Outside, the storm howled louder, as if the world itself knew the Empire's fate had just shifted.
And so I was on my way back. The carriage wheels rolled over the cobbled road with a muted crunch.
Outside, snow fell in slow, hypnotic swirls, each flake catching the light like tiny fragments of glass.
"It's really snowing," I murmured, forehead resting against the window. "It looks so beautiful."
My breath fogged the glass. "I wonder how it'll look in other seasons… if this place even has any left."
I don't know why but I suddenly became emotional.
The world outside looked like it was frozen mid-breath—white rooftops, sleeping trees, and a sky washed pale with clouds. Beautiful… but cold, like everything else here.
By the time the carriage stopped before my estate, the lanterns were already lit. My butler bowed, his voice echoing faintly in the entrance hall.
"Welcome home, Your Grace."
Home. It still felt strange to hear that.
I went straight to my study. Dinner waited, steaming on the table—roasted meat, soup, and freshly baked bread—but I barely tasted any of it.
My mind was still trapped in that office, hearing his voice.
"Don't overwork yourself, Duke. I'd hate to lose one of the few who can still surprise me."
The words replayed again and again until they didn't sound real anymore.
I shoved the plate aside and reached for parchment. The report. I needed to finish it.
Ink bled across the page as I wrote—everything I could recall about the monster disturbances, the distortions, the ley-line patterns. My hand trembled slightly.
Each time I paused, I saw his face again: calm, unreadable, too close for comfort.
"Focus," I muttered to myself, dragging the quill back down. "It's just a report. Nothing more."
But my chest still felt heavy, warm, and wrong all at once.
When the last sentence dried, I leaned back and exhaled. My body ached from tension. The illusion never slipped, but it drained mana slowly—like holding my breath for hours.
I stood and made my way to the bath. The water was warm, faintly scented with herbs.
For a long moment, I just stared at my reflection in the steam-fogged mirror.
A tall man with silver-white hair, cold eyes, and sharp features stared back.
Lioren—the Duke of the North.
Not me.
I touched my jaw carefully, tracing the line of a face that wasn't mine.
"I'll never get used to this," I whispered.
When I sank into the bath, the warmth wrapped around me like a lullaby. It should've been relaxing, but the sight of broad shoulders, long legs, and lean muscle under the illusion made me tense again.
It wasn't just the strangeness of it—it was the reminder that this body used to belong to someone who died. Someone feared, hated, and fated for tragedy.
By the time I got out, the water had turned cold.
Wrapped in a robe, I sat by the window, watching the snow continue to fall. The moon hung pale over the frozen fields.
Now that I had time to breathe, I could finally piece things together.
The monster incidents.
The barrier distortions.
The sudden endless winter.
Everything pointed to one conclusion—the Frozen Calamity Arc.
In the game, this was when the world started breaking before the Saintess appeared. It was her grand entrance, the moment she proved herself to the Empire by saving it from collapse.
If I remembered correctly, that meant I had about two months before she arrived.
Two months before the story began to spiral toward the Emperor's tragedy… and my death.
"I'm right before the main storyline," I whispered, clutching the pendant at my neck.
"The calm before the storm."
Outside, the snow glimmered softly under the moonlight, endless and quiet.
And somewhere in the palace, the man who once killed me was probably reading the report I'd just written—completely unaware that history itself had just changed course.