Hildebrand tried for weeks to reach out to Bridgette. She tried everything, but the girl simply wouldn’t respond. From passing greetings to striking up casual conversations. Hildebrand asked Erika to speak with her too, but Erika refused. Hildebrand even resorted to her last resort and sent a confused Dolph off to greet Bridgette with flowers in hand. He returned, even more confused and looking more annoyed than usual.

  His report was curt. Just three words spoken with clenched teeth, “She’s over me.” He was so overtly stormy, Hildebrand didn’t even bother asking what happened, or what his words meant. She could surmise the meaning, based on the broken flower petals he had failed to pick out of his hair.

  Hildebrand realized what happened when she saw Bridgette swinging her sword alone. The girl practiced the same overhead swing dozens, maybe hundreds, of times in focused silence.

  Is that how she solves all her problems? Hildebrand wondered. Probably.

  But it didn’t solve all her problems. Like being isolated. Swinging her sword was the root cause of that problem.

  Bridgette purported to be some chivalrous knight standing up for the weak. And she did so by challenging any so-called villains to duels, most of whom were from established nobility. Rather than stop injustice, she only exacerbated the growing divide between the Prince and Saintess factions.

  The old aristocrats of distinguished nobility in the Prince faction saw Bridgette as an agent of the Saintess faction. The Saintess faction’s new aristocrats—children of merchants, industrialists, and bureaucrats—saw her as an agent of chaos after Priscilla denounced her actions. It was the best decision Priscilla could make to keep the peace. But the growing tension between the two factions even galvanized the entire academy into taking sides.

  And in the middle of the schism, Bridgette found herself all alone, surrounded by enemies. Her na?ve, well-intentioned tyranny resulted in her isolation. And despite all her skills and strength, there was always someone stronger. A lesson Bridgette learned when Cynthia, the leader of the Prince faction’s self-proclaimed Royal Guard, crushed her in a duel. Bridgette was lucky just to leave the ring alive. Most of Cynthia’s opponents in Hildebrand’s past life weren’t so lucky.

  But that humiliating defeat left Bridgette vulnerable. Hildebrand passed by some nobles leaving the ring to tend to their bruises. They had asked Bridgette for her guidance, but what could they possibly learn by sparring with a girl whose hand was still in a cast? As powerful as blessings were, an ordinary priest could only do so much to reconnect a severed arm.

  Hildebrand stepped forward. If she could, she would heal Bridgette’s arm perfectly. But the only thing she could offer was company; her Saintess powers had still not returned.

  “Not you again,” Bridgette sighed. Her hair was tied up neatly, too tightly, like when they had first met.

  Hildebrand smiled.

  “Would you like to spar—” Hildebrand’s sword flew away, clattering to the floor outside the ring. “…”

  “Hmph,” Bridgette grunted. Even with her offhand, she was plenty strong.

  Hildebrand climbed down to retrieve her sword and climbed back up, staring at Bridgette all the while. This time, before she could even open her mouth, Bridgette knocked her sword halfway across the room. It landed on someone’s head with a dull thud. Hildebrand climbed down once more and approached the strange, hunched figure.

  Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a life-sized puppet slumped over itself, having been abandoned long ago by its puppeteer. Long, unruly, dark hair wrapped around its limbs, like tangled strings.

  She had heard ghost stories about this. It was probably from Hugo. Damn that man, she cursed, giggling with a nervous anticipation. A reaction even she found strange about herself.

  Ah, no, Hildebrand recalled. She cringed. She had heard it from Yuna when they had gathered by a campfire in the World’s End. Maybe it was a story about Yuna herself, with her pale skin and long, inky black hair. And her gleaming red eyes. Just like a ghost. Even the way she silently glided about while on night watch was ghostly. What a spooky woman, Hildebrand thought, shaking her head.

  Hildebrand quietly reached for her sword with trembling fingers. Maybe it was just in her nature as the Saintess, but the thought of ghosts always frightened her. Her duty was to guide lost souls, but it would have been better if souls never got lost.

  Just as her fingertips touched the hilt, the figure came to life and snatched the sword away. It stood with a towering, if not spindly, presence. Or rather, he did. He pulled his long hair back and out of his eyes with a snort. Then he looked down. “This yours?”

  He had dark eyes that matched his dark hair. And a dark mood about him to round things out. And sharp teeth, like a shark, to add an edge.

  Hildebrand nodded. “I’m terribly sorry for disturbing you."

  “Hurry and take it,” he mumbled. It sounded like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  She quickly snatched it away and let him sit back down.

  “Um,” she murmured. “May I have your name?”

  He raised an annoyed brow at her and stared at her with bothered, sleepy eyes. Ringed by dark circles. Like a grumpy asberlin.

  “Hector,” he said. Then he lowered his head and curled up, entangling himself in his strings once more.

  It was a familiar name. But she couldn’t quite place it. He wasn’t someone she remembered from her first life. Not even in the way she had forgotten Erika. He must just have been a faceless person who always slipped away between the gaps of her busy mind.

  Hildebrand climbed back up to the ring, this time holding her sword tight out of fright. She still had the tense energy in her hands. Who would have thought a little fright would give her the strength to hold her sword tighter? This time, she held onto her sword when Bridgette struck it, even if it made her hands ring.

  “I would like to spar,” Hildebrand said.

  Bridgette furrowed her brows, but with more concern than anger.

  “What’s your problem?” Bridgette asked, throwing a swing. Hildebrand rushed to block it.

  That you’re gonna turn into a monster and go on a rampage, Hildebrand thought.

  “I don’t have any problems,” Hildebrand said, blocking another swing. “Not with you.” She could see them coming, even if she struggled to block them.

  “Then leave me alone,” Bridgette said. “I left you alone.”

  “…I can’t do that,” Hildebrand said.

  Bridgette’s swings became a blur. They were so fast. Faster than they seemed from the sidelines. Was she going all out now? And yet, Hildebrand still blocked them, even if she had to use her other hand to brace the flat of her sword.

  Am I a genius? Hildebrand thought. Delusions of grandeur suddenly clouded her mind. I should’ve learned it properly, she told herself. When she was at the temple, Bishop Theodore had tried to teach her, but she always resisted. She quietly huffed at the years wasted. I’ll learn it now.

  “Watch your fingers,” Bridgette said. It sounded less like a warning. “I wouldn’t want to break them.” More like a threat.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Hildebrand nodded with a determined smile. A confident one. But she ruined the illusion by gulping loudly.

  Bridgette pressed forward with an overhead swing. Hildebrand blocked it. She thought she did. But her knees ached and her hands stung. There was so much power behind it, it felt like trying to catch a falling boulder.

  “Don’t just absorb the blow,” Bridgette said. “Deflect it.”

  Hildebrand felt two sharp knocks on the insides of each knee. She didn’t even see it coming. “And widen your stance,” Bridgette said. “Be steady on your feet.” She prodded Hildebrand's feet with her wooden sword for good measure. “Watch your balance.” Then she tapped Hildebrand’s right hand with the wooden sword’s broad side. “Loosen your grip. Are you trying to strangle your sword?” she asked.

  Hildebrand did as she was told, whether she wanted to. She pulled her hand back in pain. And Bridgette smacked the sword out of Hildebrand’s hand.

  “I said loosen it,” Bridgette said. “Not let it go!”

  “Y-yes!” Hildebrand said, retrieving her sword. She gripped it tighter. She gripped it so tightly, her skin felt like it was burning against the leather wrapped around the handle.

  Bridgette tapped the flat of her sword on Hildebrand’s right hand again. “I said loosen it! How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

  Hildebrand grunted with annoyance and did exactly as she was told this time. “Okay,” she said. “Relax.”

  Bridgette huffed and lowered her sword to her side. Hildebrand mirrored her, lowering her sword.

  Are we relaxing? Hildebrand wondered. She was focused on the sword Bridgette held down at her side, and nothing else.

  “Don’t relax,” Bridgette said, standing in Hildebrand’s face. They were standing so close, Hildebrand’s face almost touched Bridgette’s chin.

  “Huh?” Hildebrand hadn’t noticed Bridgette get so close.

  “Keep your eyes on me,” Bridgette said, smacking Hildebrand’s head with her open hand. “Not my sword. Don’t get hypnotized.”

  Hildebrand nodded. “R-right!”

  “And don’t keep your heels planted,” Bridgette said. She gave Hildebrand one good shove, tipping her over like a vase. “Do you think you’re a tree? Are you going to grow roots?”

  Hildebrand grunted and crawled to her feet. “No,” she said.

  “Even if you did,” Bridgette said. “Even a half-witted thug could cut you down. Easily.”

  Hildebrand grit her teeth and smiled perfectly. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you for sharing your wisdom.”

  ***

  “You ok?” Dolph asked. “You’re black and blue all over. Like a penguin.”

  What in the world is he talking about? Penguin? Hildebrand wondered.

  She simply smiled at him.

  He smiled back, and then he smirked. Then his lips pulled back into a grin. He always had the same response whenever she smiled, no matter the occasion. And she had only recently realized why.

  “Pft.” He placed his hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.

  Hildebrand’s smile faltered, and she grimaced. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  His beady blue eyes stared right through Hildebrand. “You, apparently,” he said.

  “Oh,” she muttered. She slammed her tray of food on the table and plopped herself down.

  “Are you upset?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” Hildebrand said, rolling her eyes.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t help it. Sometimes this body acts involuntarily. I guess you could call it a reflex. I haven’t mastered it yet.”

  “It’s quite alright,” she huffed. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said. “It’s clear you’re injured.”

  Hildebrand sighed. “I feel like… Shit,” she groaned.

  “Why don’t you go see the doctor?” he asked.

  She huffed. “That despicable man told me to just walk it off,” she snarled.

  “Instructor Garland?”

  “Yes! That bastard!” she said.

  Dolph nodded. “Should I heal you?” he asked. “It’s not a blessing, just magic.”

  Hildebrand stiffened up.

  Even basic healing magic was difficult to learn. Unlike blessings, the caster had to have expert knowledge of the human body. Even something as simple as accelerating the body’s natural healing required years of learning and training. In the best-case scenario, she would experience excruciating pain and be healed imperfectly. In the worst-case scenario… Well, she didn’t plan on exploding like the animals used for training.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll be fine in day or two.” It wasn’t that she distrusted his intention. He had more than proven his loyalty, especially as a hired hand. She just didn’t trust his self-assessment.

  Dolph gave a thumbs up, and she returned it. One of his quirks. One she liked.

  He hungrily shoved his food into his mouth, inhaling it like a drowning man gasped for air. He ate like a pig, like someone who had been starving for centuries. And he wiped his mouth with his sleeve like a slob. Even slumrats had more manners than he did.

  Hildebrand pushed a handkerchief towards him, glaring at him until he got the message.

  “Is it that good?” Hildebrand asked.

  “No,” he said, wiping his mouth. “It’s slop.”

  You sure make it look that way, she thought. But he was lying. He had to be. He had just devoured that mountain of “slop.”

  “Oh,” Hildebrand said, pushing her tray towards him. “Do you want mine?” She already had a weak appetite from the beating. After seeing Dolph’s savage feast, she couldn’t stomach any food.

  His eyes perked up. But he pushed it back. “No, eat. You need plenty of protein to heal.”

  That didn’t stop Hildebrand from dumping half her food onto his tray. He raised a brow at first, but he wasted no time devouring the food.

  “You act like you’ve been starving all your life,” Hildebrand said.

  “I have,” he said.

  A very real possibility, Hildebrand thought. He was so scrawny when they first met. But he had put on some weight recently.

  She noticed it when he set his arms down on the table. They landed with a dull but heavy thump.

  That extra weight was all muscle.

  Wow, Hildebrand thought.

  His build was just average now. But compared to the person he was just several weeks ago, he was like a completely different being. Like a skeleton had become a human.

  Even his swordsmanship and magic were improving by leaps and bounds. He still had a long way to go to reach the top of the class, but she had seen him defeat opponent after opponent in spars. Watching him gave her the confidence to pick up the sword.

  He was truly a curiosity. But the most curious thing about him was whatever he was tinkering with in alchemic engineering. He alone understood it; even the professor was stumped and he explained nothing. He tried once, but it was like he was speaking a foreign language. Dolph seemed to have high hopes and expectations for it, so Hildebrand did too.

  If only his social acumen were as brilliant as his other talents. Hildebrand touched her forehead and sighed.

  “You should leave that girl alone,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve again, only to use the handkerchief after.

  “I can’t,” Hildebrand said.

  “You’re giving yourself a headache for no reason. Like I said, she’ll be gone soon enough.”

  Maybe she wore a look of disbelief. “I can see the future,” he said.

  At least it was a more convincing story than the one about being from another world. Oracles were real. A Sister receiving heavenly divination was how the Church found Hildebrand in her first life.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Hildebrand already decided not to poke and prod someone who already proved his loyalty. Even if he turned out to be the enemy later, he was the only reliable ally she had now, especially with Erika’s carefree and flighty nature.

  “That’s the problem,” Hildebrand said.

  He nodded. “I see. You’re more vengeful than I thought. But that’s how humans are. Then,” he said in a low voice. “Should I just kill her now?”

  “What!” Hildebrand yelped. “No!”

  “No?” he asked.

  “Can you even do that?” she asked.

  “I need a few days,” he said. “But essentially, yes.”

  “No!” she repeated. “Why are you thinking about killing her?” she shouted in a hushed voice.

  “You seemed… Displeased with her.”

  “I want to save her,” Hildebrand said. “So, she doesn’t turn into a monster.”

  “Into a Mara,” he said.

  “A what?”

  “A Mara,” he repeated. “That’s what they’re called.”

  Another one of Dolph’s strange expressions. But she liked it.

  “Regardless,” he said. “I’m glad you’re aware of how the event goes. That makes this easier.” He looked over to Priscilla and D. “You shouldn’t save her,” Dolph said. “It’s an important event for their growth.”

  “Them?” Hildebrand muttered in disbelief.

  If he really did know the future—and it seemed ever more likely—it was different from the one Hildebrand knew. Her gaze lingered on D, in particular, who caught her staring. And he stared back with bright eyes. Maybe it wasn’t so different. D tore his gaze away from Hildebrand to Priscilla, who jabbed his ribs to get his attention. Maybe it was a better future.

  Hildebrand eyed Bridgette poking at her food alone.

  But it still wasn’t good.

  “They’ll save the world,” Dolph said. “In a sense.”

  “Didn’t you say they need Greg?” Hildebrand asked. “I just remembered, you asked me to introduce Greg to Priscilla.”

  “You completely forgot about that,” he said.

  “Uhh.” Hildebrand stuck her tongue out. “Oops? Teehee.”

  “Are you trying to be cute?”

  She frowned. “Tsk.”

  You wouldn’t know cute if it bit you! she thought.

  “No,” she whined.

  “I see. I thought it was very cute. I was mistaken.”

  “Wha—"

  “They don’t need him,” Dolph said. “He’s useless, in practical terms. But he’s there in the story, so I wanted to set it straight. It’s not a problem.”

  Certainly, the Greg of this life was useless. He was nothing like the frivolous, yet fearsome hound Hildebrand knew, the one who could even best the Divine Shield’s leader in combat. This Greg was like a sad, lost little puppy, especially with Hugo’s sudden and mysterious trip back home. He wandered the halls by himself. But that was all for the best. At least he stayed out of trouble.

  “What if the ‘story’—” Hildebrand curled her fingers in air quotes. “—doesn’t go as planned?”

  “Then I’ll take care of it,” he said. “If you order it.”

  “Where are you getting this confidence from?” Hildebrand asked.

  He just sneered. Then he chuckled slowly. Then laughed. He laughed a sinister laugh. He cackled.

  Hildebrand tried to join in too. But she just couldn’t keep up with him. “Haha…Ha.” His befuddling laughter answered nothing at all.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Another reflex?” Hildebrand asked sarcastically.

  “Yes,” he answered, placing a hand to restrain his smile. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I have plenty of time to finish my equipment.”

  “Then, it isn’t a problem if we prevent Bridgette from becoming a Mara,” Hildebrand said.

  “Hmm.” His usual scowl overtook his face. “That’s correct.”

  She smiled. A little more comfortably. "Great!" she said. "Here's the plan."