Hate Me, Witch!-Chapter 110: Holy Templar Knight—Xia Ya

Chapter 110: Holy Templar Knight—Xia Ya

Consciousness slowly returned.

When Xia Ya opened his eyes again, what greeted him was the sight of a grand and expansive cathedral.

He saw radiant light like the morning sun rippling above the cathedral, exuding an aura of holiness and purity.

Was I born inside some religious order?

Judging by the sacred atmosphere, it probably wasn’t one of those cults that turned believers into mindless praise-chanting piles of twisted flesh for the glory of ashes. This felt more like an organization that worshiped a true god.

The Holy Theocracy?

No… if this Historical Echo really took place before the founding of the Sacred Calendar, then it shouldn’t be the Holy Theocracy—it should be the Church of Dawn.

Xia Ya’s hand instinctively gripped the old, worn mechanical pocket watch.

Can’t blame him. He had every reason to be cautious.

After all, unlike when he entered the Historical Echo of the Cangting Ancient Kingdom—back then, he’d spent years gathering intel and was fully prepared.

But this place, this Echo called “Aisgania”—he knew absolutely nothing about it.

Who knew what kind of cruel opening his sadistic system would toss him into this time?

Nowadays, it wasn’t uncommon for male protagonists in web novels to start the story locked in prison… or even tied to a burning stake or guillotine on chapter one.

But after observing for a while, Xia Ya’s grip on the pocket watch finally relaxed a little.

His initial identity in this world wasn’t some heretic about to be judged.

It was—a Holy Templar Knight.

More accurately, an Apprentice Knight who had just come of age and was about to be bestowed the title of Templar.

...

Inside the grand cathedral, seven or eight young men in either plain robes or metal knight armor—each appearing around twenty years old—stood in a straight line before a white-robed bishop, faces filled with anticipation.

They were among the most outstanding Apprentice Knights in the realm.

The weakest among them was already at the Third Ring, and a few of the older ones had even reached the Fourth Ring.

Now, they were all gathered here at Aisgania’s Church of Dawn, awaiting the sacred knighting ceremony.

“Name?”

“Crab Malfoy.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-one.”

“In accordance with the Church’s traditions, I will test and baptize your faith through the Holy Relic of Dawn.”

“If you were just an ordinary believer, your devotion wouldn’t need to be perfect.”

“But a Templar Knight is the sharpest blade in the Lord’s hand—and must undergo the strictest trial.”

The white-robed bishop’s expression remained calm.

He held a badge-like holy relic in his hand. It shone like the morning star, casting a soft brilliance onto the forehead of the armored young man before him.

The young man’s expression turned hazy, falling into a trance.

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Moments later, the glow faded, and the bishop spoke flatly:

“Your faith is impure. You are unfit to become a Templar Knight.”

The young man’s face turned pale instantly, but he dared not protest—silently turning to leave in disappointment.

One by one, the candidates were tested—some rejoiced, others despaired.

And soon, it was Xia Ya’s turn.

“The last one.”

The white-robed bishop looked up slightly, seeing a black-haired, dark-eyed boy in plain clothes, and his expression softened.

Candidates for Templar Knighthood generally fell into two types.

The first were sons of noble families who followed the Church of Dawn. Raised in comfort, they had excellent knight training, resources, high-rank Summoned Beasts, and polished gear—but their faith often lacked purity.

The second were orphans—children taken in by the Church due to war or famine.

They lacked family support and received only minimal resources from the Church, so their current strength and rank were often average. However, they tended to have high talent—and deeply rooted faith.

The easiest way to distinguish the two?

The ones in full armor were nobles.

The ones in plain robes were orphans.

In an era like this, metal armor was a precious resource.

Compared to the nobles, bishops naturally preferred the latter.

Especially this black-haired youth—who, despite such poor conditions, had reached Fourth-Ring strength at just seventeen or eighteen. His talent was undeniable.

“Since you were taken in by the Church at a young age, you’ve had no proper name—just a numerical designation.”

“But now, as you prepare to become a Templar Knight, not having your own name would be inconvenient.”

“Have you thought of what name you’d like to take?”

A classic orphan start. And honestly? I like it.

Wait… this is the third orphan beginning in a row, isn’t it?

Xia Ya secretly let out a sigh of relief.

He hadn’t pulled any stunts this time—no sneaking his name into the family registry like before. So if someone asked him his name, he would’ve had nothing.

Over the past moments, he had already examined the entire cathedral in detail.

Its size and structure meant it could definitely be considered a Grand Cathedral of Dawn—second only to the Holy Court in the center of the Sacred Calendar’s Holy Theocracy.

A cathedral of this tier would typically be overseen by a Legendary-tier Cardinal.

And even the white-robed bishop before him, judging by Xia Ya’s sensing, was at least a Sixth-Ring Titled-tier powerhouse.

If he slipped up and exposed something, it could get complicated fast.

Xia Ya thought for a moment, then said:

“Let’s go with… Jesus?”

This time, he was dead set on not using his real name, Xia Ya Egut, in any Historical Echo.

In fact, he’d rather not even reveal his original face if he could help it.

Knowing how malicious his system could be, if something went wrong and he ended up like in the Cangting Echo—hunted down by enemies from the past—he’d be done for.

This was the era before the Sacred Calendar, after all. If a character from a Historical Echo somehow survived to the present timeline… Xia Ya didn’t even want to imagine how powerful they’d be.

Even Sylvia’s long legs might not be enough to save him.

The bishop paused, then said,

“There was once a priest by that name. Died young—poisoned at dinner by a cultist spy.”

D*mn, someone already used it and got killed early. No wonder.

Xia Ya muttered inwardly,

“Then… Zeus?”

The bishop pulled out a simple register and flipped through a few pages.

“That name was taken as well. Died in his thirties—struck by lightning.”

“Chaos?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Odin?”

“Taken. A knight by that name died in battle—skewered by a spear.”

Xia Ya’s face twitched. This was starting to feel way too much like those MMO nickname selection screens from his past life where every decent name was already taken.

“Cain.”

“…That one’s available.”

“Apprentice Knight — Cain.”

The white-robed bishop looked at Xia Ya and slowly spoke.

“Though I have full confidence in the purity of your faith, tradition still requires you to undergo a test of devotion with the Holy Relic of Dawn before formally joining the Templar Knights.”

“The entire Church—myself included—has high hopes for you. Do not let us down.”

You might have faith in me, but I have zero in myself, Xia Ya complained silently. On the surface, though, he looked perfectly solemn and upright. “I will not fail your expectations, Lord Bishop.”

In truth, he wasn’t too worried about this so-called Holy Relic test.

Holy relics, after all, weren’t all that different from the corrupted objects of Evil Gods—they merely carried a trace of divinity.

Sure, divine relics of true gods were more stable than the shoddy knockoff ones from false gods or cults. But Xia Ya had once stared down the half-body of a Twilight Ancient God—when it came to dealing with divine essence, he was an old hand.

The white-robed bishop lifted the relic, and a soft morning light fell upon Xia Ya’s forehead.

“What do you believe the God of Dawn is?”

A voice both gentle and filled with unquestionable authority echoed in his mind.

This was a direct question to the soul. For most Third- or Fourth-Ring candidates, the relic’s divinity would suppress their conscious thoughts and draw out the truest answer from deep within.

But for Xia Ya—who had outwitted more corrupted entities than he could count, and specialized in illusion magic—this kind of pressure was barely a tickle.

He cleared his throat and offered his answer with utmost mental sincerity:

“In my heart, He is the Creator of All, the Omniscient and Omnipotent God of Gods, the source of all greatness.”

“He is the One, and the Many—the Beginning and the End.”

“More exalted than the stars, more eternal than time itself—the King of the Skies, the Emperor of the Seas.”

“He is the fleeting moment and the everlasting; the undying light in the dark, the Alpha and the Omega. All living things shall return to His embrace.”

“We walk this world… as though walking within His kingdom.”

For a brief moment, Xia Ya could sense the sacred light freeze.

After all, this was only a trace of divine presence embedded in the relic—asking the question to gauge the subject’s sincerity.

Normally, as long as a candidate gave a reasonably respectful and reverent answer, they passed.

But Xia Ya’s extravagant, borderline metaphysical response?

Yeah… that was a first.

The relic’s divine essence was momentarily speechless—struggling just to parse the sheer number of dramatic adjectives he used.

After several awkward seconds, the consciousness within the relic finally recovered and moved on to the next question:

“There exist others who claim godhood—other true gods, false gods, evil gods, and even self-proclaimed demi-gods. In your heart, what place do they hold?”

This question tested whether the subject had been tainted by heresy—whether their faith was singular and devout.

Xia Ya replied calmly,

“Indeed, there are other so-called gods in this world.”

“Some preside over thunder and storms, some over agriculture and harvest, others over dusk and night, or sun and law…”

That made the divine presence in the relic frown slightly.

It had rather enjoyed Xia Ya’s earlier worship, but now he sounded… like a fence-sitter.

A Templar Knight was considered Church upper echelon. The God of Dawn couldn’t tolerate such half-hearted belief.

The relic’s divine essence was just about to mark him as a failed candidate when—

Xia Ya spoke again.

“But the powers these gods wield—”

“Be it destruction, storms and thunder, or the cycles of sun and moon…”

“Even creation and rebirth—are but small loops within this minor world.”

“And it takes three thousand of these minor worlds to form a medium world… three thousand medium worlds to form a major world.”

In his mental space, Xia Ya conjured an image of a cascade of sand.

“As for major worlds? They are as countless as the grains of sand in the Grandet Sea.”

“And the immeasurable realm that holds them all…”

“Was created—by my Lord, the God of Dawn.”

…

The relic’s divine essence was stunned.

It began to imagine these “three thousand worlds,” this “immeasurable realm.”

Wait… does my actual divine self know I’m this powerful?

If I really were this insane, what’s the point of slowly collecting faith? I should just sweep through all dimensions and be done with it.

Meanwhile, in the physical world, the white-robed bishop was also stunned.

This was the first time he’d seen the relic shine for so long without dimming. For a second, he even thought it might be malfunctioning.

But he quickly crushed that blasphemous thought—how could a holy relic bestowed by the Lord be defective?

Regardless, this clearly meant Xia Ya had passed the trial.

“Then, from this day forward, Cain, you are one of the Templar Knights.”

He looked at Xia Ya and said:

“With your talent—and the unusual phenomenon during your trial—you may find it limiting to remain in the Grand Cathedral of Aisgania.”

“The Holy Court would be a better fit. Would you consider transferring to Fioren?”

Xia Ya’s eyes lit up.

Finally, a familiar name.

Fioren—future capital of the Holy Theocracy, seat of the Holy Court.

If he remembered correctly, the Holy Court would be established in Fioren several decades before the founding of the Sacred Calendar.

Which meant—this Historical Echo was set in the decades just before the Sacred Calendar began.

“I grew up in Aisgania. Fioren is too far from home. I’ve no plans to leave.” Xia Ya replied.

“However, I’ve spent most of my time focused on training. I don’t know much about what’s happening within Aisgania these days.”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, Lord Bishop.”

…

Half an hour later, the white-robed bishop left, quite satisfied.

The Templar Knights were one of the Church’s most powerful institutions—their standing was nothing short of high.

The Templar Knight Commander even held authority surpassing many Cardinals.

And this young Templar Knight named Cain had displayed extraordinary talent—undeniable to the naked eye.

The bishop naturally didn’t mind spending a little extra time building rapport.

And through a pleasant and casual conversation, Xia Ya finally pried out the key intel he was after.

This was indeed the final decade or so of the Old Era, just before the founding of the Sacred Calendar.

And Aisgania—the land he now stood in—was the name of what would become the territory of the future empire, the Fresta Empire, during the Old Era.

Right now, Aisgania was a complete mess.

Once a prosperous kingdom, it had descended into chaos when a prince named Futigon rebelled against his own younger brother over a decade ago.

In his thirst for the throne, Futigon made a deal with the Abyss—summoning Abyssal Beasts that now ran rampant across Aisgania.

Though he succeeded in toppling the old king, his own actions—tainted by Abyssal corruption and marked by the slaughter of innocents—earned him the scorn of the people. He was reviled throughout the land as the “Despicable King.”

Even though he now ruled from the royal city alongside his Abyssal forces, uprisings flared across the land. Regional lords carved out their own territories, fighting among themselves and fending off Abyssal beasts in a land of ruin and war.

But Futigon and the nobles weren’t the only major players.

There were two other forces active in Aisgania.

One was the Church of Dawn—whether out of a desire to restore order or simply to gather faith, they had managed to establish a sanctuary for the common folk, a zone of stability and peace.

The other was the City of a Thousand Years—and the Blood Clan within it. Though descended from the Abyss, they seemed to stand apart from other Abyssal creatures, existing in their own unique space.

“As expected of an official mission—this is on a whole different level from the newbie one…”

Xia Ya sifted through the intel he had gathered, organizing it in his mind.

Back during the Historical Echo of the Cangting Principality, everything had taken place inside a single capital city. The only notable villain had been Norton, a lone traitor.

Besides the rise of Sylvia, the future Tower Master of the White Chalk Tower, that entire storyline had little historical impact—it didn’t even involve any Legendary figures.

But this Echo, Aisgania, was a different beast entirely.

There was the Despicable King Futigon, the Abyssal Beasts, the Church of Dawn, and the Blood Clan of the City of a Thousand Years…

And of course—

The Knight King.

A man who would rise from this chaos to unify the realm and found the Fresta Empire during its darkest era.

If Xia Ya had never heard of the Blood Clan or Futigon in the future, that could only mean—

They were the ones who lost.

A thought flickered in Xia Ya’s mind.

The blue system interface appeared again, projecting lines of glowing text:

【Historical Echo — Aisgania】

【Objective 1: Leave behind a legacy of eternal infamy within this Echo. The higher your Negative Legend Value at the conclusion, the greater the reward.】

【Objective 2: Gain high Favorability from key figures within this Echo… then convert that Favorability into Hatred before the Echo concludes. The greater the difference between the two values, the greater the reward.】

I knew it. This b*stard system is up to no good again.

Xia Ya’s face darkened.

As expected of the Heavenly Fate Villain System—

Its mission wasn’t just to win… it was to be hated for generations.

And as for that second goal—Favorability and Hatred from important figures…

If this Historical Echo took place right before the founding of the Sacred Calendar, then the most important person here was undoubtedly the one who would become the first emperor of the Fresta Empire—the Knight King.

Good thing I prepped my Cain identity for this run.

If this Echo became reality and word got out that he’d messed with the future Emperor… he and Ai might just have to pack their bags and run from the capital.

That said… if he remembered correctly, the future Emperor—the Knight King—was a man.

And unlike Sylvia, who had vanished for centuries and reappeared, this guy had definitely died in the historical record.

So theoretically, Xia Ya didn’t have to worry about any "time-traveling vengeful lover with a knife" scenarios this time.

Still… why does that feel like a missed opportunity somehow?

As he pondered this, his gaze froze.

Because a new line of text had appeared on the interface.

【Fourth Soul Pact (Xia Ya Egut)】

【Unlock Condition: Experience a true death.】

—

Silent Forest.

A secluded woodland rarely visited by man. Home to powerful magical beasts.

Few knew that the Shadow Council, feared across the continent, had its headquarters here.

Deep in the forest, beside a lakeside garden shrouded in gloom…

A woman in a layered, elegant black dress—Augustina—lifted her gaze to the southern horizon.

Toward the heart of humanity’s power—

The Imperial Capital of the Fresta Empire.

No one knew the true origins of the Queen of the Night, nor why such an ancient and powerful Legendary chose to hide in shadow instead of basking in riches and glory.

Year after year, day after day—

She gathered intelligence and traded secrets for gold.

But in this moment, her pitch-black eyes shimmered with light.

She held a delicate glass goblet filled with crimson wine—

or perhaps something that resembled blood.

And after a long silence, Augustina sighed.

A sigh filled with languid melancholy.

“…A thousand years later…”

“Will you still remember me?”

—

Golden Plains — White Chalk Tower

“I know your decision is final, and my persuasion won’t change anything.”

“Even if you refuse to admit it… to all of us in the White Tower, you are its heart and soul. I’m just the caretaker.”

Iswida, the Vice Tower Master and the Silent Songstress, spoke calmly to the silver-haired witch before her.

“If that’s the case, then letting the White Tower enter the world stage isn’t a bad idea.”

“The current state of the Fresta Empire is stable. The royal family holds the upper hand. With your return and the Tower’s strength, forming an alliance will solidify the White Tower’s reputation.”

“It’ll also stop outsiders from thinking we’re just an academic institute full of bookworms.”

“In truth, there are many inside the Tower—like Fioren—who are tired of peace and crave real combat. Establishing a branch tower in the capital gives them that chance.”

“Your Excellency, are you listening?”

Iswida waved her hand in front of Sylvia, who had been staring blankly toward the direction of the Imperial Capital.

Only after quite a while did the silver-haired witch snap out of her daze—

as if suddenly waking from a dream.

The Argent Witch's expression gradually returned to her usual cool, world-weary aloofness—but a faint blush still lingered on her delicate, snow-white cheeks.

In the air, faint golden letters appeared:

「I’m listening.」

Listening, my a**, Iswida thought, nearly speechless.

When Sylvia had first awakened, both she and Fioren had been deeply awed—terrified, even—by that overwhelming Twilight aura. The image of the legendary Argent Witch, who had emerged from a five-hundred-year slumber, was dazzling beyond belief.

But after spending a few days together, that awe was… fading. Rapidly.

The same Sylvia who once silenced the Legendary-tier Rose Emperor with a single Word of Power was now—

Frequently zoning out mid-conversation.

Staring dreamily toward the Imperial Capital for half the day.

And once, Iswida had accidentally caught her Tower Master using Twilight energy to sketch the image of a certain black-haired boy. She had only barely destroyed it in time, and when questioned, outright refused to admit it.

...A completely lovesick girl.

In hindsight, it actually made perfect sense.

Aside from the time she spent in stasis, Sylvia's real-life experiences and mental age were still that of a girl just over twenty.

So, really, it was Iswida and Fioren who were the real old ladies here.

But across the room, Sylvia paid no attention to Iswida’s silent judgments.

「Let’s talk later.」

The silver-haired witch's form suddenly blurred—

and then disappeared within the glow of Twilight.

The next moment, she reappeared in her own chambers.

Still staring absentmindedly at the sky in the direction of the Imperial Capital.

On the desk, her thick diary opened once more. Neat but frantic handwriting began filling the pages in glowing script.

Meanwhile, Sylvia's mind was looping back over one very specific memory.

“Even if Xia Ya only sees me as a little white cat… that was just… too… too…”

Sure, she said she’d left a “pet” to watch the house. But with the way she felt about Xia Ya, as if she’d entrust him to just a pet.

That little white cat was in fact a projection of her spiritual power in physical form.

Or rather, it contained more of her spirit than even the body she was using at the White Chalk Tower.

And to be fair, Xia Ya hadn’t done anything that weird to the cat.

Just hugged it.

Patted it.

Stroked its fur.

Rubbed his face against it a little…

You know, the usual—same way he used to treat Silver when she was his cuddle-pillow.

But when that sensation got directly fed back into her—

Just remembering it made Sylvia’s fair cheeks flush pink, the color spreading all the way to her ears.

Yes, even though she'd successfully pretended to be a bold, experienced onee-san bursting with repressed desire thanks to five centuries of longing…

In truth, Sylvia was still a completely pure, inexperienced maiden at heart.

And Xia Ya, despite being a fake veteran, still had daily... ahem… field training from Ai.

So besides that final step, he had plenty of experience.

Which meant Sylvia’s carefully crafted mature persona—

completely collapsed.

Of course, if she wanted, she could cut off that part of the sensory link entirely. Just keep the necessary intel.

But for a very well-known reason… she obviously didn’t.

If all she wanted was a guard pet, she could’ve just told Xia Ya it was her spirit clone. But no—

she’d lied and said it was a Summoned Beast.

Because she wanted to get closer to him.

Even if it meant pretending to be a cat.

“And then… what he said to me…”

“The… riding position… the face cream… morning wake-up…”

“If he’d just told me directly, I wouldn’t mind at all…”

Her hand paused mid-writing.

A subtle pulse of spiritual awareness swept through the room.

“A new Historical Echo…?”

The soft expression on Sylvia’s face faded. Her brows furrowed slightly.

She of all people knew what Historical Echoes could lead to.

After all, she was someone who had been rescued—given new life—through one.

Which is exactly why…

She’d have to rip the umbrellas from others’ hands, then kick them into the ditch.

She’d already crossed the river—

there was no more need for the bridge.

She could accept Ai’s place in Xia Ya’s heart, even acknowledge their history and bond.

After all, Ai had come first.

But if any new girl tried to follow in her footsteps—

No.

Absolutely not.

This would need to be investigated. Thoroughly.

Imperial Capital, Camelot.

In a secluded mansion on the outskirts of the city…

Isadella sat under the light of a magitech lamp, meticulously reviewing a stack of proposals and intelligence reports.

One cold, iron-willed order after another flowed from her mouth—

transmitted across the Empire via special channels of the Military Department.

Piece by piece, she reclaimed powers, territories, and industries that once belonged to the royal family but had been seized by the old nobility.

As the Second Imperial Princess, Isadella knew she could not afford mercy.

With Guderian Borgia now dead, and the White Tower returned to the world, the old nobles were leaderless.

Now was the perfect time to strike—

to reforge the shattered Empire before the aristocrats could recover.

Hesitate now, and they’d be locked in another endless stalemate.

But just then—

Her pen paused.

She made a subtle gesture.

The shadows around her flickered, and her attendants silently retreated.

Now alone, Isadella turned her attention to the strange disturbance.

A thought flickered.

The next instant—

a golden holy sword materialized beside her, radiant starlight piercing the gloom.

For two years, she had been trying to awaken the sword’s full power.

If she could do that, then through the feedback from her Seventh Soul Pact,

she could break through the limit—

surpass the Throne tier.

Yes, the Argent Witch was powerful. But she was an outsider.

Even with Xia Ya’s favor, she could never be counted as true Imperial strength.

Only by rising to the Throne herself could Isadella ensure lasting stability for the Empire.

But no matter what she tried, the final seal on the sword remained unbroken.

Until now.

She could feel it—

the sword’s seal was… wavering.

Her expression focused, and she plunged her spiritual will into the Soul Pact space.

And in the next instant—

An ancient, boundless river of time appeared beside her.

Did this involve the Laws of Time?

Isadella’s heart skipped a beat—but she didn’t resist.

Instead, she allowed the vast and ancient mystery of the Holy Sword to envelop her, guiding her gently through this illusory river of time.

She floated, drifting without anchor, swept along its current.

Only after a long, undetermined passage did the shimmering river begin to fade.

And in its place appeared—

a brand-new world.

She could feel it clearly.

This place did not belong to her current time and space.

And yet it was real—tangible, vivid.

Almost as if she’d stepped into an entirely separate plane.

Isadella slowly closed her eyes and sensed the passage of time around her.

Moments later, she opened them again—red irises gleaming with insight.

“According to the Rings of Time… this is nearly a thousand years ago.”

“The final years of the Old Era—just before the founding of the Fresta Empire.”

“If this weapon truly was forged from starlight, then a fully awakened form—with all thirteen seals removed—would possess power capable of touching, even rewriting, the very Laws of Space and Time.”

“That much isn’t surprising.”

“But… why now?”

“Why did the Holy Sword suddenly break its final seal and drag me into this strange world?”

“If I recall correctly… the last time the sword fully awakened was… during the chaos of that same era…”

“…Could this be the final trial?”

“To relive the path once walked by the previous wielder of the sword—the First Emperor?”

“To see if I, too, could rise amidst catastrophe and surpass the one they call the Knight King?”

Isadella’s thoughts spun rapidly.

For most people, such a trial would have been daunting.

After all, the First Emperor—

the Knight King—

was a living legend.

The hero who ended an age of darkness.

The savior who bathed in glory.

The undefeated war god, the embodiment of knightly virtue.

His legacy was unparalleled—

his honor eternal.

Only one other name could stand beside his in the entire western continent:

Rhine, the Golden King who founded the Sacred Calendar.

Even Legendary-tier powerhouses felt dwarfed before such myth.

And yet—Isadella remained calm.

Letting the sword’s mighty presence slowly sink her consciousness into the world it revealed.

“They say I am the one who most resembles the First Emperor in the last thousand years.”

“That I carry the hope of restoring the Empire to its former glory.”

“Then let’s see—whether I truly possess the heart of a king.”

When Isadella opened her eyes again,

she felt it—

The vast divine power of the Holy Sword was gone.

And in its place, images flickered like light reflected on water.

Fragments of memory.

Soldiers roaring into battle,

fountains of blood spraying skyward,

blades clashing, lances shattering,

horses screaming beneath them—

And the brilliant flashes of magic and Beastmaster skills exploding across the field.

This was the land known as Aisgania.

The old king—

betrayed and overthrown by his brother Futigon, who had allied with the monstrous forces of the Abyss.

Peaceful Aisgania was reduced to ruin in a single night.

Abyss-born creatures of disorder rampaged across the land,

devouring life, feasting on human flesh.

The City of a Thousand Years was founded deep within the silent forests.

And the arrival of the Blood Clan soon drew the gaze of the Church of Dawn.

By then, the Church had already risen to prominence across the western continent.

The Holy Court had been established in Fioren,

and a fragile new order was taking shape.

Yet, even that powerful Church—

struggled against the Abyssal beasts infesting Aisgania.

They could only hold ground by building a loose alliance of towns around major cathedrals.

The dream of purging the entire land remained distant.

This was the worst of times—

but also an age of heroes.

Knights rose from the ashes, carving their names in legend.

Saving civilians.

Slaying monsters.

Earning glory through battle.

And Isadella, within this recreated world, was one of them.

Her new body had grown up amidst the chaos.

From childhood, she had been treated as a chosen one—her foster father holding great expectations, believing she was destined to bring peace to Aisgania.

But in an age like this…

a female ruler would never be accepted.

So alongside harsh knight training,

Isadella was also taught the art of disguise.

To the outside world, she was a handsome, soft-featured boy—a young knight of noble demeanor.

Time passed.

Day after day.

Until—

She felt the flow of time begin to slow.

And her self-awareness returned.

She was no longer just an observer—

but could act. Could choose. Could shape this world.

And right at that moment, two pieces of news arrived.

One good.

One bad.

The bad: a horde of roaming Abyssal beasts had gathered into a monster tide, overrunning nearby cities. They were now marching toward this region.

The good:

A prophecy.

“He who draws the sword from the stone…”

“Shall become the new king of this land.”