Chapter Index

    “……”

    Lucilla gazed silently at the sleeping Eric, lost in thought.

    ‘Something to ask of me?’

    ‘Yes. It’s about what lies ahead. You can question my actions as much as you want—I welcome it. But don’t you dare move on your own just because you think you know better.’

    ‘What do you mean?’

    ‘Exactly that. From now on, I’ll be taking you along wherever I go. There will be times when you’ll question why I’m doing certain things or why I’m meeting certain people. And I don’t expect you to blindly follow me without doubts. But even if you do doubt, don’t act on your own just because you think you could do better—and don’t expect me to explain myself either.’

    ‘Why?’

    ‘……’

    ‘I see.’

    Eric’s silence seemed to answer for him as he lay still on the bed.

    ‘If you want to wash up, exit left and keep walking straight. There’s a bathhouse Chris and I use. For clothes… Chris usually leaves spares lying around, so grab whatever fits and change. No point calling the servants now to assign you a room.’

    ‘You really expect me to stay here?’

    ‘What’s the problem? It’s not like you’ll do anything to me.’

    ‘No, but…’

    ‘If you wanted to kill me—or curse me—you would’ve done it by now. If you didn’t believe in prophecies at all, you would’ve had every reason to. If that’s not the case, then I have nothing to worry about. Satisfied? I’m going to sleep.’

    Before Lucilla could say another word, Eric closed his eyes and pulled the blanket over himself.

    Left with nothing to do, she stood dumbly in the room before eventually following his instructions—washing up, changing, and returning a few minutes later. Yet even then, she couldn’t bring herself to lie beside him, instead watching as he slept.

    “……”

    Just as Eric had said, Lucilla had no intention of harming him. She already knew he was a prophet, and with him offering full cooperation, what reason did she have?

    But that thought didn’t last long. Watching him sleep, she sensed something unnatural.

    “What… is this?”

    At a glance, Eric appeared peacefully asleep, breathing steadily as if untroubled. But Lucilla knew better. The way he slept now was disturbingly similar to how she once had—a mechanical act of survival. Sleep out of necessity, not rest. Even now, though he seemed deep in slumber, the slightest hint of danger would jolt him awake.

    It wasn’t perfect, but without a doubt, this was the sleep of someone who feared death.

    “So that’s how it is…”

    A skill Lucilla had naturally developed after becoming the Hero—Eric had already ingrained it in himself. Imperfect, yet not something learned in a day or two.

    A memory flashed through her mind. Back when he revealed himself as a prophet in this world and spoke of his struggles.

    ‘Being a prophet is exhausting, you know? Some go mad from the visions, others suffer because no one believes them.’

    ‘Would it be different if everyone believed?’

    ‘Huh? Then… I’d just end up being used until I died miserably. Prophetic power shows horrors beyond belief, but it’s also a weapon if wielded right. So be careful. Being a Hero isn’t so different.’

    She didn’t yet grasp his final warning, but she understood his meaning.

    From the moment he first gained his power, he must have resolved to live this way—if speaking the truth only invited hatred and distrust, better to distance himself first.

    So he became the Empire’s greatest madman within the academy, shunned by all.

    Had it not been for Lucilla and her companions, he would have lived on like that—eccentric but harmless, the Grave Duchy’s little nuisance.

    A far cry from a good life, but to Lucilla, it was leagues happier than the Eric of the previous timeline.

    And it was they—no, she—who had dragged him from that world into one drenched in blood and death.

    A man who had struggled to look away from his power, who had tried to live normally despite the distance he kept from others. A man who, upon seeing her suffering, had reached out—only to be ignored.

    She had known he followed her party relentlessly.

    Despite being a mediocre talent, he never hesitated to stand at the front lines. Injured time and again, he always put others first. Yet the Lucilla of the past had felt nothing but pity.

    If you’re weak, stay protected at the back. That’s only natural. She never blamed others for doing so.

    If you knew you had no place in the fight, you did what you could from where you stood. That was duty. So from the moment she wielded the Holy Sword, she had to be the Hero—and she became it.

    The other three, though not as much as her, understood their roles and fulfilled their obligations. Only Eric sought to go beyond his own limits—and ultimately gave his life for others.

    Even in this world where she had been given a chance at happiness, Eric wouldn’t stop sacrificing himself.

    All under the flimsy lie of self-preservation.

    “……I don’t get him.”

    Her thoughts swirled chaotically, yet Eric remained motionless. With a quiet sigh, she turned away.

    This was his haven—one of the few places he could rest easily. Sleeping beside him felt somehow wrong.

    Having long grown accustomed to rough floors, she slid down beside the door, resting against it.

    The homeowner slept soundly in bed while his invited guest curled up on the floor, ready to face an uncertain threat.

    Less an honored guest, more a mercenary on watch—but to Lucilla, this hospitality was more than enough.

    She didn’t yet realize the emotion stirring within her was guilt.

    Too faint and fragile to name, yet undeniably there. Merely sharing the same air as him now felt like a blessing.

    “I still don’t fully understand… But someday—”

    Just as she tried to grasp the unfamiliar flicker in her chest, Lucilla’s eyes snapped open.

    A foreign presence. From beyond the door, an unsettling mana pulsed.

    With her gift—memory for the mana of every ally—she knew instantly: whoever approached Eric’s room meant harm.

    “…!”

    Panic flashed as she remembered her usual weapons were gone—but only for a second. Swiftly, she pressed against the wall beside the door, steadying her breath.

    If the intruder was armed, fighting empty-handed would be reckless.

    1-on-1 is harder when disarming them… But—

    A Hero wasn’t just swordsmanship—they mastered martial arts too. Between rigorous training and sparring, Lucilla had honed her unarmed combat to near-perfection.

    Even without the Holy Sword, she could fight.

    And in the worst case, she was certain she could buy time for Eric to escape.

    Knock knock knock—

    A soft rapping at the door.

    Lucilla tensed.

    Knock knock knock—

    Again. Then, unresisting, the door slid open.

    “Honestly, why’s everything so slow—mmphh?!”

    Lucilla struck like lightning. In a flash, she pinned the intruder, fingers forcing their mouth open to prevent suicide, arms locked in a hold, knees pressing into their back—complete suppression in seconds.

    Flawless execution.

    Except the intruder was someone she recognized all too well.

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