The winter wind seeped through the tent in the dead of winter.
The memory of the snowy plains was the same.
After going around and around, I found myself feeding firewood into a makeshift brazier.
My thoughts grew hazy along with the crackling logs.
Within the memories that turned and turned, I saw scenes whirl past.
The burning Great Forest.
A girl clasping hands that were turning pale.
A woman confessing her love while making the sign of the cross, the Saintess of Disgrace praying for me, my liege stroking my cheek upon a devastated land.
Each time another scene seeped into my vision, a violent headache struck.
A hand tracing a love realized far too late.
A wish that could never be fulfilled no matter how desperately I struggled.
Even the faint sob I had squeezed out when the heaviest burden of all was laid upon my heart.
I was just letting out a faint groan when—
“Does it bother you that much?”
My vision flickered out with a snap, then returned.
My newly cleared mind squeezed the cold air seeping through the gaps in the military tent out of my lungs.
I turned around with a bewildered expression.
There, a gray-haired woman was sitting alone, filling a cup with liquor.
A naturally melancholy complexion, and blue eyes resembling the predawn night sky.
Her snow-white skin made her beauty seem delicate and precarious.
In reality, however, she was one of the absolute beings who had ushered in a new age, a monster hailed without question as the strongest swordswoman of this era.
The Ghost Sword.
As the world called her, the woman seemed less like a living creature of this continent…