"I still can't believe it," Leon said, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and disbelief. "We actually did it without casualties. I'd already prepared myself to die, but… to think we'd all come back alive."
The campfire crackled softly, its glow flickering across the tired faces of soldiers.
Ray, one of the younger knights, spoke up. "It's because of Lady Elestia, isn't it? She must've known the demons would attack. How else could she have built all that?"
"Must be," Leon replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've never seen anyone like her. For three days straight, she barely closed her eyes. She healed the wounded, maintained the barrier—and when Sirene fell asleep, she used her own mana to keep us alive."
Lucian, standing nearby, overheard their conversation. His expression tightened. Without a word, he strode toward the medical tent.
Inside, Elestia sat cross-legged on the ground, her hands glowing faintly as she healed a soldier's arm. Her pale face was drenched with sweat, her breathing uneven.
"My lady, please," Lucian said, kneeling beside her. "You need to rest."
Elestia didn't answer. Her magic flared again, golden light seeping into another soldier's wound. Only when the last of them sighed in relief did she finally lower her hands. Her body swayed slightly, her mana nearly spent.
Sirene stirred from her nap and fluttered weakly above Elestia's shoulder, sending a soft wave of energy toward her master.
Elestia exhaled slowly as her strength began to return. "Thank you… Sirene."
She looked toward the horizon, where the sea wind carried the faint smell of blood and ash. "Let's go home."
But the moment she turned, a sharp cry pierced the air.
WHOOOSH!
A wind-cutter spell—fast, invisible, deadly—sliced through the battlefield. The soldiers barely saw it coming. A high-class demon hawk, its black wings slicing the air, dove straight at her.
"LADY ELESTIA!!!"
She spun, throwing up a barrier—but her mana was too thin, her body too weak. The spell shattered like glass under the impact.
Pain exploded down her back as the wind blade tore through her flesh. The snow beneath her boots turned crimson.
"Elestia!" Lucian's roar echoed across the field as the soldiers charged forward, their swords flashing. The demon hawk shrieked—but it was quickly overwhelmed, cut down by a dozen blades.
When the monster fell, all eyes turned to Elestia.
She was still standing—but barely. Blood soaked through her robes, her silver hair clinging to her neck.
"Get the healers! Now!" Lucian barked.
Five priests rushed over, their hands glowing white. Layer after layer of healing magic poured into her wounds. The bleeding slowed, the torn flesh sealed—but the scar remained.
Elina, the head priest, lowered her hands, pale and trembling. "I'm sorry, Captain… our magic can't remove the scar. It's too deep. We've done all we can."
Lucian clenched his jaw. "It's enough. She's alive—that's all that matters."
They made camp for the night. No one slept. The soldiers took turns keeping watch, their eyes flicking toward the tent where their lady lay unconscious.
"Why won't she wake up?" Leon whispered, his voice cracking.
"We don't know," Elina replied softly.
Sirene hovered near Elestia's face, her tiny eyes brimming with tears. Spirits like her rarely revealed themselves to humans—but tonight, everyone could see her glowing faintly, as if grief itself made her visible.
"Please wake up…" she whispered, brushing Elestia's cheek with a trembling hand.
Then, a faint sound.
"...Ugh."
Elestia's fingers twitched. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Sirene?" she murmured, smiling faintly as the little spirit burst into tears and began hitting her forehead with tiny fists. "Sorry. I made you worry."
She tried to sit up, but pain shot through her back and she fell back down.
"Don't move, my lady," Lucian said, rushing to her side. His usual composed tone wavered.
"What happened… to the demon?" Elestia asked quietly, accepting a cup of water from Elina.
"It's dead," Lucian replied, his jaw tight.
"Good," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Then… let's all get some rest."
By dawn, the battlefield was silent.
A thousand soldiers, five priests, and one wounded saintess—all returned alive. No deaths, no major injuries. It was a miracle.
But when they arrived at the Duchy, the praise fell elsewhere.
"Congratulations on your victory," Carmila said sweetly, her smile practiced. "The Duke told me everything. It's all thanks to Captain Lucian's brilliant leadership, isn't it?"
Lucian opened his mouth to deny it—but the Duke's approving nod silenced him.
Once again, Elestia's efforts vanished like mist.
Later that evening, in the grand hall, the Duke addressed them both.
"Elestia. Carmila. The Empire has sent word. You are to report to the Wizard Association and serve the crown. Use this chance to build connections with the royal family."
The same words. The same fate as before.
Then his gaze turned cold. "And you, Elestia—stay away from Carmila. Do not disgrace the Ronin name again."
He didn't even say her title. Not Lady Elestia.Just you.
The sting of it burned worse than any wound.
"Yes, Duke," she said quietly, bowing her head.
Carmila's smirk widened.
Elestia turned and walked away before her step sister could speak another poisonous word.
Back in her room, she peeled off her robe and stared at the reflection in her mirror. The scar—jagged and deep—ran down her back like a cruel brand.
She touched it gently. It still ached.
"A small scar is enough to ruin a woman's reputation," she murmured bitterly. "And this one… will ruin me entirely."
Sirene floated beside her, her tiny wings trembling. "It's still beautiful," she said softly.
Elestia smiled faintly. "You're terrible at lying."
She lay down, exhaustion finally overtaking her.
As her eyes closed, she whispered, "Next time… I'll be the one writing the story."
And then, silence.