Lucian tightened his grip on Guinevere's hand, pulling her close as they ran. The forest blurred around them with branches scraping their arms.
He kept his eyes forward but couldn't ignore the faint glint of armor through the trees, the muffled clatter of hooves and shouted orders.
He glanced at her, breath ragged. "How far is the border of Vorhalla?"
Guinevere swallowed. "Two days by foot if we keep a steady pace. Faster if—"
"Good," he cut in, thinking aloud. "Keep talking."
As she answered, his mind began spinning, replaying flashes from the old body—Eiden's memories of patrolling with her, mapping the roads, calculating escape routes.
He remembered the way the Meranne knights moved: their speed were slower than they looked, weighed down by heavy armor, predictable in formation but rigid in strategy.
"They'll try to trap us in the open," he muttered. "But, they can't spread too thin or they risk losing cohesion."
Guinevere nodded weakly, not understanding fully, but listening.
Lucian's eyes darted ahead. He spotted a narrow ravine, almost hidden by fog and low trees.
They can't all follow there, or the horses will stumble. Foot soldiers will slow down because of that.
He counted at least three hundred behind them, based on the echoes and armor flashes.
He tightened his arm around her. "Stay close. I'll lead. Just follow my pace, and don't make sudden moves."
His mind worked through speed and distance. Knights on foot could move faster through broken terrain than he imagined, but the horses were clumsy in the forest, limited by roots and fallen branches, would slow them down.
If he could force them into bottlenecks, they'd have to break formation.
That was their weakness.
He remembered another detail—Eiden's memory of secret paths, small streams, and hidden clearings.
He visualized the route, turning in his mind like a chessboard, plotting shortcuts and obstacles.
We can't outrun them forever, he admitted, but we can make them stumble.
Guinevere stumbled slightly. He caught her firmly, holding her close to steady her.
"Lucian…?"
"Shh," he whispered, eyes scanning every shadow, every glint of metal. "Keep your breathing steady. I need you to listen, okay? We can make this work… if we think ahead."
She nodded, trusting him despite exhaustion.
Lucian glanced back again. The knights spread out now, faster than before, adapting.
But he already had an edge.
He whispered under his breath, almost to himself: "Let's see if they can keep up with someone who knows the forest better than they do."
Branches whipped their faces, leaves tore at their clothes, but Lucian's grip on Guinevere never faltered.
His mind was sharp, calculating angles, distances, and timing. The chase was far from over, but he already knew the plan.
And in that thought, he felt a fragile thread of hope.
Lucian glanced at Guinevere, then at the forest ahead. You're probably wondering how I became like this, he thought. Smart enough to plan against hundreds of trained knights in armor.
It wasn't luck.
On Earth, he had always been clever, quietly.
He could read patterns, anticipate moves like board games, strategy puzzles, even chess.
Music came easily too. He could play piano, violin, and a bit of guitar. He could memorize scores after one look, improvise melodies, and even compose short pieces without effort.
But after his brother died… everything changed.
Brother?
His confidence shattered, and he shrank back from life, afraid of mistakes, afraid of death.
Now, here, in Vorhalla, none of that mattered.
The intelligence he had buried, the patterns he could read, the calm in observing the world—he couldn't waste it anymore.
I can't fail.
He clenched his fists around Guinevere's hand. Every note he ever played, every puzzle he solved, every strategy game he mastered—he would use it all to keep her alive.
And he would do it, no matter the cost.
This is wrong....
The ground trembled beneath their feet.
Lucian pulled Guinevere closer as they ran into the ravine, the sound of armor and shouts fading behind them.
The plan was working. The knights couldn't descend fast enough through the narrow trail. He had studied their movement. They were heavy and slow.
If we keep moving down, they won't reach us in time.
The air was cold, thick with dust.
Guinevere's breathing was ragged, her hair sticking to her cheeks. Lucian guided her behind a wall of stone, making sure her steps didn't falter. When he glanced up, he saw the silhouettes of knights above.
He exhaled. "We made it."
Guinevere nodded weakly. But just as the words left his mouth, a deep crack sounded above them.
CRACK—
He looked up. The cliff's edge broke apart.
"Guinevere, move!"
The world roared. Rocks fell like rain. His body collided with the ground, pain flashing through every bone. Then darkness.
---
When he woke up, everything was heavy. He tried to move but couldn't. His legs were trapped under stone. Light bled faintly through cracks above. He coughed.
Then he heard her voice.
"…Lucian?"
He turned his head slowly.
Guinevere was a few feet away, half-buried under debris. Her arm was reaching toward him. Her face was pale, blood on her lips, yet her voice was calm.
"You're awake."
Lucian swallowed hard. "Yeah… barely."
He tried to push the rocks off his legs, but they didn't move. His body screamed in pain.
He looked at Guinevere again,her breathing was slow.
He clenched his fists. I failed again.
Guinevere's smile didn't fit the scene.
"You did well," she whispered. "You brought me this far. That's… more than anyone ever has."
"Don't say that. We're getting out of here. Just—just hold on. I'll think of something."
She shook her head slightly. "You always say that."
Lucian froze.
The tone wasn't accusation, it was warmth.... Like she remembered the man he wasn't. The one whose body he now used.
"You were always like this," she said quietly. "Even when the others called me cursed. You never left my side."
Her eyes glistened. "I wish I could've saved you then. I thought… maybe this time would be different."
Lucian's chest tightened. "It can be. Just—don't close your eyes, alright?"
She smiled faintly. "You're trembling."
"Of course I am! You're bleeding out, and I can't move!" He yelled, voice breaking.
Guinevere blinked slowly. "Don't blame yourself, Lucian."
Her hand reached out weakly, trembling as she touched his wrist. "You remind me of him… but also, you don't. You look scared, but brave."
He bit his lip until it bled. "Just stop talking. Save your strength."
"I don't have much left," she said softly.
"But… thank you."
"Guinevere—"
Her fingers slipped from his wrist. Her chest stopped rising. The silence after was unbearable. Lucian stared blankly, unable to breathe and unable to speak.
For a long moment, he just stayed there.
Then, slowly, something inside him cracked.
He clenched his jaw, eyes unfocused. Every instinct screamed to move, to live, and to change. He inhaled sharply and forced his mind to work.
He recalled the knights' formation, the angles, the terrain, and the timing. He began calculating. They move in lines of ten. Their average pace is about forty seconds to cover fifty meters downhill. Lastly, armor weight slows descent speed by thirty percent.
His mind sharpened.
If I die and return… then that means everything before resets—the order, the direction, the sequence, will happen again.
He looked at Guinevere's still face, and his vision burned.
If I can remember all of this… then next time, I can change it.
He exhaled slowly. The fear dulled into focus.
Lucian closed his eyes. "Then I'll make sure this time isn't wasted."
The rocks shifted slightly above. He could hear faint footsteps as the knights closed in.
He whispered to himself, almost coldly, "If death's what it takes, then I'll use it."
The air went still. He looked once more at Guinevere. His mind had locked in completely.
Next time… I won't fail you.
The sound of boots echoed from above.
Dust fell through the cracks. Lucian turned his head, forcing his eyes open.
A shadow appeared between the stones. A man in silver armor peered down through the debris.
His helmet reflected the dim light, but even from that distance, Lucian could see the man's eyes widen.
"He's alive!" one of the knights shouted.
The armored figure dropped down from the ledge, landing with a dull thud. Lucian watched silently.
He couldn't move. His legs were crushed under the weight of stone, and his arms trembled each time he tried to lift them.
The knight stepped closer, pulling off his helmet.
Lucian froze.
He knew that Knight's face! It's not clear, but it's enough. His heart thumped once, hard.
Where have I seen you…?
There was a flicker. A flash of steel, a burning hall, screams, and this man's cold grin through the flames.
Lucian's eyes narrowed. His mind connected the dots. You were one of them… one of the ones who betrayed her.
The man tilted his head, recognizing the glare. "Still breathing, huh?"
He crouched down. "You're her servant, aren't you? The loyal one."
Lucian didn't answer.
The knight smirked. "Don't worry. You'll join her soon."
Lucian clenched his jaw. "You—"
The blade came before he finished.
Shhk—
Pain rushed through his chest. He gasped, a broken sound escaping his throat. The knight twisted the sword, slow and deliberately.
Lucian's breath shortened. His fingers twitched weakly against the ground. His vision blurred.
The man leaned close, whispering something he couldn't fully hear. Just the faintest trace of cruelty in his tone. Then, he yanked the sword free.
Lucian's eyes rolled back. The world dimmed.
His body felt weightless again.
---
Darkness surrounded him.
He floated in it like before.
Then, the voice came.
[Death Count: 1]
[You have 4 deaths remaining before permanent erasure.]
Lucian's eyes opened faintly in the void.
Four left…
[Return point established.]
The words faded. The darkness folded around him like water.
He took one slow breath before the light swallowed him again.
This was the second time he felt death.
But this time, he didn't scream.
He just whispered into the dark, "Then I'll use every one of them."