A smoldering darkness settled deep in Yulie’s heart, the kind she had spent years rejecting and denying. As a knight, she had vowed to live and die by the sword, burying the cursed feelings at the very bottom of her heart, where they couldn’t reach her. Deep down, Yulie had always known, but she kept pretending not to know just to keep moving forward.0

… In Freyden, winter always brought snow, freezing night winds, and sleet that slammed against the skin, hard enough to feel as if it might break the body apart. Yulie weathered the freezing night alone, born a sinner, the daughter who had killed her own mother, with no standing in the house—no rights, no future—just a remnant of the bloodline.0

Yulie had long since accepted her insignificance, wearing her worthlessness like a second skin far too early, when she was still just a child.0

“... Yulie, would you like to try holding a sword?”0

However, on a freezing winter’s day, when a sword was placed in Yulie’s tiny hand, she felt it—a flicker of mana shimmering across the blade, blue crystals blooming like frostbite, and a pull on her very core. 0

That was when Yulie realized—if there was even a shred of value in her existence, if she had any right to keep living, then as a Freyden, the only thing she was ever allowed was this single sword.0

"... It's a severe injury. I'm afraid you will never be able to...0