Chapter 1
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Chapter 1: If Life Were Just Like the First Meeting
Death seemed small and fleeting.
Yet death stretched endlessly long.
Long enough for one to relive every mistake, sorrow, pain, and regret.
The sky held the ashen tint of pre-dawn stillness. Clad in shattered armor with broken longsword in hand, Midi Asreks perched atop a mountain of corpses, silently awaiting daybreak.
The three-day landing battle had concluded. Through his cunning tactics, enemies found themselves counter-encircled – tens of thousands lost, including three dragon-surpassing mobile fortresses. Their own sacrifices numbered under ten thousand. The heavens’ gate now stood unbarred after this clash.
A brilliant victory, some might say.
Yet for Midi who’d claimed this triumph, it felt merely routine.
And likely his final routine.
The metallic blood-taste spreading through his mouth and the hollow ache of drained Vitality told him death approached. Neither fear nor resistance remained – only calm acceptance as his eyelids lowered.
But his Thoughts grew turbulent.
Once he’d been nobility, until calamities from the Great Shift and enemy invasions destroyed his family, leaving him a lone fugitive. He’d commanded loyal comrades, yet relentless hard clashes eventually scattered them.
Weakness forced him to watch his family’s destruction. Arrogance made victories slip through his fingers. Through disasters and betrayals, he’d paid in blood and pain to reach this moment.
Now even that bloody journey ended.
Two women materialized in his fading mind.
Fina – crimson-haired "Queen of Magic" – laughing defiantly as she alone held back armies for him.
Alice – raven-tressed "Mist Sorceress" – intercepting an assassin’s blade while transferring her magic and knowledge to him with dying breath.
He’d failed to protect them. Failed to protect himself.
Still… not strong enough?
Death’s chill crept up Grim Reaper’s scythe-blade as Midi sighed.
"If I could return twenty years…"
Darkness claimed him.
Arad Calendar Year 1004: Midi Asreks, last of Hawk Brigade’s Iron Triangle, the "Ghost Cry" Deathsword, fell silently on heavens’ battlefield.
As his heart stilled, the demon god within his left hand roared rebellion, erupting in radiant glow. The heavens themselves shuddered.
Midi walked alone through shadows. Pallid light cast twisted silhouettes beneath him. Howling winds filled the gray-shrouded space where streets melted and reformed endlessly.
Suddenly the void convulsed. Caught in the maelstrom, he plunged like driftwood through raging currents until buried in Sea Bottom’s vast graveyard.
Blackness shattered.
Midi opened his eyes to pattering rain and winter’s bite. Before him stretched a Victorian hall. An oak table dominated the space, walls adorned with ornate weapons. At the far end, Belmar Kingdom’s crest hung above a throne-like chair, radiating imperious authority.
Midi thought to himself with a mix of amusement and indifference, "Do countries even exist in hell?" Yet the scene before him felt hauntingly familiar, giving him an intense sense of déjà vu he couldn’t immediately place.
He instinctively looked out the window.
Countless silver threads of rain connected sky and earth, drumming against row upon row of rooftops to cloak the city in mist. Students in uniforms walked beneath umbrellas on the streets below, their laughter occasionally rising through the rain. In the distance stood an ancient bell tower, its imposing silhouette watching over the city like a stone guardian.
The sight awakened sealed memories in Midi’s heart.
A deep bell toll from the tower suddenly hit his eardrums like a siege ram breaking through gates. That familiar sound made everything click – this was Hertonmar!
He stood in Belmar Royal Magic Academy, where he’d trained as a swordsman twenty years earlier. Before graduation had come the Great Upheaval, the Forest of Gran fire, and the Delos Empire invasion – events burned permanently into his memory.
Yet now the peaceful streets showed no sign of coming disasters.
Had he returned to the past?
A dying hallucination? Hell’s trickery?
Heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts. One set thudded slowly, the other danced like musical notes. As Midi turned, the door opened.
"Apologies for the wait, Midi." A flustered middle-aged man entered first.
Midi struggled to recall the man’s name from his youth, but the effort vanished when a girl stepped from behind the man.
Tall and graceful, with legs that seemed to go on forever and breathtaking features crowned by autumn-maple hair.
"Fina?" The name escaped Midi’s lips before he could stop it.
Rain sounds faded. Heartbeats stilled. Time lost meaning as he stared at the girl he’d never thought to see again.
The redhead’s lips pressed into a thin line under his intense gaze. "You’re aware the academy trial’s next week?" The man hurriedly interjected. "Four-person teams required. Fina’s group needs a fourth member, and you’re currently unassigned. A swordsman-magician pairing makes practical sense…"
"Enough." Fina’s sharp voice cut through the room. "I’ll test him myself. If he fails basic standards, we’ll go as three. Fair enough, Dean Lind?"
The dean nodded hastily before fleeing, throwing Midi a pitying glance as he left – a minor viscount powerless against the "Queen of Storms."
Midi never noticed.
Battling the urge to crush Fina in a hug, he extended his hand instead. "Midi Asreks. Pleasure to meet you."
Through the winter rain’s gentle patter beneath leaden skies, their story began anew.
