The Dawning Light
The wind brushed through the leaves.
Dazzling sunlight shattered across the surface of the river, scattering fractured radiance in every direction. I drew the air deep into my lungs. There was no sticky reek of blood clinging to my skin, no ringing screams echoing against my eardrums. The mission that had throttled my throat like an inescapable yoke was finally gone. That alone brought me profound joy.
Yes, this was how my journey was supposed to end. I had no lingering regrets about reaching the finish line. Far more than wealth or glory, what I had truly missed was the smell of the earth, its coarse texture, its quiet vitality. My former comrades back in the Empire would manage on their own. They might resent me, but in the end, every one of them was stronger than I was. They would walk in the right direction.
A thin plume of smoke drifted into view ahead, rising from a modest, peaceful village. I set foot onto its unpaved road. Before long, my eyes met those of a passing villager. As I drew closer, the man’s face instantly drained of color.
“D-Demon cultist!”
Ah. Come to think of it, the intricate marks etched across my flesh and my bleached-white hair were the unmistakable characteristics of a demon worshipper. I realized at once that I had become an object of sheer dread. Rather than alarming the man further, I backed away and made my way toward a small general store nestled in the village.
A brass bell chimed overhead as I pushed open the door. The shopkeeper had been letting out wide, weary yawns, but the moment he caught sight of me, his mouth snapped shut.
“Wh-What brings someone like you... to a place like this...?”
He trembled violently, unable to finish his sentence.
“Do you have a hooded robe?” I asked quietly. “As you can see, looking like this brings headaches I’d rather avoid.”
With trembling hands, he hastily retrieved a plain robe and held it out. I set a silver coin on the counter.
“Keep the change.”
The man wore a conflicted expression, torn between sheer relief that I was leaving and disbelief at the generous coin. Leaving him to his thoughts, I stepped back outside.
With the hood pulled low over my brow, I made my way to a quaint local inn.
“I’m looking to stay for a night. How much?”
The innkeeper replied in a raspy, gravelly voice, “Sixty coppers. Seventy if you want dinner included.”
“Include the meal, then. Can you prepare breakfast tomorrow morning as well?”
“Can do.”
When I offered him a silver coin, he began counting out copper change, but I gently pushed his hand back.
“I’ve got a long road ahead of me, and lugging around a heavy pouch of copper is inconvenient. There’s no need for change.”
“Oh? Well, suits me fine.”
Taking the brass room key, I downed the hot bowl of vegetable stew served for dinner and collapsed onto the bed, falling into a dead, dreamless sleep.
By the time dawn broke, however, an angry crowd armed with plows and scythes had encircled the inn.
“There’s a demon cultist holed up in there!”
...It seemed they had assembled to hunt me down.
I stepped outside the inn’s front doors.
“Th-There! That’s him! That’s the demon cultist!”
It was the shopkeeper who had sold me the robe yesterday. I scratched my cheek in mild annoyance. Damn it. Maybe I should have just camped out in the woods instead of looking for a bed. Unable to think of an easy way to defuse the mob without violence, I simply vanished from the spot, using short-range teleportation to appear well beyond the village boundaries.
Things were shaping up to be quite a hassle from here on out. I tugged the hood lower over my face and began to walk.
Sayne knitted her brows into a deep scowl. She couldn't wrap her head around it.
She could not comprehend the Hero’s motives in the slightest.
She understood now that his true power was the ability to return to the past upon death. Yet that revelation alone left far too many inconsistencies unexplained.
The fact that they had achieved overwhelming victories throughout the war far beyond expectations could be attributed to his foresight. His uncanny knack for predicting enemy tactics before they landed could also be explained by repeated timelines. But what did his hesitation to strike down Grandis, the tragic shattering of the Holy Sword, or the mounting evidence of his alleged treason have to do with regression?
Why would a man who had died dozens of agonizing deaths fighting their enemies turn around to collude with those very foes and oppress the weak?
The only way to untangle that web of contradictions was to witness his actual past with their own eyes.
Upon arriving at the Holy Land, she noticed that the other women bore dark, hollow circles under their eyes as well. They, too, had clearly spent long nights tortured by the same unanswerable questions.
Before them, the memory crystal began to radiate a brilliant light.
“This was truly an unfortunate incident. You have my sincere apologies. Still, we must be thankful that no greater catastrophe unfolded.”
The Hero stared blankly at the priest and offered a curt nod. Internally, his thoughts were likely screaming something else entirely.
'A greater catastrophe already happened several times.'
Yet fragile as his sanity was, the Hero retained enough lingering judgment to keep those words behind his teeth.
“You may meet the Saintess tomorrow,” the church official said. “For now, allow me to escort you to your quarters so you may rest.”
Following the priest who had received him, the young man was shown to the room that would serve as his temporary lodging. After washing away the crusted ogre blood clinging to his flesh with steaming water, he collapsed onto the bed.
Yet as the night deepened, sleep refused to claim him.
His breath turned ragged and shallow. Curling into a tight ball, his entire frame began to shudder uncontrollably. He bit down on his lower lip until it bled, cold sweat drenching his skin.
Before long, his fingernails tore frantically into his own throat—the very throat that had been crushed and severed countless times by an ogre’s brutal club. Skin scraped away, flesh tore open, and fresh beads of crimson welled beneath his fingernails to trickle down his collarbone. Yet he kept clawing—raking, gouging, scratching obsessively.
He tangled his hands into his hair, violently tugging at the roots as if desperate to tear the horrific memories straight out of his skull.
“Ugh... ah... ngh...”
Stifled groans leaked from his throat. Broken red capillaries burst across his wide, terrified eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Haah... haah... haah...”
Throughout the endless night, he did not find a single second of rest.
The next morning, his head drooped, nodding off against his will. Utterly drained from a night of waking nightmares, he was practically drowning in exhaustion. Yet the person standing before him was not someone inclined to show mercy.
“Tsk. Some bumpkin rolls out of the dirt calling himself the Hero, and now you’re fucking dozing off?”
A striking woman with hair as blue as the sea and eyes resembling cut sapphires stared down at the young man with freezing disdain. It was Peria, the prodigy destined to become the next Master of the Magic Tower. She had been assigned as his companion and tasked with tutoring him in the arcane arts.
Under the biting frost of her glare, the Hero jolted awake. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his dark, hollow eyes met hers.
“I-I’m... so-sorry—”
“Save it.”
The moment he attempted to apologize, she cut him off without a shred of hesitation.
“Get out.”
“Wh-what?”
As the Hero, Einzel, stared at her with undisguised dread, she repeated the command.
“Didn't you hear me? I said get out.”
“I... but, that’s...” Einzel stammered, his tongue tangling.
“I have nothing to teach a worthless bastard who falls asleep during our very first meeting. So get lost. Go hire yourself another magic tutor.”
Her verdict landed like an icy guillotine. Einzel’s shoulders slumped as he turned, his boots dragging heavily across the floor toward the exit. He had barely met Saintess Beatrice and exchanged formal courtesies, and here he was, already expelled from his very first lesson. He could scarcely bring himself to take another step forward.
“What are you waiting for? Didn't I tell you to get the hell out?”
Driven away by her merciless dismissal, he trudged back to his assigned quarters. And the instant he opened the door, a figure in clerical vestments lunged from the shadows, driving a cold dagger deep into Einzel’s chest.
Einzel snapped his eyes open.
He was back at the exact moment he had been nodding off.
“Get out.”
That frosty voice rang out once again, identical to before.
He had no choice. If he was chased out of this lesson and returned to his room, his death was guaranteed. He ran through the calculations instantly. A man wearing the robes of the priesthood had just murdered him, but he had no way of knowing which faction or priest wanted him dead. In that case, the only way to survive was to remain anchored in this room, no matter the cost.
He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead toward the floor.
“I apologize.”
The woman looked down at him, her expression shifting to pure bafflement.
“No, there’s no need to apologize. Just get out.”
Peria was fiercely proud; watching a man grovel on the floor did not evoke a shred of sympathy within her. Yet Einzel stayed pinned to the cold stone, unmoving, his knees firmly planted. Assuming he would soon tire of the act and leave on his own, Peria simply chose to ignore his presence.
Two agonizing hours trickled past, and Einzel had not shifted an inch.
Peria furrowed her brow, scratching her scalp in sheer exasperation.
“...Fuck, this is driving me insane. Hey.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give you one more chance, so get off the floor. You persistent, annoying piece of shit...”
With that, Einzel was granted a second chance to learn magic under Peria’s tutelage.
Several hours slipped away. Having concluded the lesson, Peria walked beside Einzel down the long corridor toward his quarters.
“Fuck, it took the entire damn day just to teach you how to light a pathetic little spark. They say the Heroes of legend could grasp ten concepts after being shown just one, but this bastard can’t even master one after being shown ten.”
Peria grumbled relentlessly. Einzel did his best to block out her complaints, drew a steadying breath, and pushed open his door.
Inside the room stood a man clad in clerical vestments.
“Huh? What’s this? What is that guy doing in your room?” Peria asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Haha, I was merely conducting a routine inspection of the quarters,” the priest offered smoothly, smiling deferentially. “After all, this is where our honored Hero resides. Well then, please excuse me...”
Using the Hero as his shield, the assassin priest slipped past them and made a swift retreat. Peria lingered until Einzel closed his door, then turned on her heel and departed, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
Deep into the dead of night, the handle of the Hero’s chamber turned, and the door creaked open once more.
The moment the intruder slipped inside, a sudden burst of flame erupted at the hem of his robe. Given the billowing, flammable fabric of clerical vestments, the fire spread furiously within seconds. Caught entirely off guard, the priest flailed in panic, desperately trying to beat out the flames.
Einzel seized that split-second opening, lunging forward with absolute precision to drive a sharp blade deep into the man’s abdomen.
“...Huh?”
With that choked, final gasp, blood bubbled from the priest’s lips, and the light faded from his eyes. Einzel stared silently down at the fresh corpse before conjuring flame to immolate the remains, reducing the assassin to a pile of gray ash. Until the body had completely burned away without leaving a trace, Einzel never once looked away.