Chapter 2 …
An irrepressible longing welled up in Dante’s eyes.
Among the few who had stood by his side without asking anything in return during that grueling life—
A true knight who, in the end, had willingly laid down his life to protect Dante.
Dante could do nothing. He kept his lips tightly shut, silently gazing at him.
Never once had he imagined he would see that face again.
“Could it be…?”
Milleon, watching Dante with a puzzled look, opened his mouth.
“Were you that curious about a real sword?”
“Ah.”
At those words, Dante lowered his gaze.
Only then did he remember the weight of the sword in his hand.
“I told you your first training begins tomorrow. You shouldn’t be so reckless, unable to endure even a moment.”
Milleon strode forward and held out his hand.
“That sword is dangerous. Please hand it over to me.”
His tone left no room for refusal.
But instead of giving it up, Dante fell into thought.
First training?
For him, those words could only mean one thing.
Age ten.
The day he first held a real sword.
That had been more than seventy years ago.
Then today must be the day before that day?
His body was young again.
His family—destined to vanish without a trace.
The indelible marks of time in his memory.
And—
Sir Milleon.
Putting together everything he had seen, heard, and experienced since opening his eyes, there was only one conclusion.
I have truly returned to the past.
He had no idea how such a thing was possible.
Was it divine mercy? Or trickery?
Whatever it was, Dante knew it was beyond his comprehension.
Therefore, what mattered was not the reason, but the result.
He was ten years old again. From here on, anything was possible.
He could change his ruined reputation.
He could save Milleon, who had perished in vain.
He could prevent his house from falling into ruin.
And perhaps, I can reach even greater heights.
He could bring the sword—his lifelong companion until death—to a higher realm than ever before.
Heh.
A laugh escaped him.
An irrepressible desire welled up, the urge to swing the sword until he collapsed from exhaustion.
It was a childish thought, but if it meant erasing all the disgrace of his past, so be it.
And now… it was finally possible!
But unfortunately, not right now.
“Sir Dante.”
Because Milleon was standing right in front of him, hand still outstretched, face stern.
Reluctantly, with twitching fingers, Dante lifted the sword and handed it over.
“Wasn’t it heavy? Surely it felt different from the wooden swords you used before.”
Milleon asked as he received it.
Training swords were forged from solid steel, many times heavier than wood.
It was a natural question.
“It wasn’t that difficult.”
Dante shrugged.
He had hardly felt the weight at all.
Milleon’s eyes flickered oddly at that reply.
“…I see.”
He seemed to have more questions but chose instead to give a reminder.
“Training begins tomorrow. That is also when your sword-giving ceremony will be held. So for today, please go and rest.”
It was still dawn. Hours remained before sunrise.
At only ten years old, Dante needed rest if he were to endure tomorrow’s training.
“Very well.”
Not wishing to raise suspicion, Dante curbed his eagerness and agreed.
“Shall I escort you—”
“No need. I can find my room well enough.”
“I see. Then I’ll tidy the training yard and return.”
At this time, Milleon was not yet the house’s First Knight.
He was still just a promising sixteen-year-old, freshly knighted.
Even so, it was always his duty to clean up the training grounds.
Remembering this, Dante turned and hurried back to his room, his steps filled with reluctant regret.
“Hm.”
Milleon quietly studied Dante’s retreating back.
‘It wasn’t that difficult?’
He tightened his grip on the training sword and swung it.
Whoosh—!
The air burst as the heavy weight vibrated through his arm.
This sword was deliberately forged heavier than normal, precisely for training.
It was not something a child who had never undergone real strength training could lift easily.
Even with straining effort, most could barely manage it.
Milleon recalled the sight from moments ago.
Perfect stance.
Not a tremor at the sword’s tip, the blade standing straight toward the sky.
Legs planted as though rooted to the earth, back held firm, body united with the sword itself.
Even seasoned knights of the house, forged through lifelong training, would struggle to exude such unity.
“Could I have seen wrong?”
It defied all logic.
A child who had done nothing but play with wooden toys could not possibly hold this weight with such flawless form.
Even his speech—wasn’t it different?
The light, boyish tone seemed gone, replaced by a heavier presence.
As if he carried decades of life’s depth—
Pfft.
Milleon chuckled at himself.
Even to him, the thought was absurd.
“He must’ve just been overwhelmed by holding a real sword for the first time.”
Wasn’t that common at that age?
Boys mimicking grown men, changing their tone to sound mature.
Milleon concluded Dante was no different.
Shaking off the thought, he returned the sword to the rack.
“Training, huh.”
Memories of the day he had first held a sword resurfaced.
Tomorrow, Dante too would feel that same exhilaration.
With a faint sense of expectation, Milleon left the yard.
On the hardened dirt floor, a small footprint remained, bathed in moonlight, awaiting the rising sun.
Of course Dante couldn’t sleep a wink.
How many people could fall asleep calmly in such an impossible situation?
Even Dante, who had swung his sword for decades with unwavering composure, lay restless, wide awake in mingled excitement and disbelief.
Still, thanks to his rejuvenated body, he felt no fatigue.
Sitting on the small bed, gathering his thoughts, he realized dawn was breaking, light seeping in through the window.
Thump, thump.
His heart pounded faster.
He longed to sneak out and swing a sword to his heart’s content.
But he restrained himself.
If he went to the training yard now, too many eyes would notice.
He didn’t want a repeat of last night.
As he tried to calm his hammering chest, a knock came.
Knock knock.
“Are you awake?”
A young woman’s voice followed.
Eina.
His exclusive maid, who had tended to him in place of his busy stepmother during this era.
He vaguely remembered—she was the daughter of a minor noble family in a wine-producing region.
She had adored and cared for Dante deeply.
But on that tragic day of the family’s downfall, she too had thrown herself in front of him—only to meet her death.
“You’re not still sleeping, are you? The sun’s already high…”
Lost in emotion, Dante didn’t answer. She opened the door and began to scold him.
“Oh?”
Then, seeing Dante already wide-eyed, she looked surprised.
“You’re up already?”
Unspoken words hung behind her eyes: Since when is the sleepyhead up so early?
“I woke earlier than usual.”
Dante answered calmly, suppressing the tremble of longing, guilt, and joy.
Eina smiled softly.
“You’ve waited so eagerly for today that you even beat your love of sleep.”
She too knew well what day this was.
“Shall we wash up, then?”
“…Yes.”
He tried to mimic the speech of a boy his age.
His mature mind resisted, but otherwise, he’d only be thought strange again.
After washing with the water she had prepared, she gently dried his face with a soft towel.
It was then that Dante truly felt he had returned to the past.
After the fall of his house, he had hardly known such warmth again.
Even a towel—such a luxury was once beyond him, when surviving each day had been struggle enough.
“Young master?”
He must have looked bitter without realizing, for she called him with a puzzled expression.
“Ah—here.”
Forcing a soft smile, he handed her the towel.
“You’re acting strange today. Waking early, and even behaving so obediently.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Did she sense something?
As he tensed at the thought—
“Don’t tell me you caused some trouble already?”
No, it was needless worry.
Eina simply assumed he could only be this well-behaved if he’d done something wrong.
“That’s not it.”
Chuckling inwardly, Dante brushed it off.
“Hm, still suspicious…”
She seemed doubtful but, bound by the invisible wall between maid and heir of the house, she could press no further.
All she could do was look at him curiously.
“What about breakfast?” Dante quickly changed the subject.
“It’s ready. You should change and head out.”
She opened the wardrobe and picked an outfit for him—a simple, age-appropriate set for a ten-year-old boy.
Suppressing his instinctive distaste, Dante changed clothes and followed her out.
Unlike dawn, the corridors bustled with servants and maids.
“Young master.”
“You’re up?”
“Good morning. You look handsome today.”
They all greeted him with smiles.
Dante returned their greetings awkwardly.
It’s been so long.
This warmth.
In those days, the house brimmed with such life—at least until that day came.
Biting his lip lightly, Dante calmed his heart.
I can change it.
He had returned.
This time, he had awakened his Stigmata.
The future itself could be altered.
He would not repeat that tragedy.
Toward a better path.
Dante swore never again to lose this warmth.
“Here we are.”
Eina stopped, turning to straighten his clothes.
“Enjoy your meal. Don’t be picky, or you won’t grow. And since everyone will be gathered, mind your manners.”
What a worrier.
“Yes, I understand.”
He nodded. She smiled and reached for the dining room door.
“See you soon.”
Creak—
The door opened softly.
And—
“Well, you’re on time for once.”
A deep, weighty voice.
A voice Dante had not heard in decades, so faint in memory it had nearly faded.
His face froze.
“Father.”
The word slipped out, trembling with tension.
Sensing something strange, his father raised his head.
Their gazes met in the air.
The steel-like eyes of his father suddenly widened.
Why?
As Dante wondered, power erupted from him in a storm.
Whooooom—!
The Sword of the Empire, Zenon Equites.
He fixed Dante with a piercing glare and demanded:
“Who are you?”
