Chapter 2
Chapter 2
I had a long dream.
Memories of my blissful childhood.
The wretched days when jealousy drove me to cruelty.
The regret that finally dawned on me when I was cast out and left to wander.
The despair of watching my family perish in war.
And the decades spent striving for redemption and vengeance.
Until the very end.
Of all the moments in my life, the only one I could bear was my final death.
After all, I'd delivered the ultimate revenge to the bastard who deserved it most.
Yet, even in death, one regret clung to me—one I couldn't shake.
I should have begged for forgiveness.
The disasters beyond my control were one thing, but the sins I committed myself—I should have sought forgiveness for them.
So, in my final moments, I wished for this:
Now that I'm dead, let me meet my family in the afterlife.
Let me meet them as I was back then, so they'll recognize me, and let me beg for their forgiveness.
And in that moment—
Zzzing!
"Ugh!"
A sharp pain lanced through my skull, forcing a groan from my lips.
The moment the sound escaped, something felt... off.
Pain? Groaning?
Am I... alive?
My eyes flew open on their own, and my body jerked upright.
Throb.
"Gah—!"
Another inexplicable wave of pain wracked my head, and I clutched it tightly.
"Young Master?!"
"The Young Master is awake!"
"Inform the elders!"
Amidst the clamor, I finally turned my gaze to my surroundings—only to be met with faces both familiar and strange.
Dazed, I stared blankly at them until—
"Young Master, are you alright?"
A face I could never forget, no matter how hard I tried, stepped forward.
A playful-looking young man with brown hair.
Staring into his eyes—the same shade as his hair—I muttered dumbly:
"...Rick?"
"Huh? Y-Yes, Young Master. It's me, Rick. How are you feeling? Huh? Your eyes...? C-Can you see me?"
That chattering voice, so familiar to my ears.
Rick—my personal attendant, who had died over thirty years ago—was standing before me, his face etched with concern.
And he looked exactly as he had back then.
"How...?"
"Oh no, Young Master! Call the physician! They said you'd be fine!"
The confusion only deepened as I stared blankly at Rick, and the commotion around me grew louder.
What in the world...?
My dazed eyes swept across the room, taking in a sight I had longed for.
"Ah...?"
Beyond the window lay the training grounds and the estate.
The crumbling castle walls in the distance, and knights passing by.
And everywhere—emblazoned on everything—was the same crest.
A flame.
The symbol of House MacLaine.
Though we were but minor nobles in the border kingdom of Grandia, this family had been my pride.
A scene I had yearned for endlessly—now unfolding before me, exactly as it had been in those days.
Is this... a dream?
Still numb to the noise around me, I stared blankly at the view outside—until Rick's voice grew even louder.
"Young Master? You can see this, right?! Oh no! Our Young Master! Someone fetch the physician, quick!"
Rick, who had been my attendant since childhood, had always fussed over the slightest movement I made.
And—
"The physician said you must rest, so please don't strain yourself..."
The maids joined in Rick's fussing.
Just as I struggled to accept this surreal scene—
Creak.
The infirmary door opened cautiously.
"B-Brother... are you alright?"
Even in my muddled state, I couldn't ignore that voice. My head snapped toward it.
The slightly ajar door.
A boy with cheeks still plump with baby fat peeked in hesitantly.
His red hair and eyes were the spitting image of mine.
"...Ronian?"
The monstrously talented little brother who, after just three years of training, had defeated me—a 19-year-old who had trained for a decade.
The brother I had once cursed and envied endlessly.
The brother whose final moments, when I heard of them in my later years, filled me with endless regret and longing.
This is...
Zzzing!
"Ugh!"
"Young Master! You must rest!"
"Leave us, Young Master."
Another sudden headache gripped me, and as I clutched my skull, Rick blocked the doorway.
Flustered, he hurriedly shooed Ronian away while shooting me nervous glances.
Watching this, I felt a sense of déjà vu.
The bandages wrapped around my head. The pain.
And Ronian's youthful face.
The eerie familiarity finally dredged up an old memory.
If this was truly reality, then right now was—
The day of our first official spar...
The day my years of self-loathing and inferiority had peaked, shocking the knights and vassals.
That day, I had hurled abuse at the brother who came to visit me in the infirmary.
Get lost! How dare a bastard like you—!
It had been the culmination of three years of torment and cruelty.
But those words were also what finally drove away the brother who, despite all my abuse, had still followed me faithfully.
And in my final years, I regretted that moment until the day I died.
Which only made this more confusing.
Another dream? Or... do the dead keep dreaming? And this pain...
"Guh..."
But I couldn't stay like this.
Even if this is a dream—no, especially if it is—
For decades, I had wished for this.
Even if it was futile, I wanted to ease my conscience, if only a little.
"It's fine. Ronian, come in."
"Young Master?"
"Enough. Come here, Ronian MacLaine."
At those words, the boy's face brightened instantly.
"Brother, I'm so sorry! I should've been more careful..."
Ronian darted to my bedside like the wind, bowing his head repeatedly.
Shorter than most boys his age.
A face that looked innocent—and a personality even kinder.
Even though this was something that could easily happen during a spar, he was genuinely remorseful.
Looking at him now, I felt ridiculous for ever resenting and envying him.
"It's alright. I'm fine. You don't have to keep apologizing."
My hand ruffled his hair, and his flustered expression—the warmth of his skin against my palm—felt too real.
Which only made me more desperate to say what I couldn't in my past life.
"You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all."
"B-But..."
"If anything, I..."
I wanted to keep talking with a smile, but—
Memories of what came after this day made that impossible.
Images flashed through my mind—of myself, spiraling out of control, committing worse and worse atrocities against my brother.
Stripped of my heir status. Placed under indefinite house arrest. And finally, the day I was exiled from the family.
Every memory that followed was steeped in regret.
"I'm s-sorr... I'm... cough."
"...Brother?"
Even if this was a dream, the lump in my throat was unbearable.
Memories of the past—no, the future—flooded back.
This kid... died like that.
After our father perished early in the Imperial War, Ronian took charge of the family.
Following the kingdom's orders, he fought tirelessly on the front lines.
And in doing so, he drained what little strength our already declining house had left.
The royal family used his efforts as a shield to flee into exile abroad.
In the end, Ronian was captured by the Empire. Tortured. And publicly executed.
Used to the very end, only to die in misery.
That couldn't happen.
Never again.
Overwhelmed, I pulled my brother into a tight embrace.
"I'm sorry, Ronian. I'm so sorry."
Words of apology I never got to say in my past life.
The anguish in my chest spilled over as tears.
"B-Brother? Why are you crying...?"
"I'm sorry. Truly, I'm sorry."
There was so much I wanted to say, but only one thing came out.
The grown man wept endlessly.
Meanwhile, the little boy—sniffling along—patted his much larger brother's back with tiny hands.
And so, a short yet endless time passed.
"Brother, I'll visit again."
Ronian left with a smile.
Leaving behind the stunned onlookers, I prayed with all my heart:
If this isn't a dream—if I've truly returned to the past—
I'll change everything.
Then I closed my eyes.
And when I opened them again—
Logan remained in the past, alive.
Silently, I rejoiced.
Warm sunlight streamed through the window.
The cheerful chirping of mountain birds carried on a refreshing breeze.
I woke, sat up in bed, and stared down at my body in disbelief.
The countless scars from a decade as a mercenary and twenty years as a rebel were gone. Even the knee that often ached in the mornings felt perfectly fine.
"...This really isn't a dream."
Decades of memories.
And up to the very last moment—
"Where is the Divine Relic?!"
"How dare you touch the Empire's treasures?!"
"Let's die together!"
KABOOOM!
Shudder.
Even the agony of my body being torn apart—I remembered it all vividly.
Yet here I was.
Undeniably alive.
Clench.
My fists tightened on their own, and a thrill ran through my limbs, making them tremble.
The past I had longed to redo—
The chance to change everything had come.
Of course, unanswered questions remained.
How did this even happen?
By all logic, it shouldn't be possible.
Even in theology, the domain of time and space is considered the realm of the Creator God—who supposedly no longer interferes with the world.
If I went around claiming I'd traveled from the future to the past—
At best, I'd be labeled a madman. At worst, arrested for heresy by the Church.
But then, what was this?
"Damn it..."
Only one guess came to mind.
That explosion. It was far more powerful than I expected, but still...
Does dying in a blast send you back in time?
I'd seen hundreds die similarly on the battlefield.
Were they all sent back to the past? Preposterous.
Grr...
No matter how long I agonized over it, no answer came.
Finally—
"...Let's table this."
I spoke aloud, shaking off the pointless thoughts.
If no answer came despite thorough pondering, it was best not to dwell on it further.
One of the life lessons I'd learned after decades of hardship.
Rather than obsessing over the unanswerable, I needed to focus on what to do now.
First on the list—
Creak.
"Hm?"
"Eek! Y-Young Master!"
At that moment, a maid cautiously opened the door—only to freeze when our eyes met.
Trembling, she immediately bowed her head deeply.
"F-Forgive me, Young Master."
"Huh? For what?"
Her reaction was so odd that I reflexively asked—only for her face to turn even paler.
"I'm sorry! I'll be more careful next time!"
Wait, what?
What exactly was she apologizing for?
Before I could gather my thoughts—
Thud-thud-thud!
Rick came rushing in from somewhere.
"Oh dear! Mary, you woke the Young Master! I forgot to warn her. My apologies, Young Master."
Rick stepped in front of the maid, gesturing for her to leave.
The sight was too familiar.
And only then did forgotten memories resurface.
"Didn't I tell you not to make noise in my room?! Even the maids are ignoring me now?! You wretches—!"
CRASH!
"Aah!"
"Young Master! Please!"
"Ugh."
A throbbing headache brought phantom images flashing before me.
Countless small acts of cruelty I'd committed—buried under the weight of greater sins—now surfaced one after another.
Thump.
The pain in my head seemed to migrate to my chest.
Shame burned my face.
"Haa..."
"Now, now, Young Master. I'll discipline her myself. Please don't get worked up—"
"No, that's not it. Mary... was it?"
"Ah, for—Hey, you! Come apologize properly!"
Watching Rick spiral on his own only made my face burn hotter.
"Enough!"
"But Young Master, I'll handle—"
"I said enough! That maid did nothing wrong!"
"Y-Yes, which is why I— Wait, what did you just say?"
Sigh.
A sigh escaped me.
"Never mind. Rick, fetch me paper and a pen. As much paper as possible."
"...Huh?"
"Didn't you hear me?"
"N-No, I did! But what are you planning to do with—"
"...Nothing! Just send her away and bring them!"
Now my face felt like it might burst from heat.
The start of my new life wasn't going smoothly.