Chapter 1. Playing Family.

“Gah!”

A single spear pierced her abdomen in one blow.

Eatrith thrust the blade of her sword into the ground at her feet with her right hand.

It was a heavy, staggering attack, but she managed not to collapse. With only one knee bent, she held her upper body upright.

Pain surged through her, but she had no intention of showing it.

Her glare was so fierce that the attacker involuntarily stepped back.

She was clearly mortally wounded, yet the murderous aura around her made it seem like she could leap at them any second. The air around them froze.

“Finish off that madwoman! Kill her now!”

Supreme Commander Heddon’s voice was more of a shrill scream than a command.

Eatrith was a knight who had neither the blessing of divine power nor the favor of magic.

Her only weapon was a lonely sword, one without any enchanted energy—just a blade to stab and slash.

Perhaps that’s why they had underestimated her.

She had forced her way alone through the layered gates of the imperial palace.

To take revenge, she had cut down dozens of subordinates and finally reached the central garden of the palace.

Her uniform, soaked in blood and flesh, made her appear as the very embodiment of terror.

“If you can’t kill her, then butcher her limbs! Make sure she never gets close to me again!”

‘How disgraceful.’

To see him, a duke of the empire, cowering behind his men to survive. Even with a Supreme Commander medal on his chest.

“…Are you afraid of me?”

Her voice was fading, but it still rang clear. Heddon’s eyes twitched hideously at the sound.

“…Ha.”

A dry, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

She felt foolish for ever craving recognition from the likes of him.

The way Heddon looked at her was never the gaze of someone looking at family bound by blood.

It was the confused stare of someone wondering why a hunting dog with no use left dared to bark.

His gaze had always been filled with contempt—now, it was only fear.

There had never been an ounce of affection. So why was she only realizing it now?

‘Prince Adrian… why did it take losing you for me to understand?’

Suddenly, something hot surged from her gut and welled up in her eyes.

She gripped her sword tighter, channeling her seething rage into her hand—but her body no longer obeyed.

All she could do was hold her upper body upright.

Even Heddon, who had been shouting furiously, began to notice the weakening of her movements. The tension on his face gradually faded.

Soon, he shoved aside the subordinate blocking his way and took a step forward, examining her expression.

“Khak!”

As blood burst from her lips, Heddon broke into a broad grin.

It was the kind of smile you’d never expect from someone facing their dying cousin.

Even so, Eatrith didn’t avert her gaze. She glared back at his leering, greedy face.

“Your eyes! I promised to gouge out those filthy red eyes that dared to look at our family and give them to Muriel. To my true family—one who’s nothing like a vulgar bastard like you…”

Nothing like a vulgar bastard—true family.

Those words mocked the entirety of Eatrith’s life.

With a smug gesture, Heddon signaled his aide.

Shrrk—his aide drew a greatsword and approached Eatrith.

“Cut off her right arm.”

Then Heddon added to the approaching aide,

“So that even in death, she can never again dare to wield a sword.”

She may have raised her blade against the second prince, who was now as good as the emperor, but Eatrith was still a member of House Bellanel—just like Heddon.

Ironically, she had once deceived the First Prince to aid the Second Prince’s rebellion.

A loyal subject and a traitor—no matter that she was a bastard, cutting off the arm of a living noblewoman was an unimaginable punishment.

It was certainly not an honorable end befitting a knight.

As she listened to the murmuring soldiers who thought the sentence was far too cruel, Eatrith calmly raised her head.

Slowly, she blinked and filled her vision with the sky.

Perhaps it was from the ashes drifting in the palace air, or maybe rain was coming—the sky she looked up at was completely gray.

‘My life was a punishment.’

She was born after killing her mother in childbirth.

Grew up to be the shame of a ducal house.

And even led her beloved liege to a wretched death—a cursed life, through and through.

And now, even her own death was to end like a worm in a pool of blood.

As death loomed closer, a tide of regret rose within her, but not a single tear fell.

‘Maybe it’s because I already shed them all at your death.’

A name too guilty to even think of—her liege, who died because of her betrayal.

First Prince Adrian Blaine Roanest.

She would never forget that moment when his violet eyes, once so bright as they smiled at her, lost their light forever.

“I held a sword all my life… and yet, I failed to protect a single thing.”

It was a final whisper, like a solitary monologue no one would hear.

Feeling the chilling edge of the blade touch her right arm, Eatrith Bellanel closed her eyes.

* * *

“Smack!”

With a sharp, stinging sound, a painful blow struck across her face.

Perhaps because it had happened so suddenly and unexpectedly, her eyes snapped open.

Once her vision cleared, she saw familiar, worn-out furniture and curtains fluttering by the wide-open window.

Everything was so familiar—so much so, it made her sick. If she wasn’t mistaken, this place was definitely…

“This is my room.”

The moment she recognized where she was, the words slipped out. Eatrith flinched as she heard her own voice.

It sounded far too young and soft—nothing like the hoarse, blood-choked rasp she had just moments ago on the battlefield.

“Of course it’s your room!”

Hearing the voice of the middle-aged woman shouting, Eatrith instinctively reached up and brushed her shoulder and right arm.

Her right arm was whole. Fully intact. But Heddon’s man had definitely severed it, bone and all.

As her hand moved upward on its own, she felt the sting of her swollen cheek. That vivid pain reminded her she was truly alive.

“Sleeping like a lazy brat in a chair—how lucky you must be!”

The one snapping at her was Arta, the nanny who had raised her.

She had spent more time gossiping with the maids than raising Eatrith, but still, she was someone Eatrith had known throughout her childhood.

‘But I haven’t seen her since I became a knight.’

As Eatrith blinked in shock, Arta wasted no time snapping at her again.

“What are you staring at me like that for? Feeling wronged? If you’re so upset, go tattle to the Duke or something!”

The Duke had never cared about his niece, Eatrith.

He hated her—because she was the child born after his beloved youngest sibling died.

Arta had long since understood that from years of observation.

“If you don’t want to get scolded again, get out right now!”

“Wait—!”

Arta yanked Eatrith upright from the chair.

As she stumbled along, trying to pull her arm free from Arta’s grip, her eyes caught a full-length mirror.

The poised knight in a navy uniform, now in her twenties, was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, a silver-haired girl with long hair flowing down to her waist stared back at her from the mirror.

Her small, delicate features looked no older than fourteen. And the pomegranate-red eyes—those very same eyes Heddon had promised to gouge out and gift to Muriel—were still there.

From the arms beneath her sleeves to her entire body, there were no scars—none at all.

Just like someone who had never once held a sword.

It was as if she had returned to a time before she ever took up the blade.

‘Did I return to the past?’

Eatrith grasped the situation like lightning. It was an unbelievable thought—but no other explanation made sense.

‘If that’s true… if I’ve really gone back…’

Her heart pounded in her chest, thundering with urgency.

It was a dreamlike thought, but there was a desperate hope she couldn’t ignore.

“Why are you just standing there like a fool? I told you to get out—”

“Let go of me!”

Her sudden shout left Arta dumbstruck.

Eatrith didn’t care. She tore herself free from Arta’s weakened grip and bolted out of the room, racing down the central hallway.

At the end of that hall, there was a window where she could see the Imperial Palace.

‘Please… please don’t let this be a dream.’

Her legs were shorter now, her stride smaller, so no matter how fast she moved, she wasn’t getting far.

Her breath quickly grew ragged, but she couldn’t stop.

Her heart felt like it would explode unless she was sure.

“Hah… hah…”

She finally reached the end of the hall, where a massive window awaited.

The midday sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating the young Eatrith and revealing the view outside.

At the end of that view, unbelievably, the Imperial Palace stood tall.

Each brick glimmered brilliantly.

The very palace that had burned and collapsed like rotten wood on the day of the coup was now perfectly intact.

Tears welled up and spilled over. Eatrith clamped both hands over her mouth.

An indescribable wave of relief washed over her entire body.

“Thank you… thank you.”

She had come back to the past.

He was alive.

‘I’ve been given another chance. I can save him—my liege.’

The world she stood in now was one where Adrian had not yet died.

This time, she could stop it with her own hands.

Everything would be different from the nightmare that came before.

“This life… I’ll be the one to protect you.”

* * *

A flawlessly manicured garden.

An overwhelming, formal, and extravagant mansion.

Everything was just as she remembered from her childhood.

Eatrith walked the corridor, slowly taking in the sight of the house.

Along the third-floor hallway hung portraits of the successive Dukes of the Bellanel family.

As befitted a family of knights who had long held the title of Supreme Commander of the Empire, the elaborate uniforms stood out first. But what drew the eye even more were the expressions.

Each portrait bore the same commanding expression—faces that befit the lords of House Bellanel. Some might call them arrogant, but only those who knew nothing of the House’s achievements would say such a thing.

‘Even if I can’t stand the current Duke, no other noble can match his capabilities.’

Eatrith came to a stop in front of the last portrait.

The man with blond hair and an armband had a cold—no, chilling—expression. This was the current Duke, Kaidel Bellanel.

And next to his portrait… was an empty space.

If the Duke had a child, there would at least be a frame hung beside his.

But the Duke had no children. The wall next to him was empty. Eatrith slowly ran her hand over the bare wall.

‘The current Duke has no heir.’

He did have a younger brother named Joseph, but the man was an incompetent drunk who’d been living as an idler for decades.

Unlike other noble houses that passed down titles to the eldest son, House Bellanel selected the heir based on merit.

Joseph, being a fool, had long been excluded from candidacy.

He now merely clung to the mansion under the pretense of being the son of the former Duke and the current Duke’s only brother—pinning his hopes on his son, Heddon, to one day inherit the title.

‘The only potential successors are his nephews.’

First, there was Heddon Bellanel. Then Muriel Bellanel. And—

‘Me. Eatrith Bellanel.’

Before the regression, Heddon had ultimately become Duke.

Everything under the name of Bellanel fell into his hands, and everything he touched fell into ruin.

Using his title as Supreme Commander, he engaged in meaningless skirmishes to fabricate military accomplishments for Second Prince Vincent.

It was all to raise Vincent to the throne. But the result was the internal decay of the empire.

In his desperation, Heddon eventually carried out a coup—killing the First Prince and attempting to immediately install Vincent as emperor.

That event changed Eatrith’s life entirely.

Because of Heddon and Vincent’s collusion, First Prince Adrian lost his life.

“This time, I won’t let it happen again.”

Heddon lacked the qualifications to be both a Duke and a knight.

And Muriel, who smiled sweetly up front while secretly egging on her brother from behind, was no better.

Eatrith had once been blinded by affection and denied it, but it was the undeniable truth.

In this life, neither Heddon nor Muriel would have anything.

“I’ll stop them.”

Standing in front of the still-empty spot for the next portrait, Eatrith repeated the words like a spell.

Just then—

“Oh, it’s Lady Eatrith.”

“What brings her out of her room at this hour?”

“Did you forget? Today’s the day Young Master Heddon invited his academy friends.”

The gossiping voices made no attempt to stay quiet and were drawing closer.

Eatrith remained where she was, in front of the portraits, silently listening.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“…Trying to catch the eye of those high-born young masters, I see.”

“As if that would ever happen.”

“She should be flaunting herself shamelessly, shouldn’t she? If she doesn’t get married, she’ll be kicked out of the ducal house the moment she comes of age.”

Pfft. A quiet snicker tickled her ears.

Eatrith turned her head, pulling her gaze away from the portraits. The one who’d laughed was approaching with another maid in tow. They were from the laundry room.

Eatrith silently watched them.

“Gasp—she’s looking this way. Did she hear us?”

“So what if she did? If she’s embarrassed, she can leave on her own.”

One maid grabbed the other’s arm, trying to hush her, but the sneering one was completely unbothered.

Eatrith looked at the face of the girl who didn’t bother to hide her mockery, sifting through her memories.

Short, fine brown hair with a sharp expression—it was familiar.

‘Her name was Vivian, wasn’t it? Tanya’s daughter—Muriel’s nanny.’

That connection gave Vivian the freedom to freely spread vile rumors about Eatrith throughout the household.

Muriel’s trust in Tanya was absolute. Thanks to that, both Tanya and Vivian wielded power in the mansion nearly equal to that of nobles.

‘Though today will be the last day for that.’

Eatrith’s gaze settled on the carts piled high with filthy laundry rolling toward her.

The maid pushing both carts, including Vivian’s share, looked overwhelmed. The towering stacks of linens swayed precariously with each step.

Eatrith didn’t move a single step.

The corridor was wide enough for both carts to pass by her with room to spare.

But Vivian, fully aware of Eatrith standing to the side, leaned toward the maid pushing the carts and whispered.

“Push it into her.”

“W-what? She’s a lady…”

The startled maid looked away in panic, but Vivian shoved her and seized one of the carts with practiced ease.

“It’s too heavy? I’ll push it for you!”

Then, she turned the cart directly toward Eatrith.

“…”

Even as the mountain of dirty linens rolled straight toward her, Eatrith didn’t move an inch.

She wasn’t the one who needed to move.

At that, an odd expression flickered across Vivian’s face.

‘What the—? She always used to flinch and shrink away…’

Today, Eatrith was different.

Normally, Eatrith was a disgrace to the Bellanel name.

Whenever she saw servants from a distance, she would flinch and go out of her way to avoid them.

Especially on days when she overheard them gossiping about her—she wouldn’t even make eye contact and would turn away in silence.

Vivian always felt a satisfying sense of superiority watching her retreating shoulders tremble in humiliation.

Of course, most of those rumors were baseless lies spread under Muriel’s direction.

They were petty slanders for the most part, but they were more than enough to crush a fourteen-year-old bastard girl with no one to back her.

Vivian grew bolder by the day.

Even when she slacked off in her duties, none of the other maids dared to reprimand her.

She could behave however insolently she liked toward Eatrith—and no one stopped her.

Even if young Eatrith was neglected, it was considered an internal matter of the ducal household. The other maids had no desire to needlessly provoke Tanya and her daughter Vivian, who acted like tyrants backed by Muriel’s favor.

As a result, although the other maids didn’t openly bully Eatrith, they avoided getting involved with her altogether. The wild rumors and slander spread by Tanya and Vivian only reinforced that distance.

In other words, there was no one willing to help Eatrith.

Drunk on her own sense of power, Vivian frequently overstepped. It was nothing new for her to find young Eatrith hiding behind a wall and douse her with dirty water.

Splash—!

—Oh my! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there and just poured it without thinking.

—Well, why were you even there? Hiding in such a creepy corner like that, of course I didn’t see you.

—It wasn’t anything dirty, so don’t be too upset. Oh… was it? Maybe it was mop water.

—Haha, still, that look suits you quite well, you know?

Soaked hair and dripping filthy water, the small girl had left that place without a single word in protest.

Vivian could still vividly recall that retreating figure.

No matter how much you mocked her or harassed her, she never once raised her voice—an utter fool.

That was Eatrith Bellanel, as Vivian knew her.

And that was exactly what Vivian liked most.

It thrilled her that this half-blood noble was slowly breaking apart from just a few words from her lips.

That even with a trace of noble blood, Eatrith couldn’t do a thing against a mere maid like her.

Seeing her pale and trembling, unable to even lift her head like a frightened little animal, gave Vivian a twisted sense of superiority.

But now—

‘Why is she staring at me like that? It’s making me uncomfortable.’

Until now, Eatrith had always crumbled under even the slightest shove from Vivian.

She had flinched at the sound of giggles from the maids.

She had never stood her ground, never made eye contact like she was doing now.

This version of Eatrith, one Vivian had never seen before, triggered a strange sense of unease.

It felt similar to the pressure she experienced when facing Duke Kaidel or the Imperial Knights.

But such oppressive weight couldn’t possibly come from a mere fourteen-year-old—

‘Especially not from that pitiful disgrace of the Bellanel family.’

“You.”

Eatrith’s calm voice echoed through the hallway.

But Vivian pretended not to be shaken, ignoring her as she shoved the cart forward.

The laundry cart, now gaining momentum, rushed across the carpeted floor.

‘That bastard of a girl will either flinch away in fear or stupidly crash into it. She’ll definitely pick one or the other.’

Thinking there was no downside regardless of the outcome, a low, nasty smirk crossed Vivian’s lips.

Even as the cart drew closer, Eatrith didn’t move. Seeing that a collision was inevitable, Vivian leaned in with her full weight and pushed harder.

Thud!

But what happened next was entirely different from what Vivian had hoped for.

There was a jolt as if the wheel caught on something, and then the laundry spilled out.

The cart had been tripped by something Eatrith swiftly thrust toward the wheel, flipping it over completely.

Cloth filled Vivian’s vision in an instant. She tried to stop, but it was too late.

The towering pile of laundry—dirty tablecloths, bedsheets, heavy curtains—toppled toward her face and engulfed her.

“Kyahhh!”

Struggling to escape, her ankle tangled in the thick carpet and she fell in a disgraceful heap. Only then did her vision clear, with pain shooting up from her bruised hip.

“Are you okay? I didn’t realize you’d fall, so I dodged at the last second.”

Vivian blinked dumbly at the cart’s still-spinning wheels, while Eatrith’s calm voice rang out beside her.

“Why were you rushing like that anyway? I didn’t expect there’d be a laundry maid who couldn’t even handle a cart properly.”

“Y-You…!”

Vivian turned her burning red face toward the voice, only to find Eatrith standing there as calm as ever.

Another maid stood nearby, looking flustered and unsure of what to do.

Just as she opened her mouth to scream in shame and rage, Vivian froze.

Her eyes locked onto what Eatrith was holding.

When had she picked that up? A long mop handle was gripped tightly in her hand.

“You… you pushed me…!”

“Me?”

Eatrith’s brow furrowed slightly, without menace, but it made Vivian clamp her mouth shut. That strange déjà vu again—like she was facing someone entirely different.

Vivian puffed angrily, then hastily corrected her tone and shouted, stumbling over her words.

“You deliberately tripped me with that mop, didn’t you!”

“It’s just a wooden cleaning tool, isn’t it? You came charging at me, so I picked it up to protect myself. Oh… or did you actually ‘want’ me to get hurt and just stood there hoping I wouldn’t stop you?”

“T-That’s not what I meant…”

‘There’s no way she’d admit she ran at me on purpose to hit me with a cart.’

Eatrith looked down at the trembling Vivian and smiled faintly.

It would no doubt enrage her further, but it wasn’t a lie.

The mop had been lying in the hall, and it resembled a wooden practice sword.

She’d simply picked it up and deftly slid it toward the wheel of the approaching cart. The key was speed and precision.

‘A simple thing for someone like me, who’s trained sword movements night and day without divine or magical aid.’

The rest was thanks to Vivian herself. She’d charged in recklessly, and even a light nudge from the mop had completely toppled the cart. The result exceeded expectations.

“But still—!”

“And yet, that look really does suit you.”

Eatrith’s clear voice rang down the corridor.

At that moment, the stench of old food scraps wafted up from the tablecloth tangled around Vivian’s torso. Her flushed face turned an even deeper shade of red.

Eatrith gave her a passing glance, then turned and started down the stairs.

Vivian sprang to her feet, only to trip again on a bundled curtain.

The other maid reached out to help, but Vivian shoved her away and screamed toward Eatrith.

“You filthy little bastard!!”

Rage flared in Vivian’s eyes as she stumbled, covered in dust.

Thud thud!

“Ah! Miss, look out!”

Pushing aside the other maid, Vivian threw the other untouched laundry cart with all her might.

The frightened maid cried out and reached to stop it, but it was already too late—the cart thundered down the stairs.

Eatrith turned her head.

She faced the heap of cloth and the heavy cart barreling down at her.

“Move!”

A boy’s voice shouted, and Eatrith’s nimble movement happened at nearly the same instant.

Thud! Crash!

The cart missed her by a hair and tumbled straight down the staircase, smashing into a decorative porcelain vase.

Only once the crash had settled did Eatrith straighten up from her crouch.

Whispers of shock buzzed from the maids around her.

“What do we do? That…”

“That was Lady Isobel’s favorite vase…”