Prologue. The Final Death
It was a quiet day—even the horses tied to the carriage didn’t so much as snort.
The sky had turned a mournful shade of gray, and the branches with their hanging leaves bowed their heads as if in guilt.
Everyone’s gaze was fixed on a woman lying in the deepest part of Crowell Castle. It was as if the entire world had sunk into sorrow because of her.
On the bed, surrounded by people, lay a woman whose face had turned pale with illness.
Her once-bright pink hair had become thin and stiff from a long illness, and beneath her trembling golden eyelashes, the light in her eyes was slowly fading. But nothing could diminish her beauty.
“O curse of life, now release the hero.
In death, you shall be free.
O you who were stronger than anyone, the world shall remember you.”
Representatives from the Empire, the Magic Tower, and the Temple stood around her. At those words, they bowed their heads in unison and stepped back. It was both a eulogy and an ode to the great hero who had saved the world.
Yes.
Today was the day Edith Crowell would draw her last breath.
The Empire’s great hero—Edith Crowell.
The archmage who had prevented countless disasters that could have destroyed the world.
All things in the world were obliged to bow and revere her death.
Finally, the last moment had come.
Yet Edith did not fear death. Nor did she find it sorrowful.
She felt nothing but relief and joy.
“Finally.”
To reach this moment, she had lived again hundreds of times. That is to say, Edith was a regressor, who had returned through time hundreds of times.
With a stiffening face, Edith faintly smiled.
“…The world will remember me,” she thought.
But that didn’t matter.
What mattered to her… was that she could finally die.
“It’s over.”
Turning her stiff neck, Edith took in the scent of the white daffodils placed next to her pillow.
They had been left there by her beloved younger sibling. How thoughtful of them.
“Haa…”
Even a single breath was difficult—her frail chest trembled with effort.
Her body was so wrecked, it was hard to believe she had once commanded the world with her magic.
Yet even the excruciating pain that tore through her body was something she endured with gratitude. The damp clothes sticking to her skin from cold sweat didn’t bother her.
The saying “I can die without regret” fit her more than anyone else.
The reason Edith had gone through such grueling regressions was due to a nameless curse.
A horrific curse that slowly disintegrated her body with unbearable pain until she eventually crumbled like ashes.
However, it was also thanks to that nameless curse that Edith was able to accomplish everything.
Normally, the curse simply brought about one’s destined death—but Edith had discovered something new about it.
That was: a person afflicted with this curse can only die after witnessing the curse’s end.
In other words, if she died before reaching the curse’s conclusion…
She would regress—again and again—back to the day after she was cursed.
That’s how Edith Crowell lived through hundreds of lives.
Each life came with countless events, and each event could vary in thousands of ways.
Thanks to that, Edith knew in advance all the crucial turning points that could change her fate. She replayed her life like a game of chess, calculating every best move.
And if anything went wrong—she simply gave up and started over.
After all, she couldn’t end her life on her own terms anyway.
If only she could reach the perfect ending—death would surely follow.
She steadied her crumbling spirit again and again.
Again. And again. And again…
Until she reached the best possible future.
Edith Crowell completed her hundreds of regressions.
There was never any choice to stop. She had no choice but to keep going.
And yet, she didn’t become a monster.
Because she had a clear goal.
“My beloved family…”
She wanted to leave a future for the people she loved.
While the world drowned in chaos, she saved it—just to protect her beloved family. All other meaning had long faded.
Edith Crowell had no time to despair—she sacrificed even that to protect the Barony of Crowell.
One burning goal led the immortal regressor forward.
And now, finally, the time had come.
“This is enough.”
After hundreds of deaths and rebirths, she could finally see the end.
The world did not fall into ruin. The Crowell Barony stood more honored than any other house.
Countless songs and poems would remember her.
She no longer had to go back. At last, she could die.
Even after she died—
Even after this life ended—
The world would carry on.
Edith Crowell recited the ode echoing in her ears with hollow detachment.
“O curse of life… Let me go, at last.”
And at that moment—
The body Edith Crowell had kept together for so long began to crumble from the world.
Collapsing into ash, scattering into dust.
All who witnessed the premature death of the century’s hero swallowed mournful cries.
A deep, jagged crack split across her pale, bloodless cheek like a white plaster statue.
She was breaking.
Her human form was collapsing.
A cursed soul disappearing without even a trace…
Complete death felt far less emotional than she’d expected.
Edith Crowell closed her eyes, without regret.
Then her eyelids disappeared.
Her pupils disintegrated into glittering golden dust, and even the last gleam of her soul vanished.
…That’s how it should have ended.
***
Hot wind brushed against her face. She blinked instinctively.
Her eyelashes—supposed to have turned to ash—fluttered. Her limbs, which should have fallen limp like a broken doll, felt strangely heavy.
Then, her vision returned.
Swish—
A glowing blue blade came slashing straight at her.
“……!”
She reflexively turned her head—her body moved with her will.
This was no dream. No illusion.
At the same time, a stinging pain spread across her cheek.
She hadn’t dodged fully.
A sharp line of pain traced her face.
“…?”
She brought a hand to her cheek—and touched something slick and warm.
Blood.
She looked down at the red smear on her hand, then up—at the person in front of her.
A completely unfamiliar, youthful face stared back, frozen mid-thrust, sword still extended.
“…Ah.”
“……”
What…?
She looked around, panicked. And as if that motion were a cue, everyone surrounding them started shouting at once:
“She didn’t dodge! Is she crazy?”
“What’s happening?”
“Edith Crowell is bleeding!”
“He actually swung a sword at a lady?”
“Well, that Edith Crowell… maybe it’s fine?”
“Wait, are they sparring?”
“Chester pulled a real sword.”
“Maybe she’s planning to blackmail him or something.”
The murmurs grew louder.
As soon as her senses returned, the noise began to flood in.
Where was she?
Who were these people?
The air reeked of sweat and dust.
Behind her, her back hit an old wooden fence that pricked with splinters.
Every time the warm breeze passed over her skin, it kicked up dust that tickled her lashes.
The scene before her—seen through her wide-open eyes—was something she never expected.
A training ground, crowded with boys all wearing matching uniforms…
“An academy’s training yard?”
What the hell is going on?
Her heart pounded wildly.
No—her heart was beating. Why?
Her peace—her death—it was supposed to be over.
She had let go of everything. She had found relief.
But now—?
Her head, once light with freedom, buzzed with returning chaos. Questions with no answers piled one after another.
Why… why…
This felt like…
“Like I’ve… come back to life.”
“No way.”
No. This can’t be.
“…No. It can’t be true.”
The unfamiliar voice, shaky with disbelief, spat out those words like venom.
A few seconds later, she realized it was her own voice.
“W-What did you say? It’s your fault for not dodging, Crowell!”
At that moment, the buzzing in her ears was pierced by another voice.
What…? Did she speak just now?
Her mind felt blank.
Right. She could check.
The blade that had aimed at her cheek was now trembling near her chest.
Perfect to use as a mirror.
She grabbed the blade with one hand and pulled—it slid toward her effortlessly.
And with it came a pain so sharp and vivid, it couldn’t be an illusion.
“Kyaaaah!”
“Are you insane?!”
Screams rang out at the sight of her grabbing the blade barehanded.
“Ugh…!”
Even the boy holding the sword let out a stifled scream and dropped it.
So noisy. What a bunch of children.
She used the blade like a mirror.
A warped reflection of her face appeared.
“This can’t be”
Blood dripped from a long cut down her left cheek, staining her face.
Her pink hair, carelessly tied back, stuck out in unruly strands. Her golden eyes—burning brightly—stared back at her from the cold steel.
Then, the blood from her palm slid down, covering her reflection.
“…Ha.”
A low sigh escaped her lips.
She had returned to the past.
