“I’ve never met anyone with patriotism as fervent as yours.”
It was a comment Ethan often heard from his comrades as they fought for the independence movement across the world.
But each time, his answer was the same.
“Patriotism, my ass.”
To their bewildered looks, he offered no further explanation.
At his gruff dismissal, most would simply nod in understanding.
Others chose to interpret it as a different kind of patriotism—a thirst for vengeance after the loss of his nation.
The truth, however, was something else entirely, but he never bothered to correct them.
It wasn't a story he was proud to tell.
He was an unfilial son, cast out from his family for the sins of his foolish youth.
It took more than a decade of struggling in a cruel world for him to realize just how pathetic he had been.
But by then, regret and remorse were far too late.
He had returned home to seek forgiveness, only to be confronted with the sight of his family’s estate in flames. He wept tears of blood and swore an oath of vengeance.
Revenge for his family.
Revenge on those who had stolen his only chance to ask for their forgiveness.
Over the long years, he had forgotten which one came first.
All he did now was live for that single purpose, the regret of his past a constant companion.
It was a life of pure suffering.
Just as he felt the end of that burdensome life approaching, a miracle occurred.
Memories flooded back: happy days of childhood, then the years mired in jealousy, lost in wicked deeds.
He remembered the regret he felt after being cast out, the clarity that came with wandering alone.
He saw the war that led to his family’s downfall and the despair that crushed him as he witnessed it.
Decades spent striving for atonement and revenge.
And then, the final moment.
The only thing that brought him any satisfaction was his own death.
He had, at least, dragged the worst of those bastards down with him.
But the one regret that haunted him even as he died was one he couldn’t shake.
“I should have apologized.”
The calamity that struck his family may have been beyond his power to stop, but for the sins he himself had committed, he should have sought their forgiveness.
And so, with his last breath, he wished.
He hoped that in death, he would meet his family in the afterlife.
He hoped he would appear as he had in his youth, so they might recognize him and grant him the chance to apologize.
A sudden, intense headache wracked his skull.
With a groan, he realized something was wrong.
His eyes snapped open, his body bolting upright.
A sharp throb pulsed behind his eyes.
As he clutched his head, reeling from the inexplicable pain, he became aware of a commotion around him.
“The eldest young master has woken up!”
“Inform the master!”
The bewildered voices spurred Ethan to finally look around. The faces that met his gaze were both familiar and strangely foreign.
As he stared at them in dumb silence, a familiar face pushed through the small crowd.
“Young Master, are you alright?”
A brown-haired youth with a mischievous glint in his eyes—a face impossible to forget—leaned in closer.
Ethan stared blankly into brown eyes that matched the boy’s hair, a name forming on his lips almost without thought. “Simon…?”
“Yes, Young Master! It’s me, Simon. How do you feel? Your eyes… can you see this?”
The familiar, frantic chatter was overwhelming.
Simon, his dedicated attendant who had died some thirty years ago, stood before him now, concern etched on his ageless face.
“My god, someone call the doctor! They said he’d be fine!”
As Ethan grappled with the incomprehensible situation, the commotion around him grew.
‘What the hell is going on?’
His eyes drifted to the window, absorbing the long-missed, unchanging scenery.
The training yard just outside, the manor beyond it, the ancient walls in the distance, and the occasional glimpse of a knight on patrol…
Everywhere he looked, he saw the same emblem.
The symbol of the Ashford family.
A humble noble family from the outlying nation of Valois, it was an emblem he had once carried with endless pride.
The sight he had yearned for was spread before him, untouched by the passage of time.
Dazed by the noise around him, he could only stare blankly at the view from the window, his mind unable to process what he was seeing.
Simon’s voice grew louder, laced with concern.
“Young Master? You can see me, can’t you? Oh lord, our young master! Somebody fetch the doctor!”
From the time he’d been assigned as his attendant in childhood, Simon had always been a bit dramatic.
“Simon, I must insist on complete rest for now…”
The maids began to join the fuss.
It was all too much to take in, leaving him frozen in confusion.
The door to the room creaked open.
“B-big brother, are you okay?”
It was a voice he couldn't ignore. Ethan’s head snapped toward the sound.
Peering tentatively through the slightly ajar door was a round-cheeked boy.
The boy’s red hair and eyes were a striking echo of Ethan’s own.
His younger brother. His monstrously talented younger brother, who—after only three years of holding a wooden sword—had defeated him, a nineteen-year-old with a decade of knightly training.
The same brother he had once envied and despised, and whose tragic end he had spent his final years mourning, longing for a chance to ask forgiveness.
“Master! You need to rest.”
“Eldest young master, please lie down.”
Another sudden headache struck. Ethan clutched his head as Simon moved to block the doorway.
Simon looked panicked, trying to usher the boy out while keeping a worried eye on Ethan.
Watching the scene unfold, Ethan was struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu.
The bandages wrapped around his head, the lingering pain…
And the youthful face of Caleb.
The overwhelming familiarity dredged up a long-buried memory.
If this was real, then this was…
‘The first time I officially dueled him.’
It was the day his jealousy and feelings of inadequacy had peaked, all while the knights and vassals gasped in shock at his defeat.
Later, when his brother came to visit him in his sickroom, he had lashed out.
– Get out! You bastard son of a concubine, how dare you…
It was just an extension of the abuse he had heaped on his brother for three long years.
But those words had been the final straw, driving away the brother who had tolerated every cruelty until that moment.
In his final days, Ethan had regretted that outburst until his last breath.
The memory only deepened his confusion.
‘Is this another dream? Or do people dream even in death? Besides, this pain…’
He couldn’t remain idle, not now.
‘Even if it is a dream… especially if it’s a dream.’
This was what he had wished for, for decades.
Even if it was all in vain, he had to try and soothe his guilty conscience.
“It’s alright,” Ethan said, his voice raspy. “Caleb, come in.”
When the boy hesitated, he spoke again, more firmly. “Forget him. Come here, Caleb Ashford.”
At his words, the boy’s expression brightened instantly.
“Brother, I’m really sorry. I should have been more careful…”
Caleb moved as swiftly as the wind, stopping at Ethan’s bedside and bowing his head in a constant stream of apology.
He was short for his age.
An innocent face, and an even kinder heart.
Despite it being a common accident during training, the boy was genuinely distraught.
The foolishness of his past self, who had resented and envied such a person, was almost laughable now.
“It’s fine. I’m okay. Stop apologizing.”
The boy’s confused face, the warmth of his small hand on Ethan’s—it all felt too real.
And that reality compelled him to say the words he had failed to say in his previous life.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Not at all.”
He wanted to keep smiling, to keep talking, but the memory of what came next made it impossible.
His past self had only grown worse, lashing out more viciously day by day, until the incident on ‘that day’ had him stripped of his inheritance and expelled from the family.
The memories that followed were filled with nothing but regret.
And whether he was dreaming or not, memories of the past—no, of the future—surged forth.
‘This kid… he died like that…’
After their father’s early death in the imperial war, his brother had led the family, forced to fight on the front lines by royal decree.
Because of that, the already weakened family’s power had been steadily drained away.
While the Ashford forces held off the imperial army, the royal family used the opportunity to flee to another country.
In the end, Caleb was captured by the empire, tortured, and then publicly executed.
He was used, broken, and died a miserable death.
That couldn't be allowed to happen.
Overwhelmed with emotion, Ethan’s arms tightened around his brother.
“I’m sorry, Caleb. Your brother is sorry.”
The words of atonement he had never gotten to say.
Heartfelt regret spilled out as tears.
“B-big brother? Why are you crying…?”
“I’m so sorry. I really am.”
He had so much more to say, but only that one phrase kept repeating itself.
The grown man wept endlessly.
And the boy—a child, really, compared to him—patted his back with small, comforting hands.
After a moment that felt both short and long, Caleb finally pulled away.
“Brother, I’ll come back again.”
He left with a smile.
As the attendants watched in surprise, Ethan closed his eyes and prayed with a desperate wish.
If this isn’t a dream, if I’ve truly returned to the past…
I will change everything.
He let himself fall back into the darkness.
When he reopened his eyes, he was still in the past. Ethan let out a silent cheer.
Warm sunlight bathed the room.
The chirping of birds rode a refreshing breeze that drifted through the open window.
Pushing himself out of bed, Ethan looked down at his body in disbelief.
The countless scars from ten years as a mercenary and twenty years in the independence movement were gone. Even his knees, which ached every morning, felt perfectly fine.
“…So it wasn’t a dream.”
He remembered the final moments vividly.
– Where is the holy relic?!
– How dare you steal the empire’s treasure!
– Let’s die together!
The searing pain of total disintegration felt as real as ever.
And yet, here he was, alive.
A knot tightened in his gut as excitement shot through his limbs.
The past he had longed to rewind.
A chance to change it all.
Of course, the questions remained.
‘How did this happen?’
Logically, it was impossible.
The realms of time and space were, even in theology, considered domains untouched by the creator gods, who no longer meddled in the world.
If he went around claiming he had returned from the future…
‘Best case, they’d call me a madman. Worst case, the church would arrest me for blasphemy.’
Still, what else could explain his situation?
Only one guess came to mind.
‘That explosion… It was much stronger than I expected. But still…’
Returning to the past after being blown to bits? It was ridiculous.
He had seen hundreds of men meet similarly violent ends on the battlefield.
Had they all returned to the past? The thought was absurd.
He racked his brain for a while longer, but no answer came.
Casting aside the pointless thoughts, he spoke aloud to himself. “Focus.”
If too much pondering yielded no answer, he knew better than to dwell on it. Decades of life’s harsh lessons had taught him to focus on what needed to be done.
At that moment, a maid cautiously opened the door, and her eyes met his.
She froze, then began to tremble violently before bowing deeply.
“I beg your pardon, my lord.”
Her extreme reaction puzzled him. When he simply looked at her, her face grew even paler.
“I apologize! I shall take more care next time!”
What was she sorry about?
He was baffled, but before he could form a question, Simon appeared, practically running into the room.
“Goodness. Eliza, did you wake him? I should have reminded you. My apologies, my lord.”
Simon stood protectively in front of the maid, waving her away, and a familiar sense of guilt washed over Ethan.
– I told you to keep it down in my room! Do even the maids not respect me?! You wretches!
A throbbing headache brought forth hazy visions of the past.
A parade of his petty cruelties, all the small sins overshadowed by his larger ones, marched before his eyes.
The headache seemed to seep directly into his chest.
Shame burned his face.
“Let’s calm down, my lord. This child… I will deal with her. Please don’t get agitated…”
“It’s not that. Eliza… was it?”
“Oh, heavens. You there, come and apologize at once!”
As he watched Simon making a fuss, the heat in his face intensified.
“No, I can handle it…”
“Stop. The maid did nothing wrong. Let her be.”
“Ah… what? You asked for her, so…?”
A sigh escaped him.
“Never mind, Simon. Just bring me a pen and some paper. A lot of paper.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Simon asked, still confused.
“No, it’s just… What are you going to do with a pen and paper to Eliza…?”
“Nothing! Just let her go! And bring me what I asked for!”
By now, his face felt like it was on fire.
And so, with no small amount of difficulty, his new life began.