SOTBW - 174

Amelia, sprawled on the training ground, gasped for breath. After watching her swordsmanship for about thirty minutes, Belshua ordered her to run an additional five laps around the field and then returned to the barracks.

Covered in sweat, with dirt sticking to her damp hair, Amelia stared up at the sky with an expression of frustration.

During the training, she had been repeatedly struck by Belshua. Even though she tried hard to block with a wooden sword, there was nothing she could do when her side or thigh was attacked.

It wasn’t that Belshua had done anything wrong. Amelia simply wasn’t skilled enough.

As her sweat dried, her body grew cold, but she couldn’t move from her spot. Her fingers, curled as if still gripping a sword, trembled uncontrollably.

The muscles from her wrist to her forearm throbbed as if they had been beaten, and her thighs, which had been straining to block Belshua’s attacks, felt like they were being torn apart. Ever since deciding to become a soldier, she had been training in Recheo, and though she thought her stamina had improved, she couldn’t imagine herself fighting like Najane.

How long had Najane been practicing with a sword?

Having witnessed him fight against the Serith, she could only admire him. If Amelia had never learned to fight with a sword, she would have only understood half of how remarkable Najane was. Now, she knew better than anyone that Najane had earned his current level of skill through sheer determination.

With the single-minded goal of improving, she had begged Belshua to teach her swordsmanship, but after all this grueling training, Amelia had no idea what awaited her at the end.

At least one good thing was that the Serith no longer attacked the fort. Out on the field, Amelia hoped that tonight would pass quietly, surrounded by the young soldiers she had become acquainted with. Since she could no longer ask Najane for help, she would have to fight on her own.

Amelia recalled the image of Najane, covered in blood, being rushed away in a hurry. Despite his face being covered in blood, his face was still pale.

Najane had fought the Serith to that point.

He had worked tirelessly to create space for the young soldiers, helping them organize their ranks and fight together, and he had thrown himself into battle without hesitation, even before the Holy Relics, as though this were his final chance.

No matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t understand the mindset behind his actions. Amelia could only mourn as she held the broken Najane. She wasn’t skilled enough to fight like him, and too insignificant to be a pillar of support for others.

Although she had become a soldier under Maximón’s insistence, Amelia wanted to be like Najane, who had swung his sword to protect himself in the cellar.

Everyone has a place in this world. Amelia knew that. Sword and shield didn’t suit her life. No matter how much she tried to wield a sword, she could never be like Najane.

Fortunately, Gwyneth was still waiting for her answer. If she said she wanted to become a priest, her debts would be forgiven, and she would get a stable job.

Of course, for now, she intended to stay on the field. At least until Najane came out of his quarters, she wanted to remain there. If she became a priest while Najane was gone, it would feel as though she was fleeing from the lack of someone to protect her…

Amelia sat up and gave a hollow laugh.

She was pretending, but in the end, she was just running away again.

Despite training so hard, she still felt like she was stuck in a state of being neither here nor there. Even though she worked hard, it felt more like a meaningless and futile repetition, as if she were pouring water into a broken jar…

Though there were times when the effort felt rewarding, that feeling was always short-lived. She put in effort to make herself feel like she had done her best today, even though it didn’t contribute to her life in any meaningful way.

Amelia looked up at the sky, chastising herself for her lack of persistence and passion. From the daughter of a peasant to a tavern worker, maid, soldier, and now possibly a priest… she couldn’t leave the priesthood until she was forced out, and she would have to live a life of celibacy. Could she really do that?

As she rose from the dirt, Amelia stumbled heavily. She was about to gather her sword and shield and return to the maid’s quarters when she noticed someone crouching at the top of the training ground, watching her.

Even from a distance, the person’s robes were unmistakably those of a priest. Recognizing Gwyneth, Amelia quickly bowed respectfully.

She was about to run over and ask if the offer from before was still valid when Gwyneth gestured for her to stay and descended the stairs.

It seemed Gwyneth was preparing to leave, as he was dressed in a coat and scarf. Seeing Amelia’s state, he clicked his tongue and pulled a small glass vial from his pocket.

As he held the vial, a flame appeared inside. Gwyneth handed it to Amelia with a gentle smile.

“Hold on to this. It will warm you up a bit.”

The red flame inside the vial burned brightly, yet it wasn’t hot at all. In fact, it was perfectly warm, almost as though someone were hugging her. Amelia gazed at the flickering flame before finally expressing her gratitude.

“Thank you. I was so cold…”

“Did you train alone?”

“No, I received help from Sir Chernon. My swordsmanship hasn’t improved…”

Amelia awkwardly smiled while fiddling with the glass vial.

Gwyneth looked at Amelia’s hand. Her palms had become rougher than before.

Previously, it seemed like she tried to moisturize with creams or something, but now it seemed like she didn’t have the luxury for that. Blisters had burst, leaving her skin ragged and untreated.

Seeing how much Amelia had been trying, Gwyneth felt a pang of discomfort at her self-deprecating words about not improving her swordsmanship. It was admirable when others saw your effort, but more important than that was not diminishing the value of the time and effort you’ve put in.

Gwyneth gently stroked Amelia’s hardened hands and spoke kindly.

“Achieving something doesn’t happen in a day or two. But I admire your effort. Just fighting with a sword is an act of courage in itself.”

Amelia, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, smiled awkwardly. She seemed embarrassed to receive praise.

She lowered her gaze, cradling the warm glass vial in both hands.

Gwyneth, watching her with sympathy, sat down on a bench made from a carved log.

“Sit down. You won’t be cold with that.”

Gwyneth patted the seat beside him.

Amelia, pushing her disheveled hair aside, quickly sat down next to him.

“Still unsure about it?”

Gwyneth, crossing his legs, asked casually. Amelia hesitated before answering. Gwyneth chuckled and crossed his legs again.

“Becoming a priest isn’t an easy choice. I understand why you’re being cautious.”

“…You were originally a priest before becoming a Divine Power user, right?”

“Hmm? Me? Oh, no. I was just an ordinary person.”

Gwyneth waved his hand in denial. His face was smiling, but there was a trace of regret in his eyes.

A Divine Power user forgets all their memories upon resurrection. Sometimes, there are those who don’t forget, but ninety-nine out of a hundred will.

The reason is unknown, but Aron Noctis once proposed a hypothesis about this.

All souls return to the boundary of reincarnation and are cleansed of their memories in the lake there. The beings known as ‘Sylin’ choose those who have faced death without fear and fought injustice, sending them back beyond the boundary. Since their memories are lost after passing through the lake, even if they are resurrected, they won’t remember who they are or why they were brought back.

Whether that hypothesis is true or not, Gwyneth, at least, had forgotten everything after being resurrected.

He couldn’t remember that he was from a poor farming family, or that he died protecting his younger sibling. He didn’t recall his original name, family, hometown, or even the name of the dog he had raised, let alone who he had loved.

Having forgotten all the events of his life, Gwyneth was deeply confused after his resurrection. People called him Raelhag Ranimanes. That was his original name.

But the moment Gwyneth was resurrected, he realized something.

Raelhag was dead.

Raelhag’s body and soul were still here, but it was as good as dead. The memories and emotions that had defined Raelhag Ranimanes were completely gone. How could he be called Raelhag?

To make matters worse, the Holy Church had come and hailed the resurrected Raelhag as a great being. His poor family, who had been unable to even pay taxes and had lived a nomadic life, clung to him, begging him not to abandon them.

Raelhag, watching the desperate people, felt no attachment. It felt as though strangers were forcing him to live with them, claiming that they were his family.

Not knowing what to do, Raelhag chose to flee amidst the various desires that tried to manipulate him.

He didn’t know who he was, why he was resurrected, or why he had to live through this confusion.

Having forgotten all the time he had lived, Raelhag abandoned the name his parents had given him and hid from the Holy Church.

It was a time filled with fear, helplessness, and an overwhelming sense of being lost. Raelhag wandered aimlessly, asking himself, “What would Raelhag do in this moment?” He had no idea what choices would allow him to live true to himself or which path was the right one.

Life was nothing but a series of unwanted choices and unexpected confusion.

That was the conclusion of Raelhag, who had wandered the world with a blank sheet of white paper.

To have life within one’s body means to be ready to suffer. It is an omen that one will face events that cannot be resolved, that one will experience a tragedy in which their entire life will collapse. It is a warning that we will be disappointed, doubt, and suffer, whether for things we did wrong or things we did not.

It means living a life full of regrets, constantly replaying mistakes, separations, and arguments in one’s mind. It is a harsh verdict that we will accept a life with no sign of improvement, resigning ourselves to it.

Raelhag, who wandered without finding the reason for his rebirth or the answer, one day entered any cathedral because he was starving.

The cathedral had clearly been abandoned long ago, and the inside was in disarray. But the cross with stars embedded in it remained intact, so Raelhag knelt before it and prayed.

Having lost all memories and forgetting who he was, Raelhag, with a sorrowful heart, cried out like a child. He asked the Sylin, who was said to suffer at the boundary of reincarnation to protect the world.

“Even though I don’t know where to go, must I still walk? I’m not Raelhag, but people call me Raelhag. I... I don’t know who I am… Can I call this wandering living? If there is nothing at the end of the path, why should we live? Joy is fleeting, and pain is eternal. Can this be called life...?”

“That, too, is life. Even a painful life, in the end, is still life.”

At that moment, someone answered from behind him. Raelhag turned his head.

There, a blind woman was standing.