Chapter 1: A former hero, now a silver-haired beauty

The border city of the Kingdom of Aelberta, Ordiss.

Noon sunlight pierced through the grimy glass windows of the Adventurers’ Guild, falling onto the oak counter.

The air was thick with the mingled stench of cheap ale and sweat.

“Next.”

The clerk called out without lifting his head.

A hand that was excessively fair pushed a sheet of parchment across the counter.

The fingers were long and slender, nails neatly trimmed and rounded, glowing with a healthy pink.

No matter how you looked at it, this was the kind of hand that belonged to a noble young lady who played the harp in a castle salon.

The clerk raised his head with some irritation, then froze.

Standing before the counter was a girl with long silver hair.

She was wrapped in a linen cloak clearly one size too large; beneath the hood, half her face was so exquisitely beautiful it stole the breath.

Especially those crimson eyes—lacking the usual flinching and timidity of a newcomer, instead calm like an abyss of unfathomable depth.

“Registration name is… Hill?”

The clerk glanced at the form.

“Occupation: Swordsman?”

“Is there a problem?”

Hill’s voice was soft, carrying a faint hoarseness.

“No, just…”

The clerk looked once more at the girl’s seemingly fragile wrists that looked like they would snap with a single fold, then at the excessively heavy, rusted iron sword hanging at her waist—far too massive for her frame.

He couldn’t help shaking his head.

“Little miss, let me give you a piece of advice. If you’re short on money, you’d be safer working as a server in the tavern next door. F-rank quests may be simple, but people still die on them.”

“Thank you for your concern. But I only want to take this one.”

Hill’s finger tapped a particular quest sheet.

“F-rank commission: Collect ten stalks of Moonlight Grass on the outskirts of the Silent Forest.”

It was the most basic gathering task; the reward was barely enough for two loaves of dark rye bread.

But for the current Hill, this was the optimal choice after meticulous calculation.

The former Rennes—who could crush a dragon’s skull with one hand—was already dead.

Hill coldly reminded herself in her heart.

While this body had absurdly high magical affinity, its muscular strength was practically catastrophic.

Forget swinging a heavy sword—even running a little too fast made her lungs burn as though on fire.

Until she rebuilt muscles capable of bearing her combat techniques, she had to proceed with utmost caution.

A gathering quest on the very edge of the forest—even if she encountered magical beasts, they would mostly be slimes or lone horned rabbits. That was the limit of what the present her could handle without injury.

She was not stupid, nor would she let past-life glory make her arrogantly charge to her death.

“…Fine. Your choice.”

The clerk stamped the form.

“If you die, don’t blame the guild for not warning you.”

Hill put away the quest sheet, said nothing more, and turned to leave the noisy guild hall.

She could feel the gazes of the adventurers behind her.

Some contemptuous, some lecherous, and quite a few carrying the cold indifference one reserves for the already dead.

None of it stirred any ripple in her.

Right now she was thinking about only one thing—

How to use her mere three copper coins to buy some grease that could remove the rust from that broken sword.

The outskirts of the Silent Forest were not as tranquil as the name suggested.

Afternoon sunlight was sliced by the dense canopy into mottled specks of light.

Hill moved carefully across the ground covered in rich humus.

Her breathing was shallow; each step precisely placed in the gaps between dead branches and fallen leaves, suppressing sound to the absolute minimum.

This was instinct carved into the soul.

Even though the body was frail, that grandmaster-level stealth technique still made her presence nearly vanish.

“Ninth stalk…”

Hill crouched beneath an old oak, carefully digging out a faintly glowing herb with a small trowel.

Sweat slid down her cheek, sticking several strands of silver hair to her skin.

A wave of dizziness hit her.

This body’s stamina bar was tragically short—just two kilometers of walking plus some digging had already left her gasping.

This body really is defective goods.

Hill frowned and inwardly complained, reaching up to wipe the sweat away.

The instant her fingertip touched the herb’s roots, a chill shot from the base of her spine straight to the back of her skull.

Killing intent!

Though faint and chaotic, it was unmistakably the aura of a predator.

Hill did not turn her head; her body moved before her brain even finished processing.

She rolled sharply to the left.

“Crack!”

A gray afterimage grazed past her shoulder.

Jaws capable of crushing bone snapped viciously into the exact spot where she had been crouching, pulverizing the Moonlight Grass along with its roots.

A Forest Gray Wolf.

Though only the lowest grade of magical beast, to the current Hill its size was comparable to a young calf.

Hill sprang up in the same motion as her roll, drawing the iron sword at her waist.

The sequence was seamless—textbook fluidity.

In her previous life, this set of movements would have been immediately followed by a smooth, flowing reverse slash that would have sent the wolf’s head flying.

But—

“Ugh!”

The moment the blade cleared the sheath, a tearing agony exploded in her wrist.

This body’s wrist strength was utterly insufficient to support drawing such a heavy sword one-handed while off-balance.

Although the blade had come free, the unstable center of gravity caused the tip to slam into the ground, yanking Hill into a stagger.

Bad!

The gray wolf gave its prey no chance to recover posture.

It let out a low growl, hind legs digging into the earth, and lunged again with a gust of foul wind.

Too close—evasion space completely sealed.

Hill’s pupils contracted sharply; in a thousandth of a second her brain calculated the optimal solution under worst-case conditions—

Abandon the long sword. Use the left arm as a shield to protect the throat.

Sacrifice one arm in exchange for the chance to drive a dagger into its eye socket.

That was the only path to survival.

She would be gravely wounded, and this body was hypersensitive to pain, but as long as she avoided vitals…

Hill clenched her teeth, raising her left arm to meet the anticipated agony of tearing flesh.

Yet the expected pain never arrived.

“…Binding Light.”

A voice—gentle to the point of being out of place—suddenly rang through the woods.

It sounded like the lead soprano of a cathedral choir.

Clear, sacred, carrying a trace of reassuring sweetness.

Immediately after, several bands of golden light appeared out of thin air.

Unlike typical magic’s violence, they resembled living vines—gentle yet irresistible—as they wrapped around the gray wolf suspended mid-leap.

An extremely high-grade holy magic.

The wolf didn’t even have time to whimper before the light bands constricted it tightly, holding it dangling in midair.

Its jaws gaped wide, less than ten centimeters from the tip of Hill’s nose; foul-smelling drool dripped onto the grass at her feet.

Hill froze.

Still in her defensive stance, she dazedly turned toward the source of the voice.

Beneath the shade of a nearby tree stood a woman in pure white clerical robes.

She appeared two or three years older than Hill, with hair as dazzling as sunlight itself, holding a staff embedded with a high-purity magic crystal.

She maintained the casting pose; a pair of azure eyes gazed directly at Hill.

That look… was a little strange.

It held neither the arrogance of a strong savior looking down on the weak, nor the usual indifference between adventurers.

Instead it seemed filled with worry—and joy.

“Are you hurt?”

The golden-haired girl dispelled the magic.

The gray wolf crashed heavily to the ground, apparently stunned by the spell, and lay motionless.

She hurried toward Hill; the white hem of her skirt brushed the muddy ground yet miraculously remained spotless.

Hill snapped back to herself, immediately retreating half a step, snatching up the fallen iron sword and gripping it in both hands.

In this world, humans were often more dangerous than magical beasts.

A lesson Rennes had paid for with countless scars.

“Don’t misunderstand—I mean no harm.”

The golden-haired girl stopped three paces away.

A very polite safe distance.

She raised both hands to show she had no intention of attacking, then offered a completely unguarded—and slightly apologetic—smile.

“My name is Phyllis. I’m just a passing healer. I saw this beast suddenly go berserk and my body moved on its own… Did I frighten you?”

Phyllis.

Hill searched her memory for the name—nothing.

But the pure holy magic radiating from the other party could not be faked.

A healer of this caliber would normally be enshrined and supported in the grand cathedrals of the royal capital. Why would she appear in a border forest like this?

“…No. You saved me.”

Hill dialed back some of her hostility, though her body remained taut.

“I’m Hill. Thank you for your help, Miss Phyllis.”

“Hill…”

Phyllis softly repeated the name on her tongue.

Her gaze then fell on the hand gripping the sword.

There, the wrist Hill had forcibly twisted while drawing the blade was visibly swelling at frightening speed.

“Ah—your wrist is swollen.”

Phyllis’s brows instantly furrowed; her expression looked more pained than if she herself had been injured.

“If you leave it like this there will be lasting damage. If you don’t mind… may I heal it for you?”

Hill instinctively wanted to refuse.

“No need to trouble yourself. It’s only a minor injury…”

“That won’t do.”

Phyllis interrupted her.

Her tone remained gentle, yet now carried an undeniable firmness.

She took one step forward, closing part of the safe distance.

“For a swordsman, the wrist is life itself.”

“If a hidden injury forms at this stage, you will never again be able to unleash a perfect slash… And I believe someone with eyes as resolute as yours would never wish for such a thing, right?”

Those words struck Hill’s weak point with surgical precision.

Indeed—this body was already weak. If it accumulated chronic injuries, returning to her peak would become an even more impossible dream.

Moreover, the other party truly seemed to be acting out of pure kindness.

After a moment’s hesitation, Hill finally relaxed her tense shoulders and extended the swollen hand.

“Then… I’ll trouble you. But I can’t pay a high healing fee.”

“This is also accumulating good deeds. The gods are watching.”

Phyllis smiled and gently lifted Hill’s hand.

Her fingers were cool and delicate; when they touched Hill’s feverish, swollen skin, Hill couldn’t help but tremble slightly.

Phyllis did not immediately cast the healing spell. Instead she lowered her head, bringing her face close to the injury—as though she wanted to examine every pore.

Warm breath brushed across Hill’s wrist, producing an oddly uncomfortable sensation.

“Um…?”

“Ah, sorry. I was just confirming the exact structure of the wound.”

Phyllis raised her head and gave a saintly, flawless smile.

“We’ll begin now. It might feel a little ticklish.”

A soft white light bloomed from Phyllis’s palm.

The pain vanished instantly, replaced by a soothing sensation as though soaking in warm water.

Yet for some reason, Hill felt this comfort was… sinking too deeply.

The magic didn’t merely repair muscle—it seemed to travel along her blood vessels in a full circuit.

In just a few seconds the swelling receded; the skin returned to its original smooth, pale perfection.

“All done.”

Phyllis released her hand, yet did not immediately step back. Instead she smoothly straightened Hill’s slightly disheveled sleeve cuff.

“Such beautiful hands. It’s almost a pity to grip a rusted sword like that.”

“This is the only weapon I can use right now.”

Hill withdrew her hand.

Being fussed over so attentively by a stranger made her uncomfortable, but since the other party had just saved her life, she could not be rude.

“Thank you again, Miss Phyllis. I will remember this favor.”

“A favor?”

Phyllis tilted her head; a subtle gleam Hill couldn’t interpret flashed through her blue eyes.

“Then… as repayment, would you mind letting me walk with you for a short distance? Actually I’m a little lost, and I’m somewhat afraid to leave the forest alone.”

Hill glanced at the gray wolf still unconscious on the ground from the light magic, then at the powerful healer who claimed to be afraid.

Though the excuse was rather flimsy, considering that healers usually lacked direct offensive power, it was indeed reasonable for her to need an escort in a monster-filled forest.

She was probably just giving herself a graceful way to let Hill repay the life-saving debt.

What a considerate, kind person!

Hill silently labeled Phyllis as a genuinely good-hearted individual.

“If you don’t mind my slow pace.”

Hill picked up the fallen Moonlight Grass and nodded.

“I’ll take you back to the city.”

“That would be wonderful.”

Phyllis happily clasped her hands together and stepped half a pace behind and to the side of Hill.

The two began walking toward the forest’s edge.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves and sprinkled across them; the scene appeared harmonious and beautiful.

Hill walked in front, staying vigilant of the surroundings while mentally calculating how to care for her wrist once she returned.

Therefore she did not see—

Behind her, Phyllis was staring fixedly at the very wrist she had just healed.

The holy, saintly smile that had been on her face was gone.

In its place gradually rose a狂热—something mixed with extreme longing and barely suppressed frenzy.

Phyllis silently lifted her own hand to the tip of her nose and inhaled deeply.

It still carried the scent left from touching Hill earlier.

Finally… found her.

Pure…

Uncontaminated…

Belonging only to me…

“Miss Hill?”

Phyllis suddenly spoke, her voice still sweetly normal.

“What is it?”

Hill did not turn around.

“Nothing. I was just thinking… the weather today is really nice, isn’t it?”

“…Yes, it is.”

The forest wind blew past, rustling the leaves, covering the faint sound of something taking root and beginning to sprout.