Sigrid
Chapter 1

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Sigrid looked down at a round basin before her. Her head would tumble into it when the guillotine’s blade dropped. She raised her head. She had lived according to the rules, as a good person might. No matter what others might do, she had stuck to them. Sigrid had been the empire’s loyal dog.

So why? Why? Why? Why? Why am I kneeling here like this?

She bit her lip.

Someone shouted, “Off with her head!”

At the same moment, Sigrid felt her vision spin, and the bottom of the wooden basin rushed up to meet her. Then there was darkness. She shot up from the bed, writhing. Her breaths came in short, staccato gasps. Sweaty and cold, Sigrid gently felt her neck—it was intact, completely unharmed.

“What…?”

Am I in the afterlife?

She pushed away the rough blanket and got up from the shabby bed. This small, thirteen-square-meter room was all she had. Sigrid fumbled for the light, turned it on, and pushed open the window. The old wooden frame rattled as it swung open heavily. Icy wind flowed inside, and she breathed in deeply.

Is this what comes after death?

It was identical to the world she knew, and the surrounding scenery was no different, either. Leaving the window open, she brought out her nicked teacup and kettle. Even her things were the same. Confusion did not change her habits. Oblivious to her confusion, she began thinking to herself.

This is shockingly similar to the real world.

It didn’t feel like she was dead. She lit a small, portable stove and heated some water. Then she brought out some cheap tea leaves to make herself a cup.

This tastes awful… My head was cut off, and then I found myself waking up in my room… And now I’m having tea.

It sounded like a joke. Why had she lived like this, despite all her riches? If Sigrid was going to die like that, the least she could have done was splurge a little. She’d lived that way because she believed it was only right for a knight to live a frugal life. Sigrid slowly drank her tea, gazing at the darkness outside.

Isn’t this a bit unfair?

No one had told her that people would live the same life after they died.

So a king will still live in a palace even after his death? And the residents of a slum will never get to leave?

Sigrid groaned quietly as she thought about the slum in the capital—she had flushed it out herself. A knight’s duty was to obey the emperor’s orders. He was their master and his command was absolute. She had blocked the exits, set the district on fire, and cut down everyone who tried to escape. She’d also killed every knight and soldier who dared protest the inhumane act. Disobedience meant death. It was only natural. And knights were the emperor’s tools.

Or so I thought until he took to passing the blame to his “tools.”

Sigrid touched her neck again. She felt like her head might roll off her shoulders at any moment. After she finished her tea, she stood, wanting to find out just how similar this place was to the real world. If it was the afterlife, she at least wanted to visit whatever god presided here and ask what grave sin she’d committed to deserve this.

Sigrid opened her wardrobe to change out of her pajamas. It was dilapidated, like everything else. One of the supports was too short, requiring a piece of wood to keep the thing in balance. One of the doors was also broken, and unless she was gentle, it would fall off when she opened it. Luckily, she had enough experience with it to avoid that unfortunate result. There were three sets of clothes inside—a ceremonial uniform, two shirts, and two pairs of pants.

I remember Morris telling me to buy some clothes.

She grinned, thinking about her friend. He had been one of the people who tried to get her out of prison until the bitter end.

I never thought he would come.

Most of her friends had abandoned her after the incident at the slum, but a few of them had come to see her in prison. They’d believed her claim to innocence, and among them was Morris. Sigrid put on some casual clothes and her boots.

When she opened the door and went outside, she was greeted by the sight of a run-down, dark corridor. She lived in a town house off to one side of the capital. The floorboards creaked because of their age, and anyone who lived there knew when someone walked by. Sigrid, however, was able to make her way along without making any noise.

It’s the same.

Exactly like the real world.

Is this truly the world of the dead?

Feeling the impulse to sock theologians over their heads, she walked to the front of the building.

It’s past curfew, though.

She wondered if it was all right for her to go outside, since this wasn’t the real world. Or maybe the curfew was still in effect. Sigrid hesitated, but then began to walk. What did she care? If the angels of death came to her, she would welcome the sight. She trudged toward the imperial palace.

I will bet the king of the underworld lives in a version of the palace.

She was walking when a shrill whistle sounded.

“You there! Halt!”

Sigrid did as she was told and turned around. Two capital guards were walking toward her, carrying spears.

“What are you doing outside past curfew?”

“Show us your identification.”

Sigrid was taken aback.

“Identification?” she asked, cocking her head.

The men looked even more agitated than before.

Are they referring to identification from the real world? Or something from the world of the dead? If it’s the latter, I don’t have any yet…

“Suspicious.”

“Come with us to the guard station.”

The words were uttered as a command, but Sigrid simply nodded. She didn’t care where she went as long as she could find someone with authority, but when she arrived at the guard station, she was confused.

“Dame Sigrid?”

“Sir Amu? Are you dead too?” she asked.

Amu, Captain of the Guard, was sitting in his office, the same as ever. He seemed perplexed by the question.

“Dead? I’m living and breathing, as you can see. More importantly, how do you explain this?”

Everyone and their dog knew that Dame Sigrid Ancertna never broke the law. If she had broken curfew, there had to be a very good reason. Amu was grateful that the guards who’d brought her had not died by her hand. If the two had stopped her when she had a just reason for what she was doing, she would have shown no mercy.

“Well, I clearly remember being decapitated by a guillotine,” she muttered quietly.

Amu tried to smile.

“Maybe you had a bad dream. You? Dying that way? Now that’s an idea!”

“A dream?” Sigrid repeated, staring stupidly at the captain.

A veteran captain in his mid-forties, with many smile lines around his eyes and mouth, Amu did not seem dead. Nor did he seem like someone from a dream.

“Dame Sigrid?” he said again, noticing her silence. She didn’t seem herself.

Sigrid shook her head.

“No. This is no dream.”

It couldn’t have been a dream. It simply could not have been. Even now, Sigrid could recall the pain of her aura core being dug out of her. She put her hands over her face.

What’s going on? Am I dreaming now? Or was my death a dream? Which is the dream?

Amu asked in confusion, “Dame Sigrid? Are you all right? Shall I call for Sir Morris?”

Sigrid’s head shot up.

“Morris…? But… But he’s not in the capital. He’s gone traveling… Roaming who knows where…”

Morris had left, but had returned after hearing the news of her impending execution.

“What do you mean? You both serve the same order, do you not?” Amu asked cautiously.

Sigrid’s jaw fell slack. The captain began to grow anxious. He’d never seen this smart, gruff knight act this way before.

Has she taken something? Is she drunk? But it can’t be. She wouldn’t!

“I’ll call for Sir Morris right away.”

Amu gestured to the guards who had brought Sigrid so they would send a message. He then suggested that she sit, which she did, still in a daze.

Morris and I are in the same order? But that was five years ago.

Amu handed her a cup of tea. Sigrid raised her head and took it.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s just cheap tea.”

Amu studied her. Her pupils were not dilated, and she was breathing normally, which ruled out drugs or alcohol. What had happened to this knight without an equal? Sigrid sipped the tea, then smiled. The “cheap tea” was still better quality than her own.

She was sipping slowly when Morris came in with the guards. It was clear that he had just gotten out of bed, given the lateness of the hour. His black hair was a mess, and his shirt was badly wrinkled. His pants and boots looked hastily thrown on. Sigrid had a sense of déjà vu as she looked at his face. Morris had returned from his wanderings with a scar on his face.

But this Morris… He’s… young?

His skin looked firmer and smoother.

“Sigrid? Are you all right?” Morris asked with a frown.

When he heard that she had broken curfew and been dragged away by guards, he thought it was some kind of playful bet among the knights. But as the guards scrambled to persuade him that this was not the case, even mentioning the captain, Morris realized it was no joke and immediately rushed over. Sigrid did seem to be a little addled as she looked at him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Morris…”

“Huh? What?”

“How old are you?”

He couldn’t believe she was asking him that, but he answered, “Twenty-five.”

Sigrid gasped. This was five years ago. She put down her tea and quickly pulled up her shirt.

“Sigrid! What the hell!” Morris shouted, trying to pull her shirt back down.

She would have none of it. Her slim waist was bared for all to see. Sigrid turned her head, looking down her side and feeling the area slowly with her hand.

“No scar,” she remarked.

“What?”

“There should be a big scar here… I got it in a fight with Veramud…”

“Veramud? Why would you fight that bastard? Sigrid, are you all right?”

“Morris.”

“Yeah?”

“Morris DeForest.”

“Yes, that’s my name. Why?”

“What year is it, by the imperial calendar?”

“Three hundred.”

Sigrid felt her mind go completely blank. This truly was five years earlier than when she had died.

How did this happen? I definitely died. Did I come back after I died? Was I sent to the past? But how?

Morris was starting to worry. Something was not quite right with her today.

“Sigrid?” he said again, his tone lower and gentler.

She blinked slowly, her eyes coming into focus, gazing at him. Those beautiful scarlet eyes he had always marveled at, usually devoid of emotion, were now hazy with befuddlement.

“Are you all right? What’s happening to you?”

“I…”

Sigrid tilted forward and leaned against him. This was not something she would have ever done if she were herself, and Morris froze. He was starting to wonder if this was actually a demonic creature wearing her skin as a disguise.

“Sigrid Ancertna?”

She breathed hard. Morris’ body felt warm and strong, and Sigrid could hear the clear beat of his heart.

Is this reality? Am I alive?

She looked up rapidly a moment later.

“Alcerto.”

“What?” Morris asked.

“Alcerto. Is he alive?”

“Of course he’s alive.”

Morris looked her over slowly. He was convinced that she was either under some kind of spell, or there was some other problem with her.

“Sigrid, calm yourself. Do you remember encountering anyone suspicious?”

“What?”

“Did you meet any mages? Witches? Or eat something out of the ordinary? Did you break from your routine in any way? Try a new route home, for instance?”

“Well…” Sigrid was about to speak but swallowed, then said, “No. I’m sorry. It’s just that I had this incredibly realistic dream. That’s all.”

“A dream?”

“Yes. I’m sorry about the confusion. And for waking you up so late,” she said, suddenly calm.

This only made Morris more suspicious. He narrowed his eyes. In his eyes, Sigrid seemed to smile awkwardly.

“I’m fine. Really. I should go home and get some sleep. Maybe I can’t, though, since it’s past curfew. I’ll have to make do with the accommodations available here instead.”

This confused Amu. The “accommodations” here were jail cells.

“Not at all. You can still walk about if you have a guard with you. The guards will take you home, Dame Sigrid,” said the captain.