Chapter 1
A requiem echoed through the templeâs backyard.
The performance didnât last longâas if only a few minutes were all the mourning a departed soul deserved.
Plop. A flower fell. Someone stepped across the freshly made grave.
It was a death destined to be forgotten. Or perhaps, being forgotten was better.
No one shed tears for the graveâs occupant.
If not for the war, would someone have cried for her? That question felt meaningless in the face of so many lives lost in vain.
Anyone capable of mourning the goddessâs chosen hero wouldâve already been cut down on the battlefield by the enemyâs blade.
The greatest strategist of her generation from House Blanchard. The next Duke of Blanchard. The pillar of peace in Etalonâs golden era. The hero personally chosen by the goddess.
Despite all these titles, the only words engraved on the perfunctory tombstone were:
âThe Failed Half-Hero.â
What the failed hero received in return was nothing but blatant malice and relentless blame. As though every national tragedy that couldnât be stopped was her fault alone.
The greater the expectation, the harsher the disappointment.
The people spat on her grave.
This was the legacy Mia Blanchard left behindâutterly pitiful.
Sometimes, life is more implausible than any play or novel. Just look at what was happening now.
When Mia opened her eyes, she was greeted by a terrible headacheâand an angelâs face.
The very fact she had opened her eyes at all felt unreal. Hadnât she died?
Her chest, which had been butchered beyond repair right before death, was now miraculously untouchedâwithout even a scar. Not even the goddess herself couldâve healed her this perfectly.
She must be dead. That much was certain. Seeing this strangely familiar angel pacing before her proved it.
“Are you feeling more clear-headed now?”
The angel smiled, seemingly noticing that Mia had awoken. His strict, ascetic expression loosened. The soft curve of his eyes completely changed the mood.
Miaâs feeble imagination could only loop through two words in her head: angel and light.
But asking if sheâd come to her senses so suddenly? The unfamiliar place, the unfamiliar situation, and the suspiciously kind-looking man made Mia too confused to respond.
For someone like Mia Blanchardâwhoâd often been told, âEven if they cut off your head, that slick tongue would keep talkingââthis silence was rare.
ââŠâ
When Mia didnât reply for a long while, the angel spoke again.
âI was worried because my lady wouldnât wake up. I used divine power to heal you, but the wounds were stubbornâŠâ
And with that, Miaâs delusions collapsed.
An angel? No way. Someone making such irritating sounds couldnât possibly be divine.
My lady? Did he just call me my lady?
Even in a society where knights were treated worse than bureaucrats or nobles, being chosen by the goddess herself gave one immense authority. And the title sir was reserved only for those in the Sacred Legion blessed with divine power.
Calling Mia my lady was almost an insultâtantamount to saying, âI donât recognize your divine selection.â Familiar as she was with such treatment, it still stung.
She turned her body away in protest.
Ugh. A groan escaped between her teeth, and suddenly, a searing pain spread through her abdomen. Now that she was conscious, the pain came rushing in. Miaâs face twisted.
When did I get injured like this?
She couldnât remember. Could it be his doing?
Suspicious eyes scanned the man up and down.
Yet he showed no sign of unease under her scrutiny. His large eyes blinked calmly, as if he had anticipated her wariness. His relaxed smile seemed to say, Take a good look, which only irritated Mia further.
ââŠ.â
When Mia still didnât seem willing to talk, the man opened his mouth again. His effort to continue the conversation was almost admirable.
âĂtienne Rochefort. Commander of the First Sacred Legion of the Imperial Army. You can rest assured, my identity is real.â
He gave a relaxed smile. But upon hearing his name, Mia couldnât smile back.
Rochefort?
The familiar name drained the color from her face.
Four years apart was enough to forget even that dazzling face, it seemed. Or maybe her mind was too hazy. She had been injured often recently and had grown dependent on painkillers. Painkillers that often left her drowsyâŠ
No matter what excuse she made for this absurd misunderstanding, the reality before her didnât change.
The âangelâ was her former commanderâcold, arrogant, but undeniably brilliant.
âŠThe very man Mia Blanchard had personally assassinated.
How is he alive�
Her body reacted before her mind could. She bolted upright, gasping and backing away. A valiant effort considering the injury to her abdomen.
The sharp motion triggered a stabbing pain in her gut. Something hot spread around her waistâher wound must have reopened. Hngh. Mia bit her lip to muffle the reflexive gasp.
âWhat are you doing?â Ătienne asked, startled.
âWhy are you here?â she demanded.
In that moment, only one thought echoed in Miaâs mind:
That canât really be Rochefort.
âPlease calm down. If you move like that, youâll be bedridden for weeks,â he said.
Indeed, Mia had been thrashing about. She only realized it after he said so.
When Ătienne remained calm, Mia suddenly stopped.
âŠMaybe. Just maybe. A third, previously unconsidered possibility flickered through her mind.
Even if someone wasnât pretending to be Rochefort, and even if this wasnât some hallucination, there was another explanationâabsurd as it seemed.
She remembered an apostate who had once tried to manipulate the flow of time using divine powerâand was executed for it.
Mia let out a hollow laugh. She was the one who had pushed for that manâs brutal punishment, accusing him of peddling nonsense.
So it wasnât nonsense after allâŠ?
It was still hard to believe.
âSir⊠are we still near the border region?â
Yet, putting the facts together led to only one conclusion.
Not long after being chosen by the goddess, their unit had been ambushed at the border. She remembered sustaining a gut wound back then.
âŠBut did Rochefort take care of me back then, too?
No. Absolutely not. Until just now, she didnât even know that cold-blooded man was capable of treating anyone.
Ătienne observed her expression, then gently pushed her back down to lie flatâtrying to gauge her intent now that sheâd stopped resisting.
âYes. Weâre stationed near the border, assessing the situation. Why do you ask so suddenlyâŠ?â
But Mia had a different questionâwas it true she had traveled back in time?
Of course, saying such a thing out loud would make her sound crazy. So instead, she merely nodded at Rochefortâs answer.
If I really did go back in timeâif that apostate was rightâthen why is this Rochefort tending to the wounds of his political rival?
She was certain he had never done this in her previous life.
âYes. I just⊠donât understand whatâs going on.â
ââŠâ
âI still donât know what happened while I was unconscious. Iâd like to hear it.â
Ătienne paused before replying.
ââŠItâs a long story. Let me finish treating your wound first.â
âYouâre not just avoiding the topic, are you?â
They looked at each other. Mia didnât avert her gaze. Ătienne wore a face full of concern. Whether he was worried about being accused of colluding with his rivalâor something else entirelyâMia couldnât tell.
Ignoring her sarcastic tone, Ătienne walked to a drawer and opened it. He retrieved some herbs, bandages, and a few tools whose purpose she couldnât guess. Then he returned to her bedside.
