MEBD 01

Chapter 01

Oath for the Dead

Berenice was dead.

After exhausting every effort to clear her family’s name, she died.

Her revenge had failed, and the honor that had been dragged through the mud was never restored.

So, for her own end, Berenice made her own shroud.

Cutting the rough white cloth and stitching it together, she thought:

“Where did I go wrong?”

Was it the countless plans that collapsed again and again over eight years of being a fugitive?

Or the day she had to leave her mother behind in the burning mansion and run for her life?

Or perhaps… failing to save her eldest brother’s life?

“Yes, it all began with Bleddyn’s death.”

From the moment the heir of House Wiltierra disappeared, to when his cold corpse returned home three months later, and finally to the family’s ruin—it had taken only two years.

Then, after fleeing the burning estate, Berenice survived as a fugitive for eight long years.

By the time she retraced all those years, the pure white shroud was finished. And now, Berenice stood at the edge of the canyon known as the Gate to the Underworld.

[Berenice Wiltierra! Stop this and surrender! Do so, and I’ll grant you the mercy of a painless death!]

[Mercy? That’s not something a vile and base creature like you can offer.]

Was it insult he felt, or shame?

Her former fiancé—the repulsive man who had betrayed House Wiltierra—flushed red with rage as he cut down her guards and advanced toward her.

Watching him approach, Berenice felt certain that at least this final plan would succeed.

And when the man stepped past the invisible line she had drawn, she triggered the gift she had received from a friend.

The ground collapsed, and the heavens shook.

And Berenice fell.

She wasn’t afraid.
If anything, tears welled in her eyes at the thought of descending to the afterlife alongside her family’s enemy.

There were regrets, yes—but she took comfort knowing she had accomplished this one thing.

As she watched the tears leaving her eyes fall slowly alongside her into the abyss, Berenice closed them at last.

Berenice was dead.

“Congratulations… you’ve been given a second chance.”

If not for the whisper that brushed against her ear, Berenice would have remained that way—dead.

* * *

“Haah!”

The moment her falling body stopped midair, Berenice gasped and opened her eyes again.

“What… what is this?”

Soft, clean sheets were wrapped neatly around her body.

No more the damp hay reeking of mold, nor the creaking wooden floors, nor the cold stone she had slept on for years.

Was she dreaming?

Struggling to lift her weak body, Berenice leaned back against the headboard—
and realized that the place she lay in was her own bedroom in the Wiltierra mansion—
the same one that had burned down long ago.

The room was lavishly decorated with rare, beautiful objects, befitting the house of a powerful marquis.

As tears blurred her vision, she wiped her eyes to look around again—

—and then,

“Ugh!”

A sharp pain split through her skull.

Every moment she had lived through—every horror, every failure—flashed through her mind in reverse.

[Stop! Surrender yourself!]
[Catch her! She’s the last of the traitor’s bloodline!]
[…Didn’t she betray Lucadin Manus?]
[Kill her! Kill her!]
[What difference can one woman make?]
[Stay alive, Nia.]
[Wait with Mother. I’ll be back soon.]
[The Marquis’s will has been found.]
[Bleddyn! My son!]

Her mother’s sobs as she clutched the decapitated corpse of her eldest son were the last image before the torrent of memories ended.

Gripping her throbbing head, teeth clenched, Berenice waited for the agony to pass.

Then, in a single, undeniable moment—she understood.

She had come back.

Ten years into the past.

It wasn’t logic that told her so, but instinct—the flood of memories and that voice she’d heard just before her death.

“How…? No, why?”

It had been over.

She’d thought it enough to take one enemy down with her.

And yet now—she was being sent back?

“Am I not supposed to be satisfied with that ending?”

Or was someone up there eager to watch her struggle all over again?

Her thoughts turned dark.

Then, as she pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, something brushed against her skin—

—black lace.

The hem of a sleeve traced her cheek as she lifted her hand.

A black dress.

When… when had she last worn something like this?

The realization came instantly.

This was the day of Bleddyn’s first funeral.

In her first life, she had wept uncontrollably before fainting in the middle of the service, bedridden for months afterward—
and by the time she woke, her father had already hanged himself in the lord’s manor.

“No!”

No—she couldn’t let that happen again.

If this truly was the “second chance” someone had granted her, she couldn’t afford to repeat the same regrets.

Berenice forced her frail body to move, her black mourning dress crumpled beneath her.

Her legs trembled, barely holding her weight, but she clenched her fists and took a step forward.

My body is so weak.

No wonder she had been confined to bed in her previous life at this point.

But now, she had to move.

There was something she had to do—something crucial—before this funeral ended.

“Oh my heavens! My lady!”

A servant cried out as Berenice staggered past, but she paid no mind.

She had to reach him—
to reach the place where Bleddyn lay in eternal rest.

“Berenice?”

Arriving at the garden where the funeral was being held, she saw her family turn toward her in shock.

It wasn’t an illusion.

They were alive—truly alive—for the first time in eight years.

Her father, supporting her grief-stricken mother.
Her twin brother, Lowell, standing beside them to greet the mourners.

She wanted to throw herself into their arms, to tell them how much she’d missed them.

But not yet.

Pushing past the startled guests, Berenice stopped before the glass coffin surrounded by white flowers.

She bit her lip.

Bleddyn Wiltierra—
the firstborn of House Wiltierra.
The brother she had loved and admired more than anyone.

Through the collar of his burial shroud, she could see the bandages wrapped around his neck.

“Bleddyn…”

After the crown prince he served died, Bleddyn had vanished without a trace—
only to return three months later as a corpse, his head severed.

That was the moment when the Wiltierra family’s misfortune began.

After the second funeral, their father hanged himself in despair.

Rumors spread that Bleddyn had been the prince’s murderer.

Lowell died later in a suspicious carriage accident while trying to prove their innocence.

And their mother, after sending Berenice away to safety, had remained in the burning estate to end her own life.

“If only I’d come back a little earlier…”

Maybe then, Bleddyn’s death could have been prevented.

But fate—or some cruel god—had sent her back to this very day instead.

Remembering the smiling voice that had congratulated her on getting a second chance, Berenice shook her head to clear her thoughts.

Then she stepped closer and clasped her brother’s hand.

Once warm, it was now cold and stiff.

“Bleddyn… I swear.”

Her voice was low but unyielding.

Was that the moment it began?

As if claiming a price for turning back time, the deep navy blue of her hair began to fade—
strand by strand turning to pure white.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, but Berenice shut out the noise.

She focused only on the vow she had to make.

“I’ll protect your honor. I’ll make sure no one ever harms our family again.”

I won’t let our home burn down a second time.

Half her hair had already turned white.

Her family rushed toward her in alarm, calling her name.

Berenice turned slightly, gazing at their beloved faces one more time.

Then she gripped Bleddyn’s hand tighter, whispering the words she had always wanted to say.

“I’ll protect us all.”

Her hair was now completely white, her face pale as marble.

Too weak to stand, she sank to the floor and leaned her head against the cold coffin, gasping for breath.

“Berenice!”
“Nia!”

I’m fine.

Her lips moved, but no sound came.

Even as her consciousness dimmed, she still refused to let go of Bleddyn’s hand.

“Someone fetch a physician—now!”
“My child! Stay with us!”
“Berenice! Wake up!”

Her father’s broad arms were warm as he held her limp body.
Her mother’s trembling hands caressed her face, tender and desperate.
Her twin brother’s grip on her shoulders was firm and unrelenting.

This—this was the chance she had been given.

“Just… let me rest… a little…”

Gathering the last of her strength, Berenice whispered softly.

And as her vision blurred, she smiled faintly at the sound of her family calling her name—

—before closing her eyes once more.