At the far edge of the Valdyrion Empire, right along a border so obscure it barely appeared on any official map, stood a remote settlement known as Eldwyn Village. Isolated from major trade routes and almost entirely ignored by the empire, its existence felt little more than an administrative formality.
Strangely enough, despite being surrounded by forests infamous as monster territory—home to everything from wild beasts to mid-level magical creatures—the village itself had always remained safe. There were no attacks, no destruction, as though some invisible boundary discouraged monsters from ever approaching.
The villagers considered it a blessing. Some called it a miracle. Others chose not to question it at all.
It was in this peaceful yet secluded village that Lilya Asthon lived her quiet life.
Nineteen years old, Lilya possessed a slender figure and a well-balanced posture shaped by a village lifestyle that demanded light physical labor each day. Her pale-blonde hair flowed down to her back, usually tied simply so it would not get in the way of work. Her bright blue eyes were clear and calm, carrying a gentle warmth that naturally put others at ease. Her features were soft and attractive—pretty enough to draw frequent praise from the villagers—though she herself was almost completely unaware of it.
By nature, Lilya was gentle, obedient, and disliked standing out. She had no grand ambitions, preferring instead to help with household chores, tend to a small field, or deliver goods for others. She was healthy and had good stamina, but her strength appeared ordinary—no different from any other village girl.
Still, those close to her occasionally noticed something odd.
Her movements were sometimes too precise for a village girl. Her reflexes would emerge instinctively at unexpected moments, and her balance almost never faltered. These things were dismissed as coincidence—natural talent that had never been properly honed.
As morning gave way to noon, Lilya stood in the front yard of her home, hanging freshly washed clothes along a neatly stretched line. Her body moved lightly with the breeze as she hummed softly, without any real melody, enjoying the simple routine until she finally let out a satisfied breath.
"Phew… finally done," she murmured, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
Just then, a sharp shout cut through the air.
"Watch out!"
From the corner of her eye, Lilya caught a flash of movement—several small stones flying toward her. Without thinking, she shifted her body, stepping back with a half-turn so clean it was almost unnatural. The stones missed and clattered harmlessly to the ground.
She exhaled slowly, then shot a sharp glare toward the source of the trouble. A young boy and several of his friends stood there, sling cloths still in hand.
"You again! That's dangerous, you know!" Lilya scolded.
The children exchanged glances, then one of them shouted in panic,
"Run! The big-chested lady is mad!"
Lilya's face instantly turned red.
"Wha—?! Hey! You little—!"
But all that remained was a trail of dust and the laughter of fleeing children.
Lilya stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling as she held back her irritation, when a soft chuckle came from behind her. Turning around, she saw a young woman with brown hair standing casually near the fence, her expression calm and mature.
"That's not funny, you know, Cecilia," Lilya said, her irritation only half-contained.
Cecilia—twenty-four years old—laughed lightly and shrugged. "Come on, they're just kids," she replied in a gentle, composed voice.
Cecilia had been Lilya's companion since childhood, a protective older-sister figure. With a five-year age gap between them, the difference showed clearly in Cecilia's demeanor and the way she carried herself. Lilya had lost her parents long ago—both were adventurers who had died to orcs years earlier, before Lilya was old enough to truly understand. Her memories of them had faded into vague fragments.
Since then, Cecilia's family had helped support Lilya, making sure she was never truly alone. To Lilya, Cecilia was more than a friend—she was a dependable older sister in every sense.
Cecilia stepped closer, brushing aside a strand of brown hair caught by the wind.
"Instead of muttering to yourself and getting upset, why don't you help me gather herbs at the hill like usual?" she suggested casually.
Lilya blinked, as if snapping out of an unnoticed daze. She straightened her already tidy clothes and adjusted the tie in her pale-blonde hair with movements that were almost too orderly.
"Okay…" she replied softly.
They headed toward the village gate, and almost simultaneously—without saying a word—both checked that their protective bracelets were still securely fastened around their wrists. The habit was so deeply ingrained it felt more like a reflex than caution.
"Let's go, Lilya," Cecilia said as she stepped ahead.
"Mhm," Lilya answered, following behind with light, steady steps.
Cecilia's family was known in Eldwyn as hereditary healers. Their home, located near the village center, also served as a modest clinic. Wooden shelves lined the interior, filled with glass bottles of colorful potions, cloth pouches of dried leaves and roots, powdered herbs, and carefully maintained medical tools. The knowledge of healing had been passed down through generations—not written, but memorized, practiced, and adapted to life in a border village far from imperial supply lines.
Because of this, Cecilia had been helping since she was young—grinding herbs, drying leaves, recording potion reactions, and learning which plants healed and which killed. Lilya often accompanied her, not as a formal student, but as an assistant. She helped gather herbs, carry supplies, and occasionally tend to minor patients. Their relationship with nature felt effortless—as if the surrounding forests and hills were not dangerous lands, but merely their own backyard.
Beyond the village gate, a dirt path led toward a low hill bordering the forest. Trees grew sparsely there, allowing ample sunlight for herbs that thrived on warmth and morning dew. The air was fresh, tinged with the scent of damp earth and leaves. At the base of the hill, Cecilia stopped and pointed in two directions.
"I'll take the western side. You go east like usual," she said casually.
Lilya nodded. They parted without concern, a habit born of countless repetitions. But before Lilya moved on, Cecilia's voice called out again.
"Oh, Lilya—don't forget to say [Appraisal Open] before harvesting."
Lilya turned back and nodded obediently.
"Of course. I don't want to pick the wrong plant," she replied innocently.
She headed to the eastern side of the hill, her gaze calmly scanning the ground. It didn't take long to find what she was looking for—a cluster of dark green plants with silvery veins, growing near a large stone that retained moisture. Lilya knelt slowly, touched a leaf with her fingertip, and spoke softly but clearly.
"[Appraisal Open.]"
The air before her rippled faintly. A transparent window appeared above the plant—clean and orderly, its unfamiliar layout somehow instantly intuitive. Detailed information filled the display: the plant's name, rarity, medicinal effects, proper harvesting method, even a note on optimal regeneration time.
Lilya nodded slightly, as if confirming what she had expected. Carefully, she harvested the leaves according to the instructions—never pulling the roots, never damaging nearby sprouts. After storing them in the cloth pouch at her waist, she moved on to the next plant.
She repeated the process again and again.
Touch. Appraise. Read. Harvest.
Every movement was efficient and nearly flawless, as if her body had memorized the rhythm long before her mind became aware of it. Before long, Lilya had gathered several types of herbs needed for the village's daily use. When she stood and brushed dirt from her knees, the pouch at her waist felt satisfyingly heavy.
Light footsteps approached through low shrubs. Cecilia emerged from the western side of the hill, a woven basket in her arm, already filled with leaves, dried flowers, and roots wrapped in damp cloth. She looked pleased.
"Looks like today's harvest was good," she said, peering into Lilya's pouch.
Lilya nodded. "Yeah. Everything's healthy. Nothing rotten or contaminated." She lifted the pouch slightly, feeling its balanced weight. A quiet sense of satisfaction settled in—another task completed neatly, as always.
Cecilia smiled broadly. "At this rate, we'll have enough fever and sedative potions through next week." She adjusted the basket and looked toward the village. "Let's head back before it gets too hot."
They walked side by side down the hill at an easy pace. The midday breeze rustled the leaves gently. No signs of danger. No monster sounds—just like always.
After a few steps, Cecilia suddenly slowed.
"Lilya…?" Her voice lowered, hesitant.
Lilya turned. "What is it?"
Cecilia pointed, her finger trembling slightly. "Your nose…"
Lilya instinctively touched beneath it.
Her fingertips came away stained red. She blinked, confused.
"Huh…?" She wiped again, warm blood still flowing. "What the—"
The sensation struck without warning.
As if something slammed violently into the inside of her head.
"—?!"
Lilya's vision shook violently. The world around her seemed to pull away, the sound of wind and Cecilia's footsteps stretching and distorting before shattering apart. Her skull felt as though it were being crushed from within. The pain was not merely physical—it was deeper, alien.
Foreign memories flooded her mind.
Images that did not belong to her like a cramped room with no sunlight, piles of trash and empty cans, a glowing monitor in the darkness. A strange sensation on her head—like wearing a helmet. Digital voices. Menus. Status screens. Swords. Monsters. Death.
Too much.
Too fast.
"A—ah… aahh!!"
Lilya screamed, clutching her head as if trying to keep something from bursting out. Her body staggered backward, knees buckling.
"Lilya?! Lilya, what's wrong?!"
Cecilia dropped her basket, herbs spilling across the ground, and rushed to her side, gripping Lilya's shoulders in panic.
"Hey, look at me! This isn't funny!"
But Lilya barely heard her. Cecilia's voice sounded distant and distorted, swallowed by the torrent of memories forcing their way in. Her breathing grew ragged. Her vision blurred.
The world spun.
"I… I…!" Her voice broke, words failing to form.
Cecilia was truly panicking now. She didn't know whether to call Lilya's name or check for injuries, didn't know what medicine could ease pain she couldn't even comprehend. Her hands trembled as she tried to support Lilya's weakening body.
"Hang on, Lilya! Please—!" Her voice nearly broke into tears.
Lilya's body finally gave out.
Cecilia's grip slipped as the weight fell. Lilya slipped from her arms and hit the ground with a dull thud, her head tilting to the side. Her pale-blonde hair spread across the damp grass.
"Lilya!"
Cecilia dropped to her knees, frantically checking Lilya's shoulders and cheeks. No response. Lilya's eyes were tightly shut, her breathing slow and steady, but her consciousness was completely gone.
"No… no… wake up, Lilya…" Cecilia whispered, trembling. She pressed her ear to Lilya's chest, confirming her heartbeat. Weak, but real. A small sense of relief surfaced, but fear still gripped her tightly.
The forest around them remained silent.
No monster roars.
No signs of danger.
As if the world itself refused to acknowledge that something unnatural had just occurred.
Yet deep within Lilya—
There was no silence.
Behind her closed eyelids, an unfamiliar light flared to life. A dark, wall-less space unfolded, filled with glowing lines and translucent symbols. A mechanical voice—cold and emotionless—echoed softly.
Initializing data synchronization…
Memory integrity: unstable
Primary identity: Lilya Asthon
Fragments of consciousness collided. A drawn sword. Blood on the ground. A small village beneath an unfamiliar sky. And memories of a world that should not exist here.
Compatibility confirmed.
Class data locked.
Sword Saint authority: dormant.
Lilya's consciousness sank deeper, swallowed by something that had just begun to awaken.
In the real world, Cecilia clenched her teeth and lifted Lilya's body into her arms.
"I'll take you home," she said softly but firmly. "No matter what happens… I won't leave you."
The wind whispered through the trees.
With Lilya limp in her arms, Cecilia staggered along the dirt path back toward the village. Her breathing was heavy, her arms trembling, but she did not stop.
"Hang on… Lilya," she whispered.