I woke in a sea of green — the wind combing through an endless field, carrying with it the soft perfume of wildflowers and the whisper of swaying wheat.
Ah. Right. I failed again.
This is my seven hundred seventy-eight thousand nine hundred and second life. And once more, I'm back at the very start.
Every time I die, I return here — to this same meadow, this same breeze, this same sky — condemned to watch the same story play out, no matter how I fight it.
I know how it all unfolds. I've seen it so many times that the years ahead are carved into me like scripture.
In about a year, two kingdoms will collide, and war will tear through their borders.
Seven months before that war, a princess from a distant nation will be kidnapped. That single act will ignite a continent-wide manhunt — and in its shadows, I will see the first signs of a cult willing to do anything to awaken the Abyssal King.
Two years from now, the dragons will descend. Under the command of the Dragonlord, they will scour entire kingdoms from the map.
Three years from now, a new King of the Mourning will rise, and with his coronation will come a new age — one darker than the last.
In five years, all quarrels between men will mean nothing, for we will stand together against something far worse: the Abyssal King's return.
And three years after that… the Grand War. The war against one of the Pillars of this world.
I have failed to stop it. Seven hundred seventy-eight thousand nine hundred and one times, I have failed. No matter how much I prepared…
And yet… here I am again.
"Hey! Hanzel! Come here — the match is starting!"
That voice.
Anne.
My cousin. We grew up together in the same cramped house, sharing meals when there wasn't enough for two. She was always the restless one — running errands, doing odd jobs for anyone who'd pay, chasing anything that promised a spark of fun. I, on the other hand, kept to the ledgers, managing what little money we had.
In my other lives, she's always there at the start. In some timelines, she lives a long, happy life. In most… she doesn't make it past the second year.
I turn toward her now, already knowing the smile she'll have on her face, the way she'll wave me over without a care in the world.
"We should bet on it," I said, flipping two silver coins into my palm so they caught the sunlight.
"Really?" Anne's eyes lit up instantly, that same unguarded excitement she always had at the start of these mornings.
"Yep."
I already knew how this match would end. I'd seen it a thousand times.
In less than a minute, these two coins would turn into three hundred — easy money, courtesy of a memory older than this lifetime.
The match itself was nothing glamorous: a village tradition turned gambling pit, where two roosters were set loose to claw, flap, and peck until one backed down. A "harmless" pastime, they called it. But to me, it was just another scene in the endless play I'd been forced to watch.
The crowd gathered close, a ring of shouting villagers circling the small dirt arena. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, feathers, and cheap ale. Coins clinked from hand to hand as bets were placed, laughter rising over the din.
Two handlers stepped forward, each gripping a rooster — one black-feathered with a scar over its beak, the other red with a crooked spur. I knew them both well. I knew every strike, every dodge, every flap they would make.
The handlers let go.
The black charged first, talons flashing, wings snapping like cloth in a storm. The red hopped back, pecked low, then spun sideways. A cheer went up.
"Come on! That's it!" Anne shouted beside me, bouncing on her toes.
I didn't move. I'd seen this play out before. The black would drive the red into the corner, feint left, then hook right with a rake of its claws. The red would stagger, try one last desperate lunge — and fail.
And, like clockwork, it happened. The black rooster drove the red into the dirt, pinning it down until the handler stepped in to separate them.
The crowd roared. Anne was grinning ear to ear, already holding out her hand for our winnings.
Two silver coins turned into three hundred. Just as always.
From my past lives, I already knew what came next. These three hundred silvers would carry us through the year — barely. After all, the only roof we could afford was the one above the horse stables, and even that came with the stench of hay and manure.
Tomorrow, a royal family will arrive here. They'll be searching for their missing child.
I already know where she is. She's in the hands of a trafficker.
It took me five lives to find her the first time. I scoured every back alley, every caravan, every filthy den in this village until I dragged her out myself.
The trafficker was another matter. I failed to catch him again and again. It wasn't until my seventeenth life that I stumbled upon his identity and hideout — by accident.
Since then, I've never forgotten his face. Or the sound of his voice.
Tomorrow, I'll find him again.
The next morning came like every other I had lived before it.
I woke before the sun, the air still cool and heavy with mist. The scent of hay clung to my clothes as I stepped out from the stables, brushing stray strands from my hair. Anne was still curled up under the thin blanket we shared, breathing softly. She never woke this early, not in any life.
I made my way to the village square. Merchants were already setting up their stalls, their movements as familiar to me as my own. The baker's boy dropped a loaf of bread. The fishmonger cursed at a cat stealing his catch. A cart wheel broke in the same place it always did, spilling crates of apples into the dirt.
By noon, the square would be spotless, lined with fresh banners for the royal family's arrival.
I passed the inn at the edge of the market, pausing only to glance at the upstairs window — the trafficker's current hideout. He wouldn't move the girl until just before the royals arrived, counting on the crowd to mask his escape.
I'd be there, waiting. Just like every time.
The day passed in measured steps. The sky shifted from pale gold to the deep blue of late afternoon, and by the time the distant trumpets sounded, the villagers had gathered along the road.
The royal carriage rolled into view, its polished frame gleaming in the sun. Guards in immaculate armor flanked it on all sides. I knew their faces, their voices, even the words they'd speak.
For them, this was the first time.For me, it was the seven hundred seventy-eight thousand nine hundred and second.
The trumpets still echoed faintly when I slipped away from the crowd.
I didn't need to see the royal family step out. I'd memorized every word they would say, every expression on their faces. My attention was fixed on the second-floor window of the inn.
The trafficker would be moving the girl any second now.
I crossed the alley, my steps light, avoiding the loose cobblestones that could betray a sound. The back door of the inn creaked the same way it always did, just enough to make the man inside glance over his shoulder.
He was exactly as I remembered — tall, wiry, a scar over his right brow, and the faint stench of cheap wine clinging to him.
And the girl… huddled on a chair in the corner, wrists bound, eyes wide but dry. She had already cried herself silent.
"Don't move," I told her, my voice calm, certain.
The trafficker reached for the knife at his belt. I was already in motion, my hand closing over his wrist before steel even cleared the sheath. A twist. A crack. The knife clattered to the floor.
I shoved him against the wall, pinning him there with a knee, and bound his hands with the rope that had held the girl.
"Go," I said to her. "Head for the square. Look for the woman in the silver dress — she's your mother."
She hesitated only a second before running, her small feet pattering against the floorboards.
I let the trafficker slump to the ground. The guards would find him soon enough, just as they always did.
By the time I stepped back into the square, the royal family was already in tears, clutching their daughter in relief.
Another scene complete. Another morning the same.
After the reunion in the square, the royal couple would always grant me a choice:
A chest holding three hundred thousand gold coins… or a single wish.
I had tried both over the lives. I'd pushed the wish to its limits, testing how far their generosity could bend. The result was always differ about the wish but the coins would stay the same but what is wealth if i can't protect Anne for two years.
Without fail, the next step would come by letter. A royal seal on fine parchment, inviting me to dine with them that very evening. I would send back my reply — and in every life, I would add one request.
May I bring my cousin, Anne?
Their answer was always yes.
Anne would spend the afternoon borrowing a dress from her friend — something modest but well-kept, with just enough lace to make her feel like a noblewoman for a night. I never bothered to do the same. A clean white blouse and fitted black slacks were all I needed.
By sunset, we would walk together to the manor where the royals were staying, the golden light painting the stone walls. Inside, they would welcome us warmly, ushering us to a grand table where the plates seemed carved from silver and the air smelled of roasted meats and sweet wine.
We would speak of my background, of Anne's small adventures in the village. They would smile at her laughter. I would smile too — though mine was the practiced kind, the one I had worn hundreds of times before.
And then, just as always, they would present me with the two options.
"Sure, then how about a manor in the Kingdom of Heliz?"
The royal couple exchanged a brief glance, then nodded.
"Consider it done."
"Thank you for your kind heart." I bowed deeply, the weight of the decision settling in my chest. Out of habit, I even asked if they were in need of another servant, though they politely declined.
Oh well — that was a 50/50 gamble anyway.
Still, this was a first for me. A manor in Heliz… now that was something worth holding onto.
In other timelines, the locations I'd been given for shelter were often… questionable. A village perched on the border of two hostile nations. A valley that would be trampled to mud under the boots of an army. I lost Anne that way more times than I care to count — a hundred thousand lives, each with its own brand of misery.
But Heliz was different.
The Kingdom of Heliz was a rare jewel among nations. Its strength didn't lie in armies or fortresses, but in how its royals treated their people. There were no suffocating chains of status here — peasants and nobles could drink from the same well, speak in the same square, and look each other in the eye without fear of offense.
It was the perfect place…
Or so I wanted to believe.
Because the princess of that kingdom would be the one abducted by the cult and potentially sacrificed to revive the Abyssal King, I needed to draw closer to the royal family. Gaining their trust would at least place me near enough to make a plan to prevent it from happening.
Right now, though, my body could hardly fight—especially compared to the knowledge and skills I had gathered in my previous lives.