The Regressor’s Heavenly Shadow (Cheonang) was surprisingly rechargeable. After a battle, the wind and space it consumed needed to be gathered again. The exact mechanics behind it were unclear, but one thing was certain: the Regressor always required a short period of rest following a fight.

Now, combining this with his reconnaissance efforts atop the Golden Ark, the Regressor descended back into the cabin. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he addressed Peru.

“Are we sure this thing is going in the right direction? There’s no one steering it, and it’s not moving in a straight line either. The direction seems to subtly shift as it goes.”
“…The Golden Ark always follows the compass. It’s heading toward the Golden Mirror.”
“How is that even possible?”
“…How?”

Peru appeared flustered as she tried to organize her thoughts in response to the Regressor’s curiosity.

‘The Golden Ark’s infinite tracks operate on a substitution movement system. The closer it gets to land recently visited by the Golden Mirror, the slower the substitution speed becomes, causing those tracks to move more sluggishly. As a result, the rear of the Golden Ark subtly tilts toward the Golden Mirror. When the Golden Mirror’s spatial-temporal coordinates are transposed onto the Heat Nation’s map, its current position becomes the peak point, and the Ark’s trajectory is adjusted accordingly to head in that direction….’

Her internal explanation was comprehensive—internally, at least.

‘…But I can’t explain all that properly. Even if I tried, I doubt they’d understand. Forget it.’

So, you’re just going to skip explaining because you think we won’t get it? I couldn’t tell if that was modesty or arrogance. Regardless, Peru cut her explanation short.

“…This, too, is the majesty of the Golden Mirror.”
“Ah, right. All Juggernauts were made by the Golden Mirror. I suppose that makes sense, then.”

‘Wait, that worked?’

It wasn’t modesty or arrogance—it was just a spot-on judgment. After all, the Regressor wasn’t the type to strive to understand every mystery; he was content to simply accept them.

Satisfied, the Regressor shrugged off his coat and slumped onto a sofa.

“Thanks for letting us stay here. Is there enough space and facilities to accommodate us?”
“…No problem. I made them just now.”
“Oh, right. This is the Heat Nation. Got it. We’ll take you up on that for a while—”

As the Regressor leaned back into the sofa, his gaze landed on a table in front of him. It was as if there were a mirror placed between two identical figures sitting at the tea table. There sat Tirkanjaka, her silver hair cascading to her back, and another Tirkanjaka gazing intently at the Regressor.

Two Tirkanjakas.

The Regressor finally realized something was amiss.

‘Aaah! Wh-what?! Two Tirkanjakas?!’

The Regressor’s qi technique, Cheonban-gyeong, forcibly suppressed his emotional upheaval, maintaining an outward façade of calm. While anyone else might have panicked, the Regressor managed to rationalize the situation, forming a hypothesis.

‘Wait, right. Hilde uses transformation magic. One of them must be her. Jeez, almost got me!’

Feigning composure, he spoke.

“Hilde’s transformation magic, huh?”

Outwardly, he appeared unshaken, prompting the faux-Tir to respond in an irritated tone from her crimson lips.

“Did it take you this long to notice? How dull can you be?”
“Such a lackluster reaction, too. It’s almost disappointing how little fun you are.”

The two spoke in unison, as if they were sisters perfectly in sync. Clearly, one of them was Hilde, but the Regressor bristled at their coordinated mockery.

“That’s my line! What’s with the prank? What are you up to, Hilde?”

“There was some talk about how great Hilde’s transformation skills are. Since we’ll be traveling together, it seemed like a good opportunity to test her abilities.”
“And it’s also a great way to liven up the monotony of the journey. Isn’t it a delightful diversion?”

“To the victim, it’s just a lousy prank.”

The Regressor sighed, then began comparing Tir and the impostor.

Both had luminous silver hair, translucent skin as if drained of color, and unnervingly vibrant red eyes. Their slender necklines and finely shaped features were identical. The Regressor couldn’t help but click his tongue inwardly.

‘Masters of qi can manipulate every aspect of their body, but this is absurd! Reducing bones, compressing the body, and changing hair color, skin tone, and even voice? What a waste of qi. If she focused on combat instead, she’d be way stronger!’

What could he do? That was how Hilde’s power had developed in the first place. Without it, she wouldn’t have even reached her current level.

Tir smirked and taunted him. “Well? Can you figure it out?”
“Take your time. We have plenty of it.”

The two laughed in unison as the Regressor stewed, unable to differentiate them. He grumbled, “Figuring out the real one should be easy. Tirkanjaka uses blood magic and commands the darkness.”

“Of course, such abilities are off-limits. It’d be too easy otherwise.”
“Besides, Hilde is quite adept with blood magic herself. Look at this skin. If she couldn’t manipulate blood magic, how could she imitate such pallor?”

The faux-Tir gently caressed the real Tir’s cheek, prompting a soft laugh from her. The impostor rested her chin on her hand, smiling. Their camaraderie was uncanny, almost unsettlingly friendly.

‘I can’t tell! They act and speak so alike—can this really just be acting?’

Despite his outward calm, the Regressor’s mind was a whirlwind of frustration. Even Cheonban-gyeong couldn’t unravel this puzzle. But instead of conceding, the Regressor’s stubbornness flared.

‘I can’t leave this unsolved. If I don’t figure out Hilde now, I might fail to recognize her in future loops. She’s one of the few constants across my regressions, and I’ll have to deal with her eventually.’

Determined, he brought his hand to his forehead, activating the Seven-Color Eyes (Chilsangan), which allowed him to perceive all forms of energy. He fully intended to cheat his way to an answer.

But I interjected, “Excuse me, Regressor. Are you seriously using the Seven-Color Eyes for this?”
“So what if I am? It’s a skill!”

Unfortunately for him, even the Seven-Color Eyes couldn’t fully penetrate the disguise. Hilde had perfectly replicated the real Tir’s aura.

‘There’s a difference. I can see it! But…!’

The problem was he didn’t know which difference marked the real Tirkanjaka.

Frustrated but undeterred, the Regressor tried a new tactic. “Let me ask one question.”

The faux-Tir smiled slyly. “Oh? You think one question will reveal the truth? Go ahead.”

With newfound confidence, the Regressor declared, “Tirkanjaka, what is your greatest wish?”

The faux-Tir chuckled. “Who are you asking? Be clear. The one answering second would have an unfair advantage, wouldn’t they?”
“You! You answer!”

The faux-Tir responded smoothly. “I have no wishes. They’ve already been fulfilled. However, there is still one task I must complete: to annihilate the Holy See.”

Her expression darkened, and her voice seethed with barely restrained fury.

“That is no wish, but a duty. Delayed by my lack of strength, but a task I shall inevitably fulfill. I will drag down the Celestials and desecrate every idol they revere. I will never forget.”

The sheer hatred in her tone made it clear this was no mere act. Only Tirkanjaka, progenitor of vampires, could express such visceral loathing for the Holy See.

‘That settles it,’ the Regressor thought. ‘That’s the real Tirkanjaka.’

“Okay, I’ve got it. That one’s the real Tirkanjaka. Now, drop the act.”

But to his dismay, both Tirs broke into amused smiles.

“Wrong. Better luck next time!”

The Regressor froze. “W-what? But—she said she had no wishes. That means she’s fulfilled them, right?”

Hilde, now back in her true form, laughed gleefully. “Fooled you, didn’t I? Of course, I didn’t say anything about fulfilling wishes. You assumed that on your own.”

The Regressor clenched his fists. “One more round! I’ll get it right this time!”

But deep down, he knew: as much as he learned about Hilde, she was learning just as much about him. And so the game continued.

"One more round!" the Regressor insisted, practically shouting now. "I’ll definitely get it right this time!"

“Isn’t that exactly what you said last time?” Hilde teased, smirking as she crossed her arms. “But go ahead. Let’s see how well you do now that you think you know my ‘quirks.’”

‘I’ve figured out her tells,’ the Regressor thought confidently. ‘It’s in the subtle shifts of her aura—things you wouldn’t notice unless you had the Seven-Color Eyes. I got confused because it was Tirkanjaka she was mimicking, but next time… I’ll know.’

While the Regressor brimmed with overconfidence, I couldn’t help but think he should be cautious. After all, just as he was observing Hilde, Hilde was undoubtedly doing the same to him. And knowing Hilde, she’d already started adapting her tactics.

Of course, for the Regressor, there was always the ultimate fallback: regress and try again in the next timeline.

Meanwhile, in the corner, Peru, who had been silently observing the entire scene, suddenly clasped her hands over her mouth, her face pale.

“...The progenitor? Did she just say progenitor?!”

Ah. I guess no one told her yet that Tirkanjaka was the progenitor of vampires. Well, better now than later. Time to clear that up.

“Yup, you heard right! Tirkanjaka is the progenitor of vampires, straight out of the legends. She’s not just any ordinary vampire—she’s the real deal!”

“...Thud.”

Peru fainted.

Well, that’s not entirely surprising. It had been quite a day for her.