I Wanted to Fly
I wanted to fly. Like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly, passing through the chrysalis stage until wings sprouted to soar through the vast skies. Someday, I wanted to roam the world freely. Not confined to our narrow family estate, but across the wide continent. I dreamed.
In my dreams, I wasn't the half-wit bastard cast aside by the family. I was a legendary swordsman known across the continent, one who could upheave the earth with a single blade, cleaving mountains asunder. In that dream world, Licht stood at a supreme realm unmatched by any other. Seeker of the sword's truth. An unparalleled genius in continental history, a dreamer gazing beyond Swordmaster. No one in the family dared belittle the boy. I no longer had to watch helplessly as those I cherished endured persecution and scorn.
When I turned eighteen and fled the family like a fugitive, I saw reality for the first time. I realized how small and frail I truly was. A black-haired boy without the Barbalte name was just another dime-a-dozen nobody everywhere I went. The family walls that had oppressed me were, in truth, a bulwark shielding my weak self from the outside world. Despair crashed over me. The vivid shattering of dreams I'd secretly nurtured. The agony of accepting the harsh reality before my eyes. It hurt too much.
So I abandoned the aura I'd clung to for eighteen years. For the first time, I learned circle magic. That's when I discovered my true talent. Only then could the boy truly behold the world. The continent—the world I'd dreamed of—was far more cruel and horrific than the hopeful fantasies of my childhood. There was a bottom to the abyss, and only after peering into its depths and enduring it did I understand. I had been naive. My body was that of an adult, but my mind was no different from ten years prior.
In this era of endless war, the continent groaned in agony. Parents sold their children for a few coins, and innocents died without knowing why. They didn't know happiness because they'd never experienced it. Clinging only to the instinct to survive, they trudged through the slums scavenging for scraps to last another day. In contrast, how blessed was I? At the very least, my belly never swelled with hunger. I didn't know the pathos and sorrow of starvation. Every morning, warm sunlight bathed the annex, where I lived with my most beloved people. I had fond memories to recall in sorrowful times. Mother. Sebrik. Lena. And my talent.
Realizing I couldn't harness aura in my heart, I turned to circle magic. That's when I truly grasped my gift. With nothing but raw instinct and inspiration dubbed "talent," I reached the 5th Circle at just twenty-one. From 1st Circle to 5th in a mere three years—a speed with no precedent in any continental history tome. Even I shuddered at the thought. While others trained for years, decades, to grasp elusive insights, I absorbed them naturally into my body. Things requiring mountains of experience, I could do as easily as breathing.
I wove eight circles. As the swordsman known by all as the Sword Ghost, I fought the Empire on the front lines. I slew Orkin's Seven Swords. No grand convictions or missions drove me. No thirst for fame to impress others. It was because my memories with Mother lingered there. Because Sebrik and Lena still remained. Because I'd seen the rock bottom. Because I'd seen children ignorant of happiness. The wraiths in the abyss craving light every day. The faint bonds lingering over ten years. For all of it, I took up the sword.
And.
'Ah.'
I died. So pathetically weak. Strength wasn't confined to raw power. I'd slain Orkin's Seven Swords alone, yet failed to protect what mattered most. Like handing a real blade to a child. I had the power but didn't know how to wield it...
So came the belated regret.
—If you're talking about the family...
Yeah, I killed them all.
—When you first heard of Sebrik and Lena's deaths from the Holy Sword, what did you feel?
—I won't fail twice... but the path ahead feels lighter now. Time to play big brother again after so long.
And the mercenaries, those brief bonds.
—It's been a while since Mom and Dad passed. Getting older, I started wanting to settle down, start a family. A foxy wife and bunny-like kids...
How did it feel hearing their dreams?
'I don't deserve it.'
I had no right to hear their dreams.
'I killed them.'
Because I did.
'You.'
You who revived me.
'Do you regret it?'
The Great Sage had spoken of the one-time oath she'd stake her life on. The Emperor—no, the Empress of Orkin, wielder of absolute power, had used it for my sake. At first, I couldn't comprehend. I was the enemy who'd slain her brother, the Holy Sword. I'd killed the Empire's other swords too. From their view, I was someone to tear apart a thousand times over. Yet she saved me. Risking her life with her sole oath.
So I returned. To ten years ago, before leaving the family.
Licht still couldn't fathom her intentions. Did she see potential in me? Was she dissatisfied with ascending the throne under her brother the Holy Sword's support? Or did she want to reshape the world in a new way?
'Still.'
If she saw me like this, she'd surely regret it. I hadn't even reached the central continent, stumbling to a halt at mere Executioners.
'Pathetic.'
Utterly pathetic.
'Am I.'
Really dead?
His body floated upward. Or rather, it felt like it was rising. Like being submerged in deep ocean depths. As consciousness sharpened, sensations returned. Touch first, then hearing. Vision gradually brightened.
Licht caught a soft, tickling scent at his nostrils.
"Ah..."
He opened his eyes. Crimson sunset spilled through the window. Staring blankly at the scenery outside, Licht finally realized he lay in a bed. Unlike just before losing consciousness. His body felt heavy, but the sensations were real.
'A dream.'
Wasn't it?
His mind was foggy. He couldn't grasp what he was seeing or doing. Yet fragmented memories lingered—he knew he'd blacked out once, then risen and wandered the forest again. If that wasn't a dream.
How much time had passed? He'd collapsed for sure. Yet now he lay in bed. Sunset streamed through the window—the same blood-red hue as when he'd fought the three Executioners. The forest had been dark night when he'd wandered dazedly, so if this was reality, a day or two must have passed since.
Licht slowly raised his right arm. Just that simple motion sent throbbing pain through his entire body. White bandages wrapped his wrist, elbow, and upper arm, faintly bloodstained. Then it hit him.
'Circles.'
The seven rings that had felt ready to burst.
'The circles...'
The rampage had stopped. The temporary sixth and seventh circles he'd woven were gone. Only the original five, now coldly inert, remained. Even they were tangled and twisted, far from normal. Reactivating them to full strength would take considerable time. How long to fully unwind them and heal his body completely?
And.
'Why.'
Am I alive?
'Who the hell...'
Treated me?
"You're awake?"
A gentle voice sounded. Still lying down, Licht turned his head. A woman entered through the modest door. Platinum hair cascading to her waist. Peeking through it, eyes of the purest gold.
'Golden...'
Like the eyes he'd glimpsed before fully blacking out. The long platinum hair, the faint voice he'd barely heard. All matched.
"Don't move. It's a mortal wound..."
As Licht tried to sit up, the girl hurried over on light steps and propped up his torso instead. Her basket held bandages and various ointments. She pulled a chair beside the bed and began carefully unwinding the bandages on his body. Stinging pain from pus and scabs prickled, but Licht didn't flinch. Soon bare skin emerged, revealing long sword scars etched deep. Wounds infused with holy power from the Executioners.
Holy power wasn't just for healing. Unlike ordinary priests, the Holy Kingdom's holy knights—including Knight Secreta—wielded it as a weapon. The Executioners were no different. Their immense holy power burrowed into flesh like Licht's mana, unrelenting until death. That's why his body hadn't fully healed. Ointments and bandages were the only option; holy healing would clash with the invading power.
"You just passed the crisis. You had raging fevers for days... It's better now, but still, be careful."
She applied ointment and wrapped fresh white bandages over the wounds. Even scars that would make one wince, she handled with practiced ease. Licht silently watched the girl rummage in her basket for more bandages. The platinum hair and golden eyes from his final glimpse. Beautiful. Not in a lustful way. Hair, eyes, features. Licht found the girl purely, profoundly beautiful. Like beholding a masterfully sculpted artwork, awe rising unbidden. Perhaps a creation of the gods themselves.
"There, all done."
She wrapped the last bandages over his torso. As Licht, who'd entrusted his body to her, slowly spoke.
"Where... is this?"
The scenery was unfamiliar. A cozy room. Outside the window, buildings nestled in the forest. Children dashed across the large courtyard beyond.
"Hyeris Convent."
"Convent...?"
"Yes. You collapsed in the nearby forest a week ago."
"Exact location?"
"Northwest outskirts of the Palenia Holy Kingdom. Do you not remember...?"
Northwest Palenia Holy Kingdom? Licht's thoughts froze for an instant. He'd taken mortal wounds battling the Executioners, lost consciousness. Woken here, of all places—a convent in the Holy Kingdom's northwest.
'What?'
It didn't add up. Where Jack and Ranin died and the three Executioners fell was a forest about a day's ride south of Bailen. If he'd survived and regained senses, he'd have woken nearby. Yet.
'Northwest outskirts...'
Even by distance alone, farther north than the capital Ceres. It defied logic. No way to cover nearly a week's journey by cart—let alone injured and delirious. But pondering it, one thing came to mind.
'Pocket watch.'
The golden glow it emitted at the end. Licht had experienced its miracle once before. It had surely rewound time. Explained why he clung to life amid the circle rampage. And the impossible translocation.
"The watch..."
"......?"
"Pocket watch. And sword. I had them."
"Ah, those."
The girl glanced beside him. On the small bedside table sat a plain silver pocket watch. Alongside the ring from the count, Schult Markersy's subspace pouch. And the golden holy sword propped casually nearby.
"You gripped them so tightly."
"......"
"Rest well. You're not fully healed—don't push yourself."
With that, as the girl rose to leave.
"Wait."
Licht grasped her wrist.
"Did you... heal me?"
A question laced with certainty. No mere wounds. Seven rampaging circles, body riddled with holy-infused sword scars from Executioners. Beyond a high priest's ability. Without a cardinal or higher, his death was all but certain.
"......"
The girl smiled silently. This beautiful stranger possessed holy power surpassing most cardinals—perhaps rivaling or exceeding the Pope. Akin to that elusive something he'd blindly pursued. In her smile, one of Licht's lingering questions dissolved.
"Who... are you?"
"A priestess serving Isteria."
"Your name."
"Stella."
Clutching her empty basket, she turned at the door.
"Stella Evgenia. Call me whatever's comfortable."
With that, she left the room. Licht stared after her for a time, then turned to the window. A forest convent bathed in sunset. Until the sun set and twilight silenced the stirrings outside, he sat motionless, gazing blankly outward.