Chapter 5: A Vow to Protect

As I pondered, I sensed two people approaching the basement room.

The thump of footsteps echoed down the creaky wooden stairs—one light, hurried; the other slow, measured. I recognized the rhythm of worry and authority, a combination I’d heard a thousand times in tense backroom meetings.

A swordmaster’s senses far surpass those of ordinary people—I easily overheard their conversation.

Even through the basement door, their voices came in clear, like tuning in to a late-night radio show on a long drive home. Every word crackled with urgency.

The newcomers were a man and a woman.

I caught a whiff of cheap cologne and floral shampoo—mundane scents, oddly comforting after everything I’d been through.

"Pastor, is it true that Daniel really... really didn’t..."

Her voice was raw with grief, wavering in the way people’s do when they’re trying not to fall apart. There was something about her accent—a hint of the Midwest, maybe—soft but steady.

The woman’s words trailed off into sobs. For some reason, her voice sounded oddly familiar.

It hit me right in the gut—déjà vu wrapped in heartbreak. The way she cried was like a song I’d heard once, long ago, and never forgotten.

"Even the healing pill blessed by the Madonna was useless. There’s no one in this world who can save him now."

The man’s tone was practiced, more pity than empathy. He sounded like he’d delivered this line before, maybe at too many bedsides.

"But... isn’t it said that Madonna is merciful, never abandoning any soul, no matter how lost?"

There was hope in her voice—a desperate kind, fragile as spun glass. I could picture her clinging to every word, knuckles white against the edge of her coat.

"Madonna is indeed merciful, but your husband Daniel harbored evil thoughts and lacked devotion, so—"

He paused, maybe to gauge her reaction, maybe to build suspense. I could practically see him adjusting his collar, playing the role of spiritual authority.

As the man spoke, he pushed open the door to the basement and froze in shock.

The door creaked loudly, dust motes swirling in the sudden shaft of light. His eyes went wide, mouth working soundlessly, like someone had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

"Daniel, you—you’re still alive?"

His voice cracked, caught between awe and suspicion. I flashed a lopsided grin, feeling a little wicked.

I grinned at him, flashing the poison residue stuck between my teeth.

It was the sort of smile that said, "I know something you don’t," the kind you give a playground bully after you stand up for yourself for the first time.

"Daniel! Thank goodness, you’re alive, you’re really alive!"

A burst of hope shattered the tension. I barely had time to react before I was nearly tackled.

Suddenly, the woman rushed in, threw herself into my arms, and burst into tears.

Her embrace was warm and desperate, her sobs muffled against my shoulder. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of us, wrapped in a blanket of grief and relief.

I froze, a thousand memories crowding my chest. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I should hold her back or run.

My heart trembled.

I wasn’t prepared for this—her touch, her scent, the way she fit so naturally in my arms. It was like a piece of my past had come back to life.

The woman before me looked exactly like my old friend from my previous life.

She had the same fierce eyes, the same stubborn jaw. Time hadn’t changed her, not really. I was stunned, caught between memory and reality.

Back then, our order had two peerless talents: myself, and my friend.

We were legends in our own right—two sides of the same coin. The others used to joke we were unstoppable together, that the world would bend before our combined will.

We were like two quarterbacks on the same team—there was only room for one star. But she never saw me as a rival.

She was generous to a fault, always putting others before herself. It used to frustrate me, but I admired her for it all the same.

On the contrary, ever since I joined, she gave me everything—sharing all her insights with me.

Every lesson, every secret, she offered without hesitation. Her kindness made me uncomfortable, made me question the edge of my own ambition.

Even when she knew someone wanted to harm me, she’d always step in to protect me.

She’d throw herself into the fire without thinking twice—like the time she took the blame for me when our master caught us sneaking out after curfew.

Even after my skills surpassed hers, she was sincerely happy for me.

No jealousy, no resentment—just a genuine smile and a slap on the back. It was rare, and I never appreciated it enough.

Later, we represented our order in a tournament.

The town was buzzing, betting on the outcome like it was the Super Bowl. We wore matching jackets, proud and nervous and ready for anything—or so I thought.

Several rival orders, fearing our strength, joined forces to eliminate us during the competition.

It was an ambush, plain and simple—backroom deals and whispered threats. I was too cocky to see it coming.

I, full of arrogance, walked right into their trap.

I thought I could handle anything. I was wrong. That mistake still haunts me, a scar that never really faded.

At the critical moment, it was my friend who pushed me aside and took the fatal blow for me.

She didn’t hesitate—not for a second. Her loyalty cost her everything. I watched, helpless, as she collapsed in my arms.

Lightning pierced her body—she died before my eyes. I remember the crackle, the smell of burnt hair, her fingers clutching mine until the last possible second.

From that day on, I never became involved with another woman, devoting myself solely to my path.

People called me heartless, but the truth was, I just couldn’t let anyone that close again. The pain was too much to risk repeating.

Later, I became the number one swordmaster in Silver Hollow, and with a few strikes, destroyed the orders that had plotted against me. But I could never bring her back.

Revenge was hollow—a cold comfort. The victory felt empty. I’d have traded it all for just one more chance to set things right.

Yet now, she threw herself into my arms.

She was flesh and blood, tears soaking my shirt. I barely dared to breathe, afraid it would all vanish if I blinked.

"Rachel, I finally see you again..." I couldn’t help but call out her name.

My voice cracked, the name slipping out before I could stop it. The universe has a cruel sense of humor.

To my surprise, she really did share the same name as my old friend.

Some things, it seems, are destined—echoes of the past carried forward into a new life. I felt a chill run down my spine, a mixture of hope and dread.

"It’s alright, Daniel. From now on, we’ll see each other every day, okay?"

Her words were a balm, the promise of a future I thought I’d lost forever. She smiled through her tears, and something in me healed just a little.

Looking at her tear-stained face, a boundless warmth welled up inside me.

I wanted to protect her, to make up for every mistake. The past was heavy, but maybe, just maybe, this was my shot at redemption.

And a resolve I could not shake.

I clenched my fists, silently vowing: This time, I wouldn’t let her down.

Last time, I couldn’t save her.

The guilt still gnawed at me, a weight I carried every day. I wouldn’t let history repeat itself.

This time, I must protect her, no matter what.

No matter the cost, no matter the odds—I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.