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Chapter 2
When the blinding light faded, the scene before me was a snow-covered mountain.
The green of the trees had vanished, leaving behind a world painted in white. There, in the endless whiteness, a man stood, barely keeping his balance.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Scarlet drops fell onto the snow, staining it crimson. He was bleeding heavily, fatally, and yet—despite the mortal wound—he did not cry out in pain.
The man across from him swung his sword, and in the next instant, the wounded man collapsed forward as if his body had lost all strength.
Death closed in, but still, he did not flinch. Instead, he closed his eyes with nothing but a sorrowful expression.
‘What is this?’
Before I could even begin to question the strangeness, the scene changed again.
This time it was no longer the snowy wilderness, but a lavishly decorated chamber.
The man was the same.
Clutching his throat, he coughed violently, the spilled tea pooling on the ground. Each cough spattered blood, making it obvious: poison.
He didn’t last long. His eyes slipped shut once more.
And then, once again, the world shifted.
The backdrop changed, but the story did not. The man died again, and again, and again.
He fought desperately, only to fall.
He was ambushed and slain.
He was murdered in his sleep.
He was betrayed by a comrade and cast down to his death.
He was branded a heretic and executed.
Over and over, tragedy played out before my eyes.
When his death came for the tenth time, the scene finally shifted to something I knew too well.
The weather turned to chaos, thunder roaring like a herald of doom. A shattered carriage lay overturned in the earth, and amidst the wreckage, the man lay dying.
And in that moment, as his fading eyes met mine, the world twisted apart.
Only then did I understand what these repeated visions meant.
At that realization, breath surged into my lungs, sharp and ragged—just as it always did at the start of a return. It was the tenth regression.
When I opened my eyes again, the familiar ceiling greeted me.
I had returned.
This unwanted regression should have filled me with fury. But instead, I nearly laughed with relief.
Because I remembered him—the man who had died over and over before my eyes.
Leandros Aghanilwig.
Second prince of the Aghanilwig Empire, who renounced succession immediately after graduating from the academy.
An upright man, respected and admired by all. A sacred knight chosen by the divine, burdened with a holy mission.
And the same meddlesome knight who had once tried to stop me from claiming the relic.
Of course, given his position and his mission to guard the world from evil gods, it was no surprise he had countless enemies or that death stalked him at every turn.
“Still… the fact that he dies in the exact same ways as I do—that is strange.”
Carriage accidents.
Assassins in the night.
Sudden ambushes.
Falls to his death.
It was absurd… and yet—
“Well, honestly, my entire situation is absurd.”
Until now, I had believed my curse was born of the relic, that keeping my distance from it and from the gods would eventually free me.
But I was powerless. In the end, I begged the gods for an answer—and they had shown me the truth.
“If Leandros dies, then I die in the same way. But if he does not… if he lives… then perhaps I will no longer be bound to this curse.”
Hope. For the first time in what felt like forever, true hope stirred within me. I couldn’t help but smile.
Light steps carried me to the vanity. As always, the gift box sat neatly atop it.
I opened the pretty wrapping. Inside was the golden music box, gleaming as if it were new.
“Yes… nothing must change.”
Any new variables, besides what I had just seen, could ruin everything.
Yet as I held the ornate music box, disgust welled up within me. I went to set it aside—
“Oh! My lady, you’re already awake!”
The door creaked open, and Wendy entered with her usual cheerful voice.
“Serving a villainess like you… gods, it was unbearable.”
Just a moment ago, I had seen this same girl raise a blade to end my life. Now she stood before me smiling innocently, the very picture of a loyal maid.
Before, I had thought her merely light on her feet for a servant. Now that I knew she was an assassin, everything about her made sense.
‘If I dismiss her now, it’ll look suspicious.’
Her master wasn’t clear. Whether it was my family or someone else, I would need to be careful.
“Yes. Today is my birthday, after all,” I answered lightly, as though nothing were amiss.
Her face lit up, bright and warm. “Oh, my lady, I didn’t know you were so excited for it! Happy birthday!”
“Thank you.”
How easy it would have been to seize her by the collar, to demand how long she had been ordered to kill me. But the answer was obvious.
‘Whoever gave the command, she merely obeyed.’
Her gaze drifted to the music box. “Is that a gift from the duke and madam? It’s beautiful. It suits you perfectly, my lady!”
“Does it?”
Her eyes shone with genuine admiration, as though she really meant it.
The golden music box was a priceless trinket, crafted by the famous composer Redanté. Even at auction, its starting price was a hundred thousand gold. My parents had bought it for me, to soothe the insomnia that plagued my nights.
It had once been my most treasured possession.
But now?
“Disgusting.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“Pardon? My lady?”
“Nothing.”
I had once relied on it for comfort after every regression. But now, I could hardly stand to look at it.
Wendy approached eagerly. “Shall I play it for you?”
“Later.”
When I set it down with clear annoyance, she looked surprised.
“Don’t you like it, my lady?”
“It simply isn’t to my taste.”
“Ah… I see.”
Her shock was genuine. Anyone would be surprised—I had always adored this gift, adored my parents for giving it to me.
But I turned away from it and reached instead for the letter lying discarded on the floor.
‘Sentiment can wait. First things first.’
“Cancel today’s birthday party.”
“What?” Wendy’s eyes widened as if I had just blasphemed.
“My lady, the duke spent lavishly to host it! The gardens have been entirely redecorated, and the young master personally invited the empire’s best orchestra for you. Everyone is so excited, you can’t—”
Her protests faltered when she saw what I held: the letter.
“Surely… surely you’ll attend the imperial ball instead?”
Yes. I remembered this part all too well.
On the eve of my eighteenth birthday, the imperial family had announced a ball—on the same day as my celebration.
It was the birthday ball of none other than Leandros Aghanilwig.
A celebration of the second prince’s twentieth year and his formal devotion to the holy order, proving the empire had not abandoned him despite his abdication.
Compared to that, my party had been a pathetic failure.
‘If I disliked Leandros before, I hated him after that.’
“You always said you would never go…” Wendy murmured.
Perhaps I had. I didn’t quite recall. But I had never burned the invitation, never dared—merely thrown it aside in fury.
“Most of your guests will choose his ball over yours,” I said simply.
No noble would miss the chance to court imperial favor. Even my own family had abandoned my celebration for his.
“Write the replies: ‘In order to celebrate His Highness, we will be attending his ball instead.’ That should be polite enough.”
Wendy swallowed hard, her eyes shimmering. But she nodded.
“Pay the errand boys and mercenaries double their wages. And give the same to every servant who helped with the party preparations. I’ll explain it to Father myself.”
The matter of the party was finished. Now, it was time to move on to the next step.
