AT ONE DARK EVENING AT WAR AGAINST THE LORSANA KINGDOM
XAVIER
I ran, my boots kicked up dirt, my lungs burned, and the screeching of arrows behind me made my ears ring. The battlefield on Sainthonia's northern front was chaos incarnate, smoke curling from burned huts, soldiers screams, and the cold steel glinting in Losarna's army hands.
"Move! MOVE!" I shouted, swinging my sword at the nearest attacker.
My blade barely scratched his armor before another strike slammed into my side. Pain exploded through my ribs. I gasped, staggered, and fell to my knees. I knew this moment. The moment that had been creeping toward me for months, the moment the dark prince of Losarna ended my life. I wanted to scream, to curse, to tell the world 'I am not ready!', but the words died in my throat as everything blurred and then memories hit me like a tidal wave: the summoning, the church, and me inside a woman's body.
"Saintess Isabella, serve our kingdom!" I remember High Priest's wide, expectant eyes, the whispered title they had given me. He begged when I appeared in front of him that destined day.
I remembered the feeling of being plucked from another life, put into this one as a healer, a saint, a fake saintess. I had tried to accept it, had tried to play the role, but it never fit. My hands, once skilled at swordplay in my previous life, were forced into robes and prayers. I had been reborn, yes, but only to be trapped, adored, and misjudged, and now all of it was slipping away. I coughed, tasting blood. The dark prince's shadow loomed over me, impossibly tall, deadly, and impossibly smug. I closed my eyes. My last thought was bitter, frustrated, and oddly mundane: 'I didn't even get to start adventuring,' and then the world went black.
I woke up to sunlight in my eyes. My limbs were stiff, my chest ached, but I was alive. I sat up, gasping, heart hammering. Around me were the familiar stones of the northern warfront but something was different. I checked the date and my stomach dropped. One month before my death. The same battlefield, the same dark prince. But this time I had a second chance. I scrambled to my feet, glaring at the sky like it owed me an explanation.
"Alright, alright, I get it." I muttered. "I am back, fine, but I am not your saintess. I am just a healer! Ugh, forget it. I am going to be an adventurer, and if anyone calls me Saintess Isabella again, I swear…"
"System activated: Fake saintess mode – rewards will be given for every embarrassment, mishap, and misinterpreted heroic act, welcome back, Host." A chime rang in my head.
A system once more woke up inside my head like before. Of course, the universe had a sense of humour, and so, my 'adventurer's life' began already cursed, already ridiculous, and already entirely not my fault. I stumbled toward the shattered remains of a wooden cart, the only thing vaguely reflective in sight.
My own reflection stared back at me and for a second, I didn't recognize it. Silver hair framed my face, catching the sunlight like a river of molten metal, and my eyes, my eyes were the colour of the sea, impossibly bright and calm, as if mocking me for all my past failures. The first time I saw this face, I screamed. Not internally, not dramatically, actually screamed.
It had been the day I was summoned, light swallowing me whole, my old body dissolving into nothing and when I opened my eyes, I was kneeling on cold marble floors beneath cathedral ceilings that stretched into infinity. I remember trembling hands lifting to touch my cheeks. Soft. Silver hair spilled over my shoulders like liquid moonlight. Blue eyes stared back at me from a polished golden mirror the High Priest had ordered brought forward. I didn't recognize myself, I didn't recognize the voice that came out when I spoke.
"W-what did you do to me?"I asked.
High Priest Charlie had been kneeling before me. Kneeling, before me.
"Saintess Isabella." He had whispered reverently, as if I were salvation itself. "You have answered our prayers."
Answered? I had not answered anything. I had been dragged.
"I am not a saintess! I am a man! I am Xavier!" I remember standing up too quickly, nearly tripping over ceremonial robes, pointing at him, and shouting.
He had simply smiled.
"The Goddess works in mysterious ways."Charlie said.
I should have fought harder back then, I should have refused. But I was alone in a foreign world, surrounded by chanting priests and kneeling nobles, wearing a body that wasn't mine, so I obeyed. Now, one month before my death, staring at that same silver haired reflection in a broken cart wheel, I clenched my jaw. Not this time. This time, I knew what happened, this time, I knew how it ended, with me bleeding in the dirt beneath the dark prince's shadow. This time, I wouldn't be so easily cornered.
Footsteps approached behind me. Calm, measured,
predictable.
"Saintess Isabella." Came the smooth, composed voice I knew too well. "You are awake. That is fortunate, the evening ceremony approaches."
Of course it does, I turned slowly as High Priest Charlie stood there, white robes untouched by war's grime, staff gleaming faintly. His eyes studied me carefully, searching for cracks in the performance. For a moment, just a moment I considered it telling him truth. 'I am Xavier. I am male. This is wrong.' But what would that change? Last time, he hadn't doubted for a second. Not my identity, not the summoning, not the body. Faith makes people blind, and blind people don't listen. This body was Isabella's, the kingdom needed a saintess, and until I escaped this battlefield, I couldn't afford to tear down the illusion.
"I understand." I said quietly.
The words tasted like defeat.
"You will heal the wounded before dusk. The soldiers morale depends on your blessing."Charlie inclined his head.
Blessing, right. He turned and began walking, clearly expecting me to follow. I stood there for a long moment, staring at my reflection again. Silver hair, blue sea eyes. A saintess and a fake one.
"I won't obey forever." I muttered under my breath. "But fine. I will play along. For now."
Because I knew something Charlie didn't. In one month, this war would reach its peak. In one month, Losarna's dark prince would step onto this battlefield and I would die. Which meant I had exactly thirty days to get stronger, escape Sainthonia, and never stand in front of that man again. The system chimed softly in my head, almost amused.
"Main quest updated: Survive your prophesied death. Sub-quest: perform the Saintess ceremony. Failure Penalty: immediate suspicion."The system said.
"You are enjoying this." I muttered.
"Affirmative."The system said.
I brushed dirt from my robes, straightened my posture, and followed the High Priest toward the cathedral tents. For now, I would heal, for now, I would bow my head, for now, I would be Saintess Isabella. But this time? I would not die obediently.