The Girl's Past
It was as if pure white snow had blanketed the entire world — an endless expanse of white space stretching in every direction.
Only two people existed there.
One was a girl.
Her entire body was covered in wounds so horrific they were almost too terrible to look upon. Torn, slashed, and burned — scars left little of her flesh unmarred. Her body was a wreck, barely a single uninjured spot to be found.
Yet not a trace of pain showed on the girl's face. She simply stared at a single point in the empty air with vacant eyes. It was an expression so hollow that one could scarcely believe a living human could wear it — like an empty shell from which the soul had fled.
And before that girl, a man knelt on his knees.
Isaac Bennet, head of the Bennet Ducal House and a Level 8 Grandmaster Swordsman.
Gone was the cold, dignified figure he had always been. Disheveled and desperate, he clasped his hands together and pleaded before the girl.
"Please... I beg you. Save my daughter... save Serena. With your power, it should be possible. I'll pay any price. So please..."
His voice trembled with raw anguish. There was no sign of the proud duke — only the desperate cry of a father on the verge of losing his daughter.
At Isaac's plea, a faint change flickered across the face of the girl who had been staring blankly into space. A dim light stirred in her empty eyes, and her brow furrowed slightly, as if she could not quite understand.
At last, after a long silence, she opened her mouth. Her voice was clear, strangely at odds with her wounded body, yet it carried no emotion at all.
"...I don't understand."
The girl murmured quietly. Her gaze turned to the kneeling Isaac.
"I never knew you... valued my sister that much."
There was no accusation or resentment in the words — only pure curiosity, like a child discovering something completely unexpected for the first time.
Still with those vacant eyes, she looked down indifferently at her father weeping at her feet.
"You know what it means... when you ask me to save my sister, don't you?"
Isaac did not answer. He only hung his head, his shoulders shaking.
"I... if I use my authority in this state, I'll die."
The girl stated her own death calmly, as if it were nothing.
That was the moment.
At her words, Isaac Bennet's body, still bowed, began to tremble violently. When he slowly raised his head, no trace of sorrow or despair remained on his face. Instead, a chilling rage and twisted madness had flooded his eyes in an instant.
"...So what?"
Isaac growled. He shot to his feet and shoved his face right up to hers, as if ready to seize her by the collar, and began to shout.
"So what am I supposed to do about it?! Are you suddenly afraid of dying now?!"
His eyes were bloodshot and red.
"You're nothing but a tool! A nameless tool the Transcendents sent down to save humanity! If you're a tool, then act like one and fulfill your purpose! Save my daughter! Save Serena right now!!!"
Isaac's mad roar echoed through the empty space.
Yet facing that ugly true face head-on, a faint expression of relief seemed to pass over the girl's features.
"...I'm glad."
She spoke quietly.
"You're still the same piece of trash as ever."
There was no contempt or anger in the words — rather, a strange sense of satisfaction.
The girl lightly pushed against Isaac's chest. It was a motion with almost no force behind it, yet the man, lost in his frenzy, stumbled back several steps.
"I'll save my sister myself."
She looked straight at Isaac and spoke in a firm tone unlike before.
"Not because the likes of you begged me. Because she's my sister. I will save her, no matter what."
Her voice held genuine affection for her sister Serena — a temperature utterly different from her attitude toward Isaac.
"But..."
The girl continued.
"I have one request."
"...What is it?"
Hope that his daughter might be saved brought a faint spark of life back to Isaac's face.
"Let me meet the Witch of Protection at the Academy."
Her voice was calm, yet it carried a weight that brooked no refusal.
"To save my sister... I need her power."
A familiar space.
High ceilings, bookshelves lining every wall, and beyond the windows the sweeping grounds of the Academy.
It was the Headmistress's office.
The girl stood in the center of the room. Though she had changed into clean clothes, the arms, the nape of her neck, and the face still visible above the collar were covered in terrible scars. The blood no longer flowed, yet those marks stood as vivid proof of the suffering she had endured.
Her eyes remained empty.
She stood in the middle of the room, facing a woman seated behind the desk who regarded her with open interest.
White robes and a pointed wizard's hat. Petite in build, yet her presence filled the office and more.
The Witch of Protection, Dorothy Lightsheld.
"Hmm..."
Dorothy rested her chin on her hand and looked the girl up and down. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the scars that marked the girl's body.
"So, what was it you wanted again? For me to engrave my magic onto you?"
Curiosity mixed with a touch of suspicion in her voice.
"Yes."
The girl answered without hesitation.
"If I had that magic... it would create synergy with my unique ability and let me use the Evil God's authority. Then I could certainly help protect Tera..."
Her words cut off there.
While she was explaining her plan, Dorothy rose from her seat and quietly approached. She gently took the girl's arm and carefully began to touch the scars hidden beneath the sleeve.
Wounds still tinged with red, as if not yet fully healed. Strangely twisted tissue.
Dorothy's brow furrowed slightly. Her voice dropped low.
"...This. Who did this to you?"
It was no longer simple curiosity. Something like cold anger threaded through the question.
The girl blinked, briefly flustered by Dorothy's words. Then she answered as if it were nothing — almost proudly, even.
"Ah! I did it myself. The unique ability I mentioned earlier. I grow stronger through pain! So I deliberately..."
Calmly — far too calmly — the girl spoke of wounding her own body. Faced with that almost sunny expression, Dorothy found herself at a loss for words.
"...Right. Of course you did..."
Dorothy said nothing more. She released the girl's arm, and a look both nostalgic and sorrowful crossed her face, as if she were recalling something very old. Then she slowly closed her eyes.
A suffocating silence filled the Headmistress's office.
The girl watched Dorothy with an expression that seemed equal parts uneasy and hopeful.
At last Dorothy opened her eyes and spoke.
"...All right."
A short, clear word of permission.
At that single word the girl's face brightened noticeably. Life returned to her empty eyes, and a faint but genuine smile rose to her lips.
"But..."
Dorothy added.
"There is a condition."
At the mention of a condition, the smile vanished from the girl's face in an instant. Her expression settled once more into calm, and in its place rose a steely resolve, as if she were prepared to accept any hardship.
She answered without hesitation.
"Yes. Of course. Tell me any condition you like. If it's something I can do... anything..."
There was even a note of solemn determination in her voice.
Dorothy watched her for a moment, then set forth a condition no one would have expected.
"Become my disciple."
"...What?"
The girl stared wide-eyed, as if she had heard something utterly beyond imagination. Even her voice trembled slightly.
"Y-your disciple? Someone like me? How could I dare... I have no talent, I've learned nothing... I'm just..."
She was so flustered she could barely string the words together.
Dorothy watched her reaction in silence, then asked with a mischievous smile,
"My. So you're refusing? When I'm offering to take you as my personal disciple for once."
"No! That's not what I meant!"
The girl startled again and waved her hands frantically.
"I-it's just... it was so sudden..."
She still looked at Dorothy as if she could not quite believe it.
Dorothy smiled faintly, as if she found the girl endearing — or perhaps pitiful. Then she stepped closer without hesitation and drew the girl firmly into her arms.
A warm, soft sensation.
A warmth like a mother's embrace, something she had forgotten for long years.
At the sudden hug the girl's body stiffened. Awkward and flustered, she fidgeted restlessly in Dorothy's arms, as if the very act of being held so close by another person was a thoroughly alien experience.
Dorothy paid no mind to the reaction. She only held her tighter and whispered low,
"Tsk tsk... A girl's body covered in scars this harsh..."
With those words, Dorothy began to gather soft healing mana in one hand. A brilliant green light bloomed from her palm. She brought that hand to the scars remaining all over the girl's body.
Ssssss—
Along with a warm, tingling sensation, something remarkable occurred.
Wherever Dorothy's touch passed, the hideous scars that had long covered the girl's body began to melt away like snow. The torn and slashed marks, the burns, even the strangely twisted tissue... everything returned to clean, smooth skin.
When the healing was finished, Dorothy released her from the embrace.
The girl looked down at her arms and legs, now free of scars, with wonder. She touched them, rubbed them, tilted her head.
At that pure reaction, a faint smile once more touched Dorothy's lips.
Emilla stared down with empty eyes at the open page of Yeon Bennet's records.
The shock, guilt, and pity that had churned through her heart only moments before had already faded, leaving behind only a bottomless emptiness.
Even her tears seemed to have dried; her eyes shone dryly.
Without a word, Emilla turned the next page with mechanical motions.
There was still much of the story left for her to see.