I sat on a small stool in the outhouse, pouring heated water over myself. Flicking my hair back, I tried to keep it out of my eyes.

  I’ve figured out my current age, twenty. I was sent back five years.

  That mattered because those five years were filled with suffering.

  Or maybe it was more accurate to say six or even seven.

  My memory was a little hazy, but I was sure it had been at least five. Still, I had time to prepare.

  As if the world had given me two miracles, this was before everything went entirely bad, not that I could ever hope to prevent most of the events leading to the war.

  Killing anything in this world, destroying any natural structure like a tree or a plant, it all gave mana.

  The stronger the creature or the larger the structure, the more mana it provided.

  Killing that bear had given me a surge of mana, so much that my core refined itself against my will.

  I was certain in my past life, it hadn’t been that much. Maybe it was also based on luck.

  And I had a feeling that, along with my return to life, would be the last lucky thing I experienced.

  After finishing my wash, I grabbed a towel to dry myself off. The bandit camp could wait until the next morning.

  For now, I needed to see if my body still remembered all the training I had suffered through.

  I put on a loose white shirt and brown pants, then donned my worn boots and walked to the back of the house.

  There, an anvil and a furnace stood, tools for forging. I could use them if I wanted, and I probably would.

  A few meters back stood a training dummy, made of straw and plated metal.

  I took a step forward, drawing my short sword.

  I’d do a little practice before heading out to slaughter.

  ***

  [Morgana]

  My arms were filled to the brim with wood, my dress bouncing with every step as I ran to his house.

  Yesterday, Callum had asked for some wood from my father and since I was so kind, I decided to deliver it myself.

  Really, he should praise me, maybe pat me on the head and give me extra money.

  As I ran, my long, beautiful red hair got caught in my mouth. Stopping for a moment, I tried spitting it out while still holding the logs.

  Then I heard it, the distinct sound of metal clashing against metal. Just from the tone alone, my skin crawled.

  I hadn’t picked up a sword in over an hour. My body itched to wield one, or at the very least, to see one again.

  Damn it all, I hate this curse of mine.

  Still, I ran toward the sound, which just so happened to be coming from his house.

  Setting the logs down near his door, I walked out back to find him, swinging a sword in all its glory.

  His form was terrible at best, but even so, he had a level of control over the blade that no one else in this town did.

  I couldn’t help but blush at the sight.

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  I may have just found my new friend.

  ***

  [Callum]

  As I finished practicing, I turned around and saw her.

  Her eyes were red, blood red, matching her hair. She wore a long black dress with brown boots and looked strangely happy.

  This was normal for her. That was Morgana.

  In the future, they would call her the Berserker.

  She was a dangerous person who loved fighting, and she loved winning even more.

  She died after taking on an army of five thousand knights alone. And even then, she only fell because she was sick from a disease spreading at the time.

  They said that if she hadn’t been sick, she would have left that battle unscathed.

  She walked up to me, her fingers running along my jaw.

  "That was pretty bad. You have no sense of form or posture, and your attacks have absolutely no conviction."

  I couldn’t really argue in my defense. She was definitely an expert. I was certain that even now, she was on par with knights.

  And she had no formal training, just watching knights fight whenever she visited the capital.

  She was the very definition of talent.

  And she was also the very definition of hard work.

  A contradiction in itself. Most people relied on one or the other, but Morgana had both. That was what made her terrifying.

  "Well, did you walk up just to point that out?" I asked, attempting to sheathe my blade.

  She stopped me, snatching it from my hand with an ease that almost felt insulting.

  "I'm more used to curved blades, but this will do."

  She stepped up to the training dummy and raised the sword. No hesitation. No wasted motion.

  Then she swung.

  The next moment, as if the world itself couldn’t keep up, the dummy split in two.

  The cut was so clean, so precise, that the straw barely shifted before crumbling apart. The faint scent of burning filled the air, the friction alone enough to scorch it.

  I stared.

  Her movement had been beautiful, fluid, almost like a dance. There was no wasted energy, no excess power. Just perfect execution.

  I took a slow step forward, my fingers grazing the now-smoldering straw.

  With just a single swing, she had done this much.

  What a monster.

  She turned to me, her face slightly flushed. Whether from exertion or excitement, I couldn’t tell. Probably excitement.

  "I’ve taken a liking to you, Callum. Despite your weakness, you’re the strongest person in this town besides me."

  She wrapped her free arm around my neck, pulling me in slightly. "I've decided to make you my disciple."

  I hadn’t planned on it.

  But this… this was an opportunity. A damn good one.

  Training under Morgana meant more than just getting stronger.

  She was a natural prodigy, a once-in-a-generation warrior who had no equal in this town, maybe even the kingdom.

  And in the future, she would become a knight. A noble. Someone with status and influence.

  She had died before she could protect this place.

  But that had been her goal. I knew that much from speaking with her a few weeks before her death.

  I could change that.

  I knew how to prevent the illness that had claimed her life.

  If I did things right, she wouldn’t just live, she would thrive. If Morgana was alive when the war came.

  Falbrook might actually stand a chance.

  A slow smirk tugged at my lips. "That’s perfect," I said, my voice steady. "Because I’ve come to know some valuable information, dear teacher."

  She raised a brow. "Oh? Do tell."

  I chuckled, the pieces of my plan falling into place. "There are some bandits northwest of here. Should be around twenty strong, all armed with swords, bows, and axes."

  A devious smile stretched across her lips.

  I shivered.

  Previously, she had left before they arrived. This time, those bastards would be facing her.

  Morgana, the strongest knight of Lionah.

  And this time, she wouldn’t be dying before her legend was written.