Ancient records tell that when monsters first invaded the human world, God sent a Saint. The Saint bestowed five holy weapons upon the chosen—arms capable of tearing through monstrous flesh and shielding civilization from ruin.

Four guardians defended the four corners of the land.

In the North, the Frostvain dukedom wielded the icy spear Glacior Umbra, a frozen shadow that could turn battlefields to frost.

In the West, Duke Valemor commanded a trident named Tidebound Seraph, master of tides and mire.

In the South, Duke Pyreholt bore the fire-forged axe Pyra Dominus, flame that scourged poison and curse alike.

In the East, Duke Verdantis held the staff Verdictum Vitae, judgment of life for monsters that could not be slain.

And above them all stood the Eldravar royal family, rulers of the kingdom, bearers of the holy sword Regnum Aeternis, the Blade of Dominion and Destruction.

With these five weapons, humanity endured. Monsters were driven back. Peace prevailed.

But five hundred years ago, everything changed.

The five sacred weapons vanished without a trace.

No witnesses. No reasons. No divine revelation.

From that day forward, monsters attacked once more without mercy. 

Disease spread among the common folk. Villages disappeared from maps. Rivers once clear turned deadly.

The temples continued to pray.

Every year, offerings were made to God—gold, blood, even lives.

Yet the heavens remained silent.

At last, the people of Eldravar reached a bitter conclusion—

God had abandoned them.

***

I closed the ancient book I had just finished reading.

Its title: The Kingdom Forsaken by God, written by an author named Piers Frey.

The book had long been banned—removed from circulation for insulting the kingdom and the holy nobility.

And yet, every word within felt… far too real.

I stood and walked toward the mirror.

The reflection of a pink-haired girl stared back at me.

This face should feel familiar.

But it doesn’t.

Because I know one thing for certain—

I should be dead.

The memory of my death remains vivid—too vivid.

My body torn apart by a monster’s claws.

My breath stolen mid-scream.

The pain… has never fully faded.

Yet here I am.

Alive.

Seventeen years old.

Five years before the day I died.

My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the vanity.

Slowly, my gaze fell to my chest—

to a place where nothing had ever existed before.

There, a mark was etched into my skin.

A thin, imperfect circle.

Within it, a six-petaled flower half-bloomed, its delicate roots curling into a spiral.

At its center, a faint golden light shimmered.

I never had this mark.

Not in my childhood.

Not in my previous life.

“What… is this?” I whispered.

No answer came.

Only one certainty settled heavily in my chest, outweighing every fear.

If I have truly returned to the past—

then my death was not the end.

And this second life…

is no coincidence.