OFR 01

1. I hope you live a long, long life! Please!

When she clutched her stomach and coughed, a lump of blood surged up her throat. Edna turned her head to spit it out, then wiped her sticky lips with the back of her hand.

The gray sky was just beginning to brighten. She had once joked that even if she couldn’t stay up all night to party, she could at least stay up all night to fight. Turns out, people really shouldn’t joke about such things. Shaking her head, Edna looked straight ahead.

Before her stood a great longsword still dripping with hot blood — most of it her own. She frowned and lifted her head. He was standing there, his face twisted as if he might cry at any moment.

“You idiot!”

Her voice came out rough, as if it had been scraped with sandpaper, full of bitter mockery. She had lost her family, lost the war, and now was on the brink of death — she was the one who should be crying, so why did he look like that?

As time passed, she no longer even had the strength to sit. Edna toppled sideways to the ground, her body slowly growing cold. She saw him drop to his knees beside her. She didn’t have the energy to argue, but still! Edna mustered her last strength and shouted,

“I’ll die on my own, so get lost!”

To her irritation, her voice came out no louder than a mosquito’s buzz. Her head fell back, and at that very moment, a warm droplet fell silently onto her face.

A tear.

Ha! Could this man be any more ridiculous?

When she forced her eyes open, she saw him kneeling beside her, tears streaming down his face — not just a few tears, either. Maybe big men cried in proportion to their size, because it looked like water was pouring out of his eyes.

Anyone who saw this would think the love of his life just died. Unbelievable.

Time crept by. Her stubborn life refused to end. She almost wished she’d lose consciousness, but for some reason, even with her blood pooling beneath her, her mind stayed painfully clear.

Then she felt him gently take her hand.

What are you doing, idiot?

She tried to glare at him with cold eyes, but even that was too hard.

“Edna.”

Now he was sniffling beside her. Even as her consciousness faded, Edna couldn’t tell what annoyed her more — that she was dying, or that the man she hated most, Duke Ian Lombardi, was bawling like a child beside her.

Edna Whiteger was slowly dying. Her breath would stop any moment. Ian clasped her blood-caked, ruined hand. Normally she’d have yelled, “Are you insane?!” and shaken him off, but now she couldn’t even open her eyes. Tears blurred his vision until he couldn’t see at all. He wiped them away roughly.

“Edna.”

He wished he could die instead. That was why he had fought with the sword turned backward — he didn’t want to hurt her. He hadn’t wanted to fight her at all. If one of them had to die, he had always thought it should be him. If he could die by her blade, he’d have closed his eyes in peace.

“Edna Whiteger!”

Ian shouted. His horse neighed in fear somewhere in the distance.

Why did it happen like this?

It had happened in an instant. He had parried her sword with the flat of his blade and let his guard down for a second. Maybe even in that moment, he’d been distracted by how beautiful her golden hair shone, even in this hellish battlefield.

But then, something about her movement was strange. Her confident smile was the same as always — but she came so close, so fast, almost as if she were running toward him. Ian froze. He knew Edna. He knew she’d never— he thought he knew.

But that smile — that bright, dazzling smile she had never shown him before — was so beautiful it made him lose all sense of reality. He just stood there, staring blankly, sword in hand. The moment lasted no longer than a blink.

Ian Lombardi jerked his sword back in shock — too late. The next instant, Edna Whiteger’s body collapsed sideways. If he had stayed still, the wound might not have been so bad. But by pulling the sword back, he had only torn her stomach wider.

Blood poured over her silver armor. Ian pressed his hand over the wound, and Edna chuckled weakly.

“Idiot. You think that’ll stop the bleeding?”

Her words sounded detached, as if she were telling some unrelated story. Even as blood spilled from her belly and her face grew pale, she joked as though none of it mattered.

“When I’m dead, don’t bother recovering the body. Don’t draw the Crown Prince’s attention. But don’t trust that bastard too much, either.”

Even as she spoke, she felt embarrassed.

Listen to me talking — hypocrite much?

She had given everything — heart, soul, loyalty — to that bastard, and now she was dying for it. The man crying beside her was just a supporting actor. The true villain of this farce was the Crown Prince. Once she was dead, her family would vanish from imperial history, branded as traitors. But what did it matter? The dead don’t care.

Her blood flowed faster. Cold seeped in, her consciousness dimmed. If only that sniveling man beside her weren’t crying so loudly, maybe she could’ve died in peace — smiled one last time and left this miserable world with dignity. But no, not in this lifetime.

“Edna! Edna!”

If she had even a little strength left, she had a dozen things she’d like to scold him for. But this was it — her story ended here. Edna Whiteger finally closed her eyes. With one soft sigh of relief, she surrendered.

“Goodbye, Ian Lombardi.”

Why was her final farewell to him — the man she’d hated — and not to the Crown Prince she had loved for half her life? Life truly made no sense.

“You idiot! How many times is this now? It’s not like I gave you some impossible task!”

The god looked deeply exasperated.

Well, excuse me!

Edna wasn’t exactly speechless either; she frowned. This was not the kind of god she’d imagined.

“It was a simple condition! So simple! You’re not that stupid, but how do you manage to mess it up every single time? Be honest! You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

The god looked like a miniature version of Ian Lombardi — same golden eyes — but spoke with her tone of voice. Coincidence, surely.

Scratching her head, Edna muttered, “Why would I do it on purpose? It’s the same every time — I’m reborn, I forget everything. What am I supposed to do?”

“So if I fix that little memory problem, you can do it right this time?”

Instead of answering, Edna just stared blankly at the childlike god. Only after dying did she remember everything — that she’d lived this same life over and over. Each time, she fought Ian Lombardi. Each time, one or both of them died. Then it all reset.

“Hey! Answer me! If I fix that, can you do it right?”

Who knows. Life wasn’t that simple. She’d never wanted to fight Ian. She’d never truly hated him. It was just fate.

“Hey!”

Good grief! Maybe it was sacrilege to think so, but this god was as annoying as Ian himself. Edna picked her ear and frowned.

“Look, if it doesn’t work after this many tries, maybe it’s just not meant to be. You’re God — just change our fates! Why keep sending us back with the same cursed setup?”

“Fate is something you have to change.”

The god glared at her.

“That’s your job. I can’t interfere.”

“Why not?”

Edna was genuinely curious. What could be impossible for a god?

“Because it’s not allowed.”

The god’s face fell solemn. Then, looking up again, they fixed her with an intense stare.

“You must change fate yourselves. Remember this — this time, you’ll remember everything. But it’s the last chance. If you fail again, you, Ian, and I will all disappear.”

The god’s golden eyes gleamed with resolve.

“Neither of you can die this time. Not you, not Ian. It’s simple!”

Edna looked at them with a deadpan expression. Simple? They were destined to be enemies from birth.

“This is all I can do. Don’t die, understand? I mean it — don’t die some stupid, tragic death. Grow old, have kids, and die peacefully. Got it?”

That’s been my wish all along, you know, dear god.

Edna sighed inwardly.

“This time, please succeed! There won’t be another! Go now!”

The god patted her hand with a strangely familiar warmth and smiled. The more she looked, the more that face resembled Ian’s.

“Go! This is the last time! Do it right!”

With a snap of their fingers, Edna’s body began to rise. She shouted in panic,

“Can’t you just have us born separately? Why do we have to live in the same country, same era, just to kill each other again? Come on, just separate us!”

“No! You must stay together!”

The god’s refusal was absolute. Talking to them was like talking to Ian — infuriatingly stubborn.

“Then one of us will die again. Me or Ian.”

She muttered the words, and the god’s expression twisted in desperation. A god, begging! Was this really a divine being?

“No! Please, not this time! This is the last one! I can’t do it anymore! I’m begging you — live a long, long life! Please!”

The god waved their hands like swatting away a bug. The distance between them grew until the god became just a white speck in the void. Edna had no time to protest further.

A white light burst before her eyes. She knew this feeling — she was going back again.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!