"Fuck you."
The words came out of his mouth like a curse spat at the world. At the gods. At the heavens. At anyone who could hear him, maybe. Hard to say. He was bleeding, half-naked, chained to a ceremonial slab with golden runes that glowed faintly as his lifeblood was drained into a crystal basin beneath him.
They called him a hero.
A war orphan who rose from nothing. A knight commander, praised across the empire of Daehan as the "Child of Miracles."
But tonight, those same people chanted prayers for his sacrifice.
"Fuck you," he whispered again, softer now. Not to the gods. Not to fate.
To them.
To Emperor Baek Dojin—who once swore Jihoon was the future of the empire. Who now stood at the altar, cold eyes fixed on his trembling body, silent as the knife descended.
To Crown Prince Baek Minho—who called him "brother" and wept beside him in battle—but now stood with a smile carved like ice across his lips.
To Princess Baek Sohwa—the one who gave him his first kiss. Who looked away as the blade touched skin.
To High Priestess Elira Moonshade—the half-elf with ocean eyes and golden hair braided with starlight. The only one who hadn't joined the chant. The only one whose lips remained sealed.
'Why?' he had screamed in his mind then. 'Why are you silent?'
But her gaze—sharp, unreadable, calm—lingered a moment longer than all the others.
And then the blade struck true.
The world turned black.
*****
When Jihoon opened his eyes again, the world hadn't turned black.
It had turned... familiar.
Too familiar.
Sunlight streamed through dusty cathedral windows. The scent of incense and training oil filled his lungs. The sharp creak of leather armor, the clang of ceremonial swords, the nervous shuffle of boots on marble…
He was back.
He was... here.
Five years earlier.
Back at the Knight Selection Ceremony.
Back when he thought all of this was a dream come true.
Back when he still believed in gods.
He blinked in disbelief as the memory flooded in—like a dam breaking behind his eyes. The same silver hair fell across his vision. His body was leaner, younger. His reflection in the marble floor showed vivid green eyes—calm, unscarred. Not yet the haunted, blood-soaked commander he'd become.
He was nineteen again.
Still wearing that ridiculous trainee robe. The same one he hated.
His jaw clenched.
'No fucking way.'
"Candidate 147. Choi Jihoon. Step forward."
The voice echoed through the chamber like a sword drawn in silence.
Shit.
He turned his head slowly toward the center of the hall.
There she stood.
Elira Moonshade.
High Priestess of the Temple of Ylliria. Official Seer of the Empire.
And the woman who had watched him bleed just before he died.
Now, five years earlier, she stood at the foot of a golden dais. Her white ceremonial dress clung to her figure in all the places a teenage Jihoon once tried not to look. Her blue eyes shimmered beneath long lashes, her golden hair braided and looped like rays of sun captured in a net.
She looked exactly the same.
Timeless. Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Jihoon's pulse thundered in his ears. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he stepped forward, passing through rows of other knight candidates. All of them nervous, hopeful, oblivious.
'This is insane.'
He remembered this day clearly. Too clearly. How he had overslept from sheer excitement. How he had nearly missed the registration entirely. How Elira had paused a little too long when she examined him. How the King himself had taken notice and picked him personally.
Back then, he'd thought it was divine luck.
Now?
Now he knew better.
Jihoon stepped into the golden circle etched on the floor before the priestess. Her lips curved slightly—not a smile, not quite.
Her eyes locked onto his.
And something inside him snapped.
There she was.
The woman who'd seen him die.
Who said nothing.
Who let him be sacrificed.
'You're like the lots of them, you will get what's co!'
Yet now, now, her gaze sparkled with recognition. And something more.
Amusement.
'Why does she keep stealing glances at me?'
A thick silence filled the hall.
"Place your hand on the crystal," she said, voice low, melodic, and laced with mischief only he seemed to catch.
Jihoon did.
A faint glow pulsed beneath his fingers. The runes that would test a candidate's mana affinity and spiritual alignment shivered to life. In his last life, it had glowed gold—signifying "divine resonance." Everyone had lost their minds.
Now?
It sparked. Once. Then went dull.
Muted.
The room murmured.
Jihoon didn't move.
Neither did she.
After a beat too long, Elira stepped closer. So close he could smell the lilac oil in her hair. She leaned in slowly—far closer than any priestess should to a knight candidate.
"Lucky you made it in time again," she whispered.
His blood turned to ice.
'Again?'
Her lips brushed the shell of his ear, breath warm. Her hand gently took his, pretending to examine his pulse.
"Welcome back, Jihoon," she whispered. "I've waited for this."
His heart stuttered. His mind roared.
But his face stayed blank.
He couldn't—wouldn't—react. Not here. Not now.
Not until he had answers.
And revenge.
Still holding his hand, Elira turned toward the hall and raised her voice.
"Candidate 147. Choi Jihoon. Potential: Divine. Recommendation: Conditional Approval."
A low gasp swept the crowd.
Jihoon blinked. 'Conditional?'
In his first life, it had been ImmediateSelection. A celebration.
This time… less fanfare.
He turned away, walking in a fog. Every step was a memory turned weapon. Every stone in the hallway reminded him of who he used to be.
And who he no longer was.
Back then, he'd been grateful. Naive. Hungry for approval.
This time?
This time he had a plan.
As he reached the threshold of the hall, a hand grabbed his wrist.
Elira again.
He turned, stiff.
"I would appreciate it if you don't make a scene with a mere candidate like I am."
She smiled—and this time it was a smile. Sultry. Knowing.
And odd.
She looked left. Then right. Ensured no one was watching.
Then she pulled him in.
Jihoon froze as her body pressed against his, soft and warm in all the ways he clearly didn't remember in his past—no, future life. Her lips brushed his cheek…
Then crushed against his own.
He staggered, shocked—not just by the contact, but by what surged into him.
A pulse of mana. Familiar. Whispering. Opening.
Unlocking.
The sensation jolted through his skull like lightning.
She drew back slowly, lips glistening.
"To show my sincerity," she said, eyes dark with secrets and mischief. "Long live the next Emperor."
He stared at her, breathless, burning.
Before he could reply—
A hand clapped onto his shoulder from behind.
"Choi Jihoon! You bastard, you're late again—what the hell were you doing?"
He turned, and for a moment, forgot to breathe.
Shin Kyungho.
Same warm grin. Same tousled brown hair that never obeyed a brush. Same annoying sparkle in his chestnut eyes, like he knew everything and cared about nothing.
His old friend.
His future betrayer.
And the first name on Jihoon's list.