A full twenty seconds passed before Andy, breaking the silence, spoke again.

"As unbelievable as it sounds… I also received a quest…" He barely finished the sentence when Bronfield abruptly interrupted.

"Enough. I believe you." Bronfield rose and closed the door to the inner chamber where they sat.

"Juliana, what is spoken here, stays here. Andy, the same applies to you." The battle priest's tone was grave, brooking no argument.

His hand, now resting on the pommel of his sword, spoke volumes about his readiness to defend this secret.

"You just… believe me?" Andy asked, almost incredulous himself.

“The blessed faithful can commune with their gods… Fioreto spoke directly to me after all these years…” Bronfield paused.

“Yet that isn’t the crux of the matter. You… who are you? Fioreto told me he has no memory of blessing you, and he has conferred with the other gods. There’s no record of this anywhere.” Bronfield’s gaze, filled with suspicion, fixed on Andy.

According to the Cathedral’s doctrines, the gods possess perfect minds, capable of handling an unimaginable multitude of affairs simultaneously.

In short, it was impossible for Fioreto to forget or overlook blessing a mortal.

And this implied a disturbing truth: even the gods were unaware that Andy had been sent back in time.

Cathedral doctrine clearly stated that temporal magic could not affect the gods.

They were supposed to be beyond the flow of time, immune to its manipulation.

Fioreto had likely just spoken with the God of Time, yet even he had no knowledge of who had granted Andy a second chance.

“Andy, I am a member of the militia. Yesterday… or rather, earlier today, I died fighting the Northern barbarians in Rodvar’s Greenwood Square.” Andy stated solemnly.

Bronfield scrutinized him again, then sighed. “This all sounds utterly mad, but I believe you. Lord Fioreto has spoken to me, and your story is… compellingly corroborated. And it makes a disturbing kind of sense… Greenwood Square and that tavern have always been closely guarded secrets of the Charles family.”

“You best report this to your superiors,” Bronfield said. “This might even need to go to the Capital Guard. I’m just a battle priest; I have a few old contacts, but none that are relevant to this.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Battle Priest Bronfield sent Andy on his way.

Priestess Juliana approached Andy. “Come with me,” she said softly, leading him out of the temple.

Andy had barely taken twenty steps from the temple when a tremendous force struck him from behind.

Like a sledgehammer, the force slammed him to the ground, leaving him feeling as if his body had shattered.

He tried to stand, but his arms were leaden, useless weights at his sides.

He looked down at his chest. The head of a massive arrow protruded grotesquely, a crimson stain blooming around the shaft.

Only then did he feel the choking sensation, the coppery tang of blood flooding his throat.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Andy fought desperately for control, for purchase on the cobblestones, to crawl, to drag himself to safety.

He wouldn't die like this. He refused.

Gritting his teeth, he summoned every ounce of courage, every shred of will, every ember of resentment to fuel his failing body.

Inch by agonizing inch, he pulled his ravaged form towards the narrow alley between two looming buildings.

Each movement sent waves of agony crashing through him, a white-hot fire consuming his being.

Andy's Constitution was 21.

Because of this, his body could withstand far more blood loss and trauma than an ordinary man...

However, the gaping wound left by the monstrous arrow was still catastrophic.

It was a gruesome sight, a mangled ruin of flesh and bone, undeniably lethal.

As his vision began to tunnel, Andy fought to slow the bleeding with sheer will, a battle waged against the relentless tide of pain.

[New Skill Acquired → Hemorrhage Control I]

He registered neither the notification nor the horrified screams of the onlookers nearby.

He struggled to staunch the bleeding, a single thought consuming him:

Live.

If he could just hold on long enough, the priests from the temple might find him.

But hope flickered and died.

A figure cloaked in black, a heavy bow slung across their shoulder, emerged from the shadows of the alley.

Despair choked Andy as the figure drew a wicked-looking dagger, its length nearly matching their forearm.

With a desperate surge of adrenaline, he lashed out, driving his foot into the figure's knee.

A muffled thud echoed through the alley as the knee buckled slightly.

The blow seemed to have little effect.

Andy's heart sank. He was up against a seasoned killer.

Refusing to die without a fight, he lunged forward, grasping the dagger with both hands.

The enchanted blade, shimmering with an unnatural light, sliced through his palms. Blood gushed forth, a wave of agony threatening to overwhelm him.

Andy gritted his teeth, a grimace of pain contorting his face.

The assassin, far stronger, began to inexorably push the dagger towards Andy's head.

Andy kicked and thrashed, his feet connecting with the assassin's body in a series of dull thuds.

His hands clawed frantically, nails scraping against the assassin's leather armor, leaving deep gouges and even snapping his own fingers. The sharp crack of bone echoed.

Andy coughed up a mouthful of blood, the crimson mist spraying through the air, only to be stopped by the killer's mask.

The assassin brought the dagger closer to Andy's head. He thrashed and writhed, his body convulsing like a trapped animal.

Finally, the dagger plunged into Andy's left eye. The pain was unbearable, yet Andy fought to remain conscious.

[New Skill Acquired → Pain Resistance 1]

Darkness began to consume Andy's vision. His hand, moving with difficulty, grasped the assassin's belt, fumbling until he found a strange vial.

With the last of his strength, Andy crushed it in his hand.

Then, darkness claimed him completely. The world vanished.

Before losing all sensation, he thought he heard a hissing sound and a scream of agony.

[New Skill Acquired (Rare) → Death Throes 1]

[Mission Failed → Battle of Rodvar - You Died]

A piercing wail echoed through the night sky, jolting Andy awake.

[Mission Granted → Battle of Rodvar - Defeat the Natrenians and their allies, preventing them from activating and controlling the ancient war machine beneath Mount Takhelor]

Confusion flooded Andy. He had just revealed the impending attack and then been brutally murdered in broad daylight by a highly skilled archer.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white.

A wild grin spread across his face.

Who was Andy?

Andy was a man who refused to merely exist.

He was a man who saw things through to the end.

He would meticulously sweep every inch of his dilapidated shack.

Even as an orphan, lacking background and familial support, he trained and strived every single day.

Sweat soaked his clothes, muscles screamed in protest, yet he never stopped.

He would face the charge of the Vantanbek barbarians head-on while his companions fled.

Even on the brink of death, he would never give up.

He would use every last ounce of strength, even if his body was battered and broken.

Perhaps his chances to 'rewind' were limited.

But regardless, he didn't care about setbacks.

A more sensible man might have chosen to plan and strategize, perhaps gather allies and equipment.

But Andy wouldn't do that.

He stood there, listening to the fading cries of the harpies in the distance, with only one thought in mind."

“That archer will make excellent practice. No matter how many times, even if it means countless deaths!”

If there were a wall in front of him, he would bash his head against it until either the wall crumbled or he collapsed.

He sought no easy path, no subtle solutions, no underhanded tricks, nor the aid of allies.

He chose the direct path, however arduous.

Andy was a stubborn aspirant of skill, one who never yielded.