Hildebrand wagged her feet from side to side, lost in her thoughts.

The incident of the death cultist student was approaching. It would occur in the middle of an early winter, only a few months away, which wasn’t a lot of time to prepare. That time could be better spent preventing it, rather than preparing to react to it.

Erika and Dolph may have been prepared to deal with the politics and chaos of aristocracy when they enrolled, but monsters were another thing altogether. Not only did Hugo and Greg struggle to put the monstrosity down, it even murdered a few people before it was stopped. Erika and Dolph would have to get stronger before being ready for true combat.

Hildebrand herself was no different. She had tested the powers of the Saintess, only to conclude that she had none. Even an ordinary priest had more holy powers than she did. No, even an altar boy. It felt as though her holy powers were well and truly gone, even if she still held onto the hope they would return.

As the Saintess, she had left most of the fighting up to Hugo and his party, or the Paladins and her Divine Shield, her elite guard. She merely supported them from the rear, healing them of wounds and staving off the creeping Black Carpet. There was a creeping, crawling dread in her heart, the fear of standing at the front. She could understand why Hilde had cowered behind Hugo the first time they had met. Even that cowering Hilde was braver than Hildebrand was.

Could I get Leo to come? Hildebrand wondered. It was unlikely. She had memories of meeting the leader of her Divine Shield in this lifetime, but she couldn’t recall the exact circumstances. If she were the Saintess, she might have been able to call upon him, but Hildebrand was still uncertain whether she truly was the Saintess, just yet to be awakened, or if it could really be Priscilla.

No, it can’t be Priscilla, she told herself. No way! That was impossible.

Hildebrand examined her hand again, tracing the faintest scars on her fingers, where the Saintess’s fingers began. They were incontrovertible proof of her saintliness. Then she touched her blind eye. And yet, there was proof of her flawed humanity.

If she was still the Saintess, she wasn’t the Saintess right now. She couldn’t count on the Saintess’s powers. Preventing the incident was the best course of action. That was Hildebrand’s final decision.

But who was the culprit? Hildebrand pondered.

The academy years in her past life had been so long ago she could hardly remember any details, and her memories of her journey with Hugo through his life were scattered. She had definitely seen the culprit’s face in Hugo’s memories, moments before they transformed into a hideous creature, but she had forgotten what they looked like.

Hugo had lived a long and arduous life, two of them even. And he and she had ventured in the dark for so long. And Hildebrand had learned so much about him. She couldn’t remember everything. An event from the academy years seemed so insignificant at the time. It wasn’t like she had expected to return to the past, to the academy, or “regress” as Dolph put it.

The word had lingered in Hildebrand’s brain since the previous week. Dolph had said it once, and suddenly it seemed to pop up everywhere, although not in the context of time traveling.

Regress, regress, regress, she repeated in her mind. She hadn’t been the only person to regress.

Hildebrand thought of Hugo, her Hugo. Poor Hugo, she thought. She had hoped to see him again in her dreams, but since that first night, her sleep was dreamless. Even if he was just a phantom she conjured up in her mind, she wanted to see him again. She wanted to bury her face in his coat and hear his words of encouragement and the strong beat of his heart.

Or maybe he could even tell her all the details she needed to know about the death cultist student. She grumbled in frustration, brushing her hair to the side. Why didn’t I write it down? she thought. Maybe if she had written everything down when she first awoke in this life, she wouldn’t have forgotten. She wished someone would remind her.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Hugo asked, nudging Hildebrand on the shoulder. They had conveniently ended up sitting next to each other first thing on Firsday morning.

“Just trying to remember something,” she said. “I forgot something really important and now I can’t remember it to save my life.”

“Oh dear,” Hugo said. “That happens to me all the time.” He smiled gently. No, it was more of a subdued smile. A kind of melancholic expression Hildebrand couldn’t fully understand. “It usually helps to retrace your steps. I like to close my eyes and visualize what I can remember, and work backwards from there.”

Hildebrand smiled at him, hoping to see him mirror it. He did. His smile widened with energy, even if it was a little crooked. But so was Hildebrand’s. “I’ll try that,” she said.

She closed her eyes and recalled what she could clearly remember. Hugo and Greg stopped the incident, cutting down the student who had allowed themselves to be corrupted into a monster with many screaming and shouting faces. The creature was grotesque and twisted beyond the form of a human, but a tattered skirt hung from its waist. It was a girl, once. Amongst the monster’s nonsensical babbling and crying, there were mentions about her sister and a princess. The only princess Hildebrand could think of was Princess Alma, whose close friend was unfortunately murdered by the rampaging creature. It made the secretive princess, who attended the academy under a pseudonym, all that much harder to approach. Her increased paranoia and isolation, however, worked in Hildebrand’s favor in the end, when Hildebrand wormed her way into the princess’s life as her only friend.

The little wheel in Hildebrand’s brain began to turn. Memories were coming back.

"Aha!" Hildebrand exclaimed.

“Quiet, missy,” that man, Roy Garland, said from the ring.

“Did you figure something out?” Hugo asked in a hushed voice.

"No," said Hildebrand. “I just realized how smart I am.”

Hugo stared at her and nodded slowly. “Huh,” he murmured.

“I’m joking,” she said. Her Hugo would have chuckled, maybe made a joke at her expense. “I remembered something.”

But who was it? That part was still fuzzy. Hildebrand couldn't recall a name but could vaguely recall the student’s face when she closed her eyes and tried to recite their features. She could recall it now. She could even recall her own memories from her days in the academy. There was a portrait published by the student paper, even though they weren’t supposed to.

“Tall, brunette, ponytail, a little homely, huge eyebrows,” Hildebrand murmured.

"Well, thanks…" said a girl walking towards Hildebrand. "That makes me feel fantastic about myself."

"Huh?"

The girl was as Hildebrand described. Not exactly homely, but she was a little plain and unkempt, like someone who had grown up on a farm. Even the tomboyish Erika was clean and well-groomed on any occasion, and easy on the eyes, even though Erika didn’t obsess over her looks, unlike some other young ladies. This new girl looked like she rolled out of her bed. Made of hay. In the barn. She looked like a slattern.

"I wasn't talking about you," Hildebrand said. She was.

That's her! Hildebrand screamed in her head. She fought the urge to point in the slattern’s face.

“Uh-huh…” the slattern murmured. She self-consciously touched her eyebrows and then pulled her hand up, fingers combing through messy hair to rub the top of her head. She had just finished a spar with Roy and lost. And she didn’t look very pleased about it. She fidgeted with the grip of her practice sword, tapping the wooden sword repeatedly on the ground. The girl evidently didn’t even have a chance to work up a sweat. She was full of tense energy.

“I’m being honest,” Hildebrand said, placing a hand over her heart. “I was trying to remember someone I saw during orientation. She was, umm, picking stuff off the ground. And tasting it. I just remembered it because she was so strange. What kind of freak—”

The slattern’s face turned beet red, and her bushy eyebrows bunched together. She tapped the sword even faster and harder as her lips pressed flat and wide. Her nostrils flared, and she snorted.

“I-I mean,” Hildebrand stammered, trying to avert her gaze to the ground.

Was the story fact or fiction? One might have been fooled by how convincingly Hildebrand recalled the event. But it was a fictional story. It was made up. Or was it? Hildebrand couldn’t tell anymore.

“That was me,” the slattern said.

“Oh,” Hildebrand muttered. She didn’t always avoid a fight, but this was head on, face-to-face. And the girl had several centimeters on her, and as expected of a farm-girl she had a good figure, which her slacks and pinched blazer accentuated.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Bridgette, leave Hilde alone,” Hugo growled.

The slattern, the farm-girl, Bridgette, turned to Hugo. “You stay out of this. This is between girls. Someone needs to set your rude little girlfriend straight. I heard she’s been picking fights with everyone. Well, now she had the misfortune of picking a fight with me.”

“Girlfriend?” Hugo asked, on the verge of giggling. “Well, I wouldn’t say we’re that close. Yet.”

Hildebrand shot Hugo a look. It said, “Do something!” But he stared back cluelessly.

“Do something!” she said.

He nodded. “I’m telling you to stop, Bridgette!” he said, wagging a finger this time.

“Or what?” Bridgette snapped back.

“…” Hugo shrugged. “I gave it my best effort,” he said to Hildebrand.

“What!” Hildebrand growled. “Are you scared of this thug?” she said, pointing in Bridgette’s face.

“No,” Hugo said. “But I can’t hit a lady…”

Even onlookers nodded in agreement.

“Ah,” Hildebrand muttered, nodding too. He had always been something of a gentleman. Probably. Maybe. Sometimes. This Hugo certainly wasn’t the Hugo Hildebrand knew. Maybe he had a cushy life and learned to be civilized from his adoptive family. “But,” Hildebrand said to Hugo. “In an actual fight, who cares if you’re up against a girl or not?”

“Yeah,” Bridgette said. “Who cares? Things like size and skill don’t matter either, right?”

“Right!” Hildebrand said. “See, Hugo? Even she agrees.”

“I suppose,” Hugo said.

“Then—”

“Then get in the ring,” Bridgette said, placing a calloused hand on Hildebrand’s shoulder.

“But—”

“Get in the ring,” Bridgette demanded.

Hildebrand slapped Bridgette’s hand away. “Fine! Let’s do it!” she said.

“Good answer,” Bridgette said, walking back up to the ring.

“Oho,” Roy said, slow clapping once, twice, thrice. “I didn’t take you for the brave sort,” he said to Hildebrand.

Hildebrand took a step forward and immediately eyed Dolph. He was busy turning his face away, slumping against the wall, trying to hide.

“I’m not!” Hildebrand declared. Commanding others was her forte, at least after becoming the Saintess. “Dolph!” she shouted, pointing to the beady eyed miscreant who slowly turned to face her. “Get up there and fight her!”

Dolph furrowed his brows and gnashed his teeth.

“Hurry! Time is of the essence!”

He stood, unwillingly.

“Hey,” Bridgette said. “He’s not the one—”

“Dolph is my trusted… Knight!” Hildebrand announced.

It garnered murmurs and a few gasps. It even earned a shocked and angry “What!” from Hugo. “That’s outrageous!” he said.

“Get up there, Dolph!” Hildebrand insisted, pointing to the ring.

Dolph grunted and made his way through the seated crowd.

“Crap,” he grumbled.

“You’d fight a lady?” Hugo shouted. “You coward! You don’t deserve to be Hilde’s knight!”

“Yeah! Coward!” Greg joined in beside Hugo. “I always knew you were scum! But I never just knew how much!”

Other joined in the jeering, but Hugo and Greg remained the loudest.

“Hey,” Hildebrand said, pulling down Hugo’s raised fist. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” Hugo said. “That malefactor isn’t fit to be your knight.”

“What?” Hildebrand asked. “Sometimes you speak like an old man.”

Hugo kissed his fist. “Ahem. I mean that thug shouldn’t be your knight. I doubt he’s even trained. And let me remind you, he has quite a nasty reputation. I heard he’s even beaten women before.”

“Who told you that?” Hildebrand asked, glancing at Greg.

“Greg,” Hugo said.

“He said Dolph beat women?” Hildebrand asked, glancing again at Greg, whose eyes were glancing between her face and somewhere else.

“Yes,” Hugo said. “He’s scum.”

“Did he really?” she asked Greg.

“It’s very likely,” Greg said.

“Yes or no?” Hildebrand asked.

“Yes,” Greg said, nodding.

“…Good!” Hildebrand said. She turned to Dolph to give him some words of encouragement. “Beat her!”

Dolph gnashed his teeth again, baring them at Hildebrand as he stepped up into the ring. No matter how much he whined, this was exactly what Hildebrand paid him for.

“I’ve heard the rumors about you,” Bridgette said to Dolph. “I’m not sure I believe them looking at you now. I’ve experienced slander myself, so I’m skeptical.” She raised her sword. “But you won’t dispel those rumors by serving a girl like that. I heard she insulted the ‘Saintess’ to her face and even bullied a little girl.”

“You heard about that?” Dolph asked, catching a practice sword from Roy.

Bridgette smiled. “You think I’m falling for baseless rumors?”

Dolph stared back at Hildebrand, then back at Bridgette. “No,” he said. “They’re not rumors.”

“Hey!” Hildebrand shouted.

“Then I guess I know where you stand,” Bridgette said, launching herself forward into a thrust.

Dolph narrowly dodged the attack. Then another. And another. And another yet. He couldn’t get an attack in at all, being completely overwhelmed. And yet Bridgette couldn’t get a single hit in no matter how hard she swung, no matter how much faster she moved. Dolph had her running around the ring, a play area large enough to easily accommodate spars between the entire class if everyone minded their surroundings.

“Take it easy. It’s just a spar,” Roy warned from the side of the ring. “First person to land a clean hit wins. We wouldn’t want this to turn into a slaughter.”

Dolph huffed and puffed, lurching over, hands catching knees. “That’s not funny,” he grunted.

Bridgette breathed deeply and exhaled sharply. She finally shed her blazer, tossing it to the ground. Her sweat-streaked shirt revealed a well-trained body, uncharacteristic of a young aristocrat lady. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was clear now that she was the same ilk as Erika, a dame to-be. Her plain image gave way to something a little more striking when she raised her sword again.

“I can’t believe you have me working up a sweat,” Bridgette said to Dolph. “I’ll give it my all from here on.”

Dolph held a shaky hand up. “Wait! You win!” he said. “I give up.”

Bridgette sighed through closed lips. “Go the whole hog,” she demanded. “Or call your lady up.”

Dolph looked back at Hildebrand with his beady blue eyes. Hildebrand vigorously shook her head no. He seemed to get the message. He let out an exasperated sigh.

“I can’t do that,” he said. “I’ll do the whole hog, or whatever it is.”

Bridgette smirked, placing a hand on her hip. “Brave. And loyal too,” she said. “Guess rumors really can’t be trusted. I’ll let you catch your breath.”

“Thanks,” Dolph said, still huffing. After a brief rest, he raised his sword again, but it wobbled in his hands. It shook fiercely.

It was a sight Hildebrand had seen many times. A shaky sword held up only by conviction. By faith. It wasn’t always for honorable or good causes. But she admired it, nonetheless. If she didn’t admire it, who would? When those swords had been raised for her sake. She loved the sight of it and the power she possessed. The loyalty of brave men who would die for her. She had loved it once. Now, she wasn’t so certain.

“Dolph!” Hildebrand called. “You—"

“I know,” he grunted. Did he? “I’ll win. Just shut up and watch.”

One Konradt was a small price to pay for such loyalty. Had it been discounted because it came with a sharp tongue?

“Let’s go,” he said to Bridgette, who responded with a smile and a leap forward.

She moved with blinding speed. She must have trained her talent until her feet bled to move so fast, especially at such a young age. She cloaked herself in a whooshing wind just by dashing.

“I’m giving this my all,” Bridgette reminded Dolph. The first thrust was straightforward, but then her sword pulled back and looped around so quickly it became a blur.

Hildebrand might have described it as a dancer if she could keep up with its movements. Amidst the swift and intricate patterns Bridgette weaved with her sword, Dolph would occasionally duck and dodge, evading a sword that was nearly invisible to Hildebrand. And eventually those dodges were accompanied by loud thwacks as he raised his sword to deflect Bridgette’s attacks, even if barely.

“Has Dolph ever trained before?” Hugo asked.

“That scum barely lifted a sword all his life,” Greg answered.

“I thought not. But he has good instincts. And he learns fast.” Hugo observed. He looked to Greg, who begrudgingly nodded in agreement.

“Do you think Dolph can win?” Hildebrand asked.

“Haha,” Hugo chortled. “I doubt it. I’ve heard Bridgette’s one of the best in our year. I was simply surprised by his talent.”

A loud crash drew Hildebrand’s attention back to the ring.

“I can’t believe you blocked that,” Bridgette said. She and Dolph had locked their sword guards together and were engaged in a struggle of strength. “I guess a boy is still a man,” she grumbled loudly. She had practically shouted it in Dolph’s face. It wasn’t so much a struggle, as it was Bridgette letting steam off on Dolph, pressing him despite standing shorter than him.

Dolph opened his mouth, but only wheezed. Bridgette had worked up a sweat, but Dolph was drenched. His forehead spilled water like a high cliff did a waterfall. His skin even had the pale bluishness of cold, water-worn stones. He was losing the struggle.

“Use your head!” Hildebrand shouted to Dolph. He turned briefly to her, just long enough for her to tap her forehead.

He listened well, reeling his head back and hastily throwing it forward. For whatever reason, however, it wasn’t his forehead that landed on the shorter Bridgette’s face. She was tall, but she wasn’t quite as tall as the lanky Dolph, who was just shy of Hugo’s height. And the tired Dolph hadn’t aimed his headbutt right. Nor had the surprised Bridgette responded appropriately by reeling back.

Their lips touched. And their lips stayed touching, locked for a few quiet moments.

Greg was the first to break the silence. “You perverted fiend!” he yelled with a point. There were jeers and laughter alike. Even Roy Garland placed a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his chuckling, but his shoulders jumped with each laugh. When Hildebrand shot him a glare from behind, he immediately turned to her, his head turning almost like an owl’s.

Does he have eyes on the back of his head? Hildebrand wondered, quickly shifting her gaze to Dolph.

Dolph pulled back first, holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he said. “It was just a mistake,” he said. “Fighting can be messy,” he said. “I’ve even kissed a guy by mistake, once. Almost. It was just an accident.”

But the blushing Bridgette didn’t listen. She was as red as a steamed beet and screaming like a whistling kettle.

“I’m sorry!” Dolph said, moments before Bridgette’s sword connected with his temple. The loud crack silenced the dirty good mood in the gym.

He crumpled like a sack. Quietly.

“Dolph!” Hildebrand shouted. When she stood, Hugo stood alongside her, and when she ran up to the ring, Hugo ran up slightly ahead. But then Hugo raised a hand, stopping Hildebrand.

Dolph slowly stood back up.

“Oh, Dear Altamea!” Bridgette said, still wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

Blood dripped, and it poured from Dolph’s head.

“Are you alright?” Bridgette asked. “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard!”

The only people who seemed to notice the strange, oppressive feeling in the air were Hugo and Roy. And Hildebrand. It was a kind of feeling that made her queasy. It was disorienting, like staring down from a tall peak. It was binding and suffocating, like drowning in a pool of thick, murky darkness. Thick as Dolph’s flowing blood, which had slowed to steady drips that beat loudly as they hit the floor. And then the dripping quickened as Dolph stood a little taller. The beat of dripping blood quickened like drumrolls building tension. Announcing an arrival.

But of what?

Hildebrand stumbled, finding support in Hugo’s arms.

Dolph took a slow step forward. He didn’t even seem conscious, like he was sleepwalking. He was on the verge of falling over. And yet his step was heavy enough to shake the air, although not everyone noticed it.

“Dolph?” Bridgette asked, raising a cautious hand to him. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t touch him,” Roy said, placing a hand on Dolph’s shoulder. The beady-eyed miscreant went limp. And when the practice sword was released from his hand, so too was all the tension that had been building in the gym.

“You got him pretty good,” Roy said, picking Dolph up like a princess.

“Shouldn’t you support his head?” Bridgette asked.

“Oh yeah,” Roy said, laying Dolph back down. This time the serpent of a man picked Dolph up by his collar in one hand and held Dolph’s head up by his bloody blonde hair. “That’s better,” Roy said. He nodded to Bridgette. “You get a gold star.”

And he ran off, kicking the gym doors open before sprinting down the hallway.

Hildebrand stood straight, finally releasing Hugo, and took off after Roy and Dolph, only for Hugo’s grip to stop her.

“That bastard,” he growled, “is dangerous.”

Hildebrand tilted her head. Did he mean Roy? Or was it Dolph?