The brave man who recovers starts over after being defeated

The scorching wind swept across the battlefield of broken walls and rubble.

Blood-red skies scattered sparks that flickered and vanished into the breeze.

Inside the blood-stained grand hall of the Demon King’s palace, several unconscious heroes lay buried beneath shattered masonry, their bodies still burning with faint purple flames.

At the center, only two remained—battling the Demon King who wielded ghostly fire.

These last two were all that was left of the final, strongest heroes gathered from across the continent—to vanquish the Demon King responsible for the world’s calamity and war.

The fractured holy sword shrieked as it clashed against surging magical energy. The Sword Hero’s stamina had reached its limit; his movements faltered, and wounds began to appear more frequently across his limbs.

The radiant white light that once constantly enveloped him—symbolizing healing and warmth—now flickered weakly amidst the overwhelming tide of dark, seething magic.

Ludwig, the Healing Hero, clutched his sacred staff with trembling, bloodied hands, nearly losing grip from pain and exhaustion. His short, crimson hair was matted with blood, strands clinging to his brow, dripping red down the corner of his eye.

Even now, gravely injured himself, Ludwig could barely offer timely support.

Noticing the decreasing frequency of his healing spells, the Sword Hero shouted in desperation: “Ludwig! Stay awake!”

Without the Healing Hero’s divine restoration, the Sword Hero stood no chance against the Demon King. This meant the entire mission—the last hope of humanity—would end in total failure.

The continent’s final spark of hope would be extinguished by the Demon King, and soon after, the fires of invasion would consume all of Neuin Continent.

The Sword Hero knew it couldn’t end like this.

So while fighting the Demon King head-on, he desperately protected Ludwig, who focused solely on supporting him.

…… I must defeat him!

“—Still dreaming of defeating me?” Suddenly, a deep, cold voice pierced through, freezing the Sword Hero to his core.

“As long as you can recover strength and heal wounds, you believe you can keep fighting, find an opening, cling to hope, right?” The Demon King’s long, black hair—previously covering his eyes—was blown aside by the wind pressure, revealing wide, crimson pupils glaring beneath.

“How unfortunate. Your opponent—the one you call ‘Demon King’—understands that perfectly well.”

“—If you have no trump card… then die here and now.”

The Demon King looked utterly bored, as if the game had lost its charm.

In the next instant, he leaned forward contemptuously, seizing the holy sword in the Sword Hero’s hand with a flame-wreathed palm. Then, with a flick of his finger, a streak of black light shot toward Ludwig behind him.

“—LUDWIG!!” The Sword Hero twisted his head just in time to see the black beam pierce clean through Ludwig’s pristine healer’s robe.

His eyes widened in horror.

Then, the Demon King’s dark, infernal flames engulfed the Sword Hero’s body, crushing him like an insect beneath an uncaring hand.

In deathly silence, two dull thuds echoed as lifeless bodies hit the tiled floor.

“What a pitiful sight,” the Demon King muttered, shaking his hand as his tall, slender figure stood erect beneath the bloody sky. “Gathering what you call the world’s hope, raising weapons in the name of preventing destruction.”

“The people who placed their faith in you—do they know how weak you truly are?”

“And you, who carried the hopes of the people—did you ever understand how loathsome those above you truly were?”

His merciless gaze swept over the corpses before he quietly returned to his ruined throne.

“……Remaining forces, heed my command!”

His voice rang out, filled with hatred and resolve.

“—Tear down this detestable world!”

Ludwig felt as though he were sinking in the ocean.

His body was cold and numb, yet he had the sensation of endlessly descending into the abyss.

“……Did we fail?”

Exhausted, he let his eyelids droop, gazing up at the shimmering surface far above.

Ten years ago, on an otherwise peaceful day across the Neuin Continent, thunderous war erupted from a small southern border nation.

Within a month, scouts from neighboring countries began reporting sightings of conflict spreading rapidly.

Then, exactly one month after the first battle, the trade powerhouse of central-southern Neuin, the Dalabi Empire, fell without warning. Through their continent-wide broadcast system, the invaders announced their message to the world:

“I am Samael, the one who brings change to your rotten world.”

Samael declared that the war’s outcome would be nothing less than the complete overhaul of every political regime across Neuin Continent—and he vowed to fulfill this promise within ten years.

For the following years, he advanced northward with brutal speed, leaving a trail of carnage. Feared by all peoples of Neuin, he became known as the “Demon King.”

When the kings realized their armies were utterly incapable of resisting Samael’s forces, the surviving nations united to form the “Anti-Demon King Task Force,” launching a continent-wide recruitment of skilled, courageous warriors—training them into an elite assassination unit dedicated to killing the Demon King.

The Task Force managed to slow the invasion in certain regions, causing Samael’s campaign to lag—by the ninth year of war, he was still a quarter away from completing his conquest.

Thus, the leaders of the Anti-Demon King Headquarters devised a plan: in the tenth year, when Samael would deploy his entire army to finalize his takeover, they would secretly dispatch the assassination unit—the Heroes—to eliminate Samael, who would presumably be left unguarded.

The initial conditions went smoothly.

Samael’s army was indeed deployed entirely.

The Heroes encountered no resistance reaching his palace—he sat silently upon his throne, as if cooperating with their scheme.

……And yet.

The last hope of all people, the final secret weapon of Neuin’s surviving nations, a team of nine heroes forged through years of seamless cooperation, a near-perfect killing machine—

Were incomparable to the power of the “Demon King” Samael.

Samael slaughtered the Shield Hero instantly. The Archer Hero, Mage Hero, and Stealth Hero followed shortly after—especially the latter, who managed to wound Samael in an ambush but was crushed on the spot.

In mere moments, only the Sword Hero and Ludwig, the Healing Hero focusing solely on supporting him, remained.

The outcome was inevitable.

Ludwig’s memories flashed to a halt there.

But he refused to accept it.

He wanted to answer the people’s prayers.

He wanted to save his homeland.

Ever since his talent was discovered, he had merely been a mediocre priest with slight healing ability.

Even when chosen as a Hero, he could only offer minor support to his comrades.

Throughout the fight against the Demon King, he had never made any truly meaningful contribution.

If he could do it all over again—if he had known such an unfathomably powerful enemy of the people would appear—

If he had known the fate of the world would rest upon his shoulders—

He would have trained harder. He would have grown stronger.

—He would have avoided this despair.

He wished it. And sank deeper.

……But it was impossible.

Ludwig closed his eyes.

His consciousness faded away.

—Then, after an indeterminable length of time,

He heard the rumbling wheels of a carriage.

“Miss, we’ve arrived at your destination!”

A vibrant female voice echoed, as if from beyond a sealed barrier.

……Who is that?

“Miss!” The voice called again.

“Did you fall asleep?” He heard her mutter.

“—MISS!” This time, the shout came right beside his ear, jolting Ludwig’s eyes open.

A vaguely familiar girl’s face stared curiously at him.

“Miss, you were sleeping! We’re here!”

Ludwig blinked, utterly bewildered.

What’s going on?

“Here? Where is here? Valhalla?” His groggy mind blurted out the name of the Hall of Heroes.

“What kind of place is that…” The girl tilted her head, staring intently at Ludwig. “Miss, did you sleep too long?”

“What do you mean too long—I’m dead—”

He almost snapped back instinctively, but stopped mid-sentence.

I’m… not dead?

Ludwig realized this with shock.

The strand of hair brushing his cheek, the tangible sensation in his limbs, the air, the cushion beneath his rear, the faint sway of wooden floorboards under his feet—

The full, vivid feeling of being alive!

With delight, Ludwig raised his hand—

Then froze.

Delicate fingers. Pale, smooth skin. Most importantly—much smaller than he remembered.

“Miss Syldra! Let’s wash your face first—here!” The servant girl who woke him already brought over a basin of steaming water.

Almost reflexively, he glanced at the surface.

Long crimson hair draped over his shoulder. Deep green eyes widened slightly, elegant lashes fluttering.

Perfect features, delicate beauty—even in a dazed expression, the face radiated grace and innate nobility.

Ludwig’s eye twitched.

“Miss? Lady Lentiya-Syldra? Should I go fetch the luggage?” The attendant’s voice continued, but the red-haired, green-eyed young lady’s mind had practically crashed.

Mechanically, she turned her head and whispered,

“Len… Len… Lentiya?”

Now, finally, recognition struck.

The familiar little girl before him—his childhood best friend and personal maid—Rosetta.

Her appearance hadn’t changed at all from when they were children over a decade ago.

After a few seconds, it dawned on her—the envoy sent from afar, the sole heir of the Duchy of Lentiya in the southwestern Neuin Continent, Lady Lentiya-Syldra, formerly known as Lentiya-Ludwig—

She had traveled back at least fifteen years, to a time when the Duchy of Lentiya had not yet been destroyed by civil war.

And—“he” had become “she.”