered her gaze to her lap.

Her hands rested on the white fabric of her gown. They looked small against the layers of silk. She slowly turned her right palm upward.

For a second, she thought the light inside the carriage had changed.

Then she saw it.

There was a thin line of red across her palm.

At first it looked faint, almost like a shadow. Then the color deepened. A drop of blood formed at the center and began to spread slowly along the lines of her skin.

Her breath stopped.

The prince was still speaking about the horizon, unaware.

The blood did not drip onto the dress. It remained on her skin, bright and clear. It felt warm.

Sara stared at it.

In that moment, she understood something simple and sharp.

No matter how kind this version of the prince appeared, no matter how peaceful the carriage ride felt, something beneath the surface was wounded.

The dream was not clean.

Her hand trembled slightly as the red color grew more vivid against her pale skin.

The carriage continued forward.

The prince smiled gently beside her.

And Sara could not look away from the blood in her palm.