A funeral song echoed through the backyard of the temple.
The music didn't last long. It was as if only those few minutes were allowed to mourn the dead.
Thud. A flower fell. Someone stepped on the freshly made grave.
It was a death meant to be forgotten. No, maybe it was better if it was forgotten.
No one shed tears for the person buried there.
If it weren't for the war, would someone have cried for her? It was pointless to wonder, with so many lives already lost in vain.
Anyone who might have mourned the hero chosen by the goddess had already fallen before her, cut down by the enemy on the battlefield.
She was the greatest strategist of her time from the Blanchard family. The next Duke of Blanchard. A key figure in Etalon's golden era. A hero personally chosen by the goddess.
She had many titles, but her gravestone only carried a short phrase: A failed half-hero.
All that was left for a failed hero was harsh criticism and open hatred. They blamed her for a national disaster no one could have stopped.
The higher the expectations, the deeper the disappointment.
The people spat on her grave.
That was the legacy of Mia Blanchard, the so-called hero.
Life is sometimes more unrealistic than a play or a novel. Like now.
When Mia opened her eyes, what greeted her was a terrible headache—and the face of an angel.
Just waking up felt unreal. Hadn't she died?
Her chest, which had been shredded right before death, was now completely fine, without a single scar. Not even the goddess herself could have healed her this perfectly.
She must have died. The strange feeling of déjà vu she got from the angel in front of her confirmed it.
"Are you feeling better now?"
The angel smiled. He had noticed she was awake. His strict and composed face relaxed, and the gentle curve of his eyes gave off a very different feeling than before.
Mia's mind, lacking in imagination, could only repeat two words: "angel" and "light."
Are you awake now, just like that? Caught between a strange place, a strange situation, and a suspiciously kind and handsome man, Mia had no idea how to respond.
Mia Blanchard, who was often told, "Even if your head gets chopped off, your tongue would still keep talking," was now speechless. A rare experience.
"…"
When Mia stayed silent, the angel spoke again.
"We were worried because you weren't waking up. I used divine power to heal you, but the wound took time…"
And with that, Mia's silly daydream ended.
Angel? No way. Anyone who talked like that couldn't be anything holy.
He called me "young lady"? Me?!
Even if knights were treated as lower than nobles or high officials, in the goddess's empire, someone chosen directly by the goddess held great power. The title "Sir" was only used for those blessed by the goddess who could use divine power as part of the Holy Corps.
So, calling Mia "young lady" was basically an insult. It was like saying, "I don't believe you were chosen by the goddess." Even if she was used to this kind of treatment, it still hurt.
Mia turned away from him in protest.
Ugh. A sharp pain suddenly flared in her stomach. As she became more aware, the pain grew worse. Her face twisted in pain.
Did I ever get this kind of injury recently...?
She couldn't remember. Was it his doing?
Her suspicious eyes scanned the man from head to toe.
But he didn't seem bothered. His big eyes blinked calmly, as if he expected her to be wary. He even smiled, as if saying, "Go ahead, take a good look." That only made Mia more annoyed.
"…"
Seeing that she still didn't want to talk, the man spoke again. He seemed determined to keep the conversation going.
"Etienne Rochefort. Commander of the Empire's 1st Holy Corps. You can relax, I'm fully identified."
He smiled casually. But Mia couldn't smile back.
Rochefort...?
At that familiar name, all color drained from her face.
After not seeing him for four years, even that flashy face had faded from memory. Or maybe it was the fog in her head. She had been injured a lot lately and taken painkillers often. Those made her drowsy sometimes…
No matter what excuse she came up with, the reality didn't change.
The "angel" was her commander. A cold, arrogant, but talented leader.
…Whom Mia Blanchard had killed herself.
How is he still alive…?
Before she could think, her body reacted. Mia suddenly sat up and moved back in pain. With her injured stomach, it was a heroic effort.
The moment she changed position, sharp pain stabbed through her. Warmth around her waist—her wound must have reopened. Gasping, she bit her lip to hold back a cry.
"What are you doing?" Etienne asked, clearly startled.
"Why are you here?" she demanded.
Only one thought filled Mia's head:
There's no way that's really Rochefort.
"Please calm down. If you move like this, you'll be bedridden for weeks."
Mia was indeed thrashing around. She only realized it when he told her to calm down.
Etienne stayed calm the whole time, and Mia suddenly stopped moving.
…Maybe. Just maybe. A new possibility Mia hadn't considered crossed her mind.
There might be a way to explain all this. She had heard of someone who used divine power to interfere with time—and was executed for it.
Mia gave a bitter laugh. She was the one who had helped punish that heretic, accusing him of spreading nonsense.
But what if it wasn't nonsense after all?
It was still hard to believe.
"Sir. Are we still near the border?"
With all the clues, there was only one answer.
Soon after receiving the goddess's call, they had been ambushed at the border. She remembered getting stabbed in the stomach then.
…Wait. Did Rochefort take care of me back then too?
No. Absolutely not. She had never seen that cold-hearted man treat anyone.
Etienne watched her expression carefully and gently laid her back down. Her sudden change in attitude made him curious.
"Yes. We're stationed at the border, checking the situation. But why do you ask?"
Mia had a different question in mind: Did I really travel back in time? But if she said that out loud, she'd sound crazy. So instead, she just nodded.
If I really did go back in time, and the heretic was right, then why is this man helping an enemy he once hated? She searched her memory—this never happened before.
"Yes. I just… can't understand any of this."
"…"
"I still don't know what happened while I was unconscious. I want to hear it."
Etienne was silent for a moment, then replied.
"…It's a long story. Let's take care of your wound first."
"Are you sure it's not because you don't want to tell me?"
They stared at each other. Mia didn't look away, and Etienne's face stayed full of concern. Whether he was worried about being accused of helping an enemy, or something else, Mia couldn't tell.
Etienne ignored her sarcasm and went to a drawer. He took out some herbs, bandages, and a few unknown tools, then returned to her bedside.
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