Reset
Nigel opened his eyes to a morning in April, Kingdom Year 283.
The last thing he remembered before dying was that it had been June of the same year. But now, not only were his wounds completely gone—time itself had rewound.
At first, he thought he’d just had a long, strange dream. Inas killing him? The dead coming back to life by turning back time? Neither made any sense.
But after a day passed… then a second night, then the third morning, and finally by the fourth day—when everything began to unfold nearly identically to how he remembered it—only then did Nigel finally begin to accept the situation he was in.
Things that should never have happened, had happened.
Maybe Inas really did kill him… and somehow, he was thrown back into the past.
Even when everything seemed to scream that time had turned back, Nigel still doubted his own perception. He didn’t want to admit that Inas had killed him.
If all the memories in his head were nothing more than dreams or hallucinations, then he could just ignore those ominous thoughts and live out his days in peace. That’s what he wanted. He didn’t want to suspect the man he loved.
But the memories of the past two months—or what was to come—were far too vivid to dismiss as just a dream. So vivid they demanded to be acknowledged.
So… what if it was all real? What if Inas started showing suspicious behavior? What if the man who had always pretended to be a loyal knight was actually a spy targeting the Duke of Magnus?
The thought alone was terrifying. Nigel anxiously chewed at his fingernail, mind racing.
If Inas really was a spy, the first step would be to send the knights to capture him alive. Then he could interrogate him thoroughly, find out who had turned Inas, and destroy them all completely.
But the odds of Inas being a spy were low. Three years ago, during a massive battle, Inas had taken complete command of the forces under the Magnus Duchy. If he had truly intended to betray him, he would’ve done it then—not in the royal capital.
Then… could it have just been personal resentment toward Nigel? That seemed unlikely too, but if it were true, perhaps there was still a chance to win him back. If nothing else, Nigel could bring him back to the Magnus Duchy, lock him in the tower, and keep him under constant surveillance… never letting him out…
That’s where Nigel’s thoughts halted—and he grabbed his head in a spiral of self-loathing.
“Even in a situation like this…”
The idea of killing Inas hadn’t even crossed his mind. Nigel laughed bitterly at his own weakness. But it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t kill the man he loved more than his own life. Not even if that man had betrayed him.
And yet… that very Inas had killed him.
Nigel’s hands trembled as he touched the spot on his chest where the hole had been. Just imagining the blood made his stomach churn. He covered his mouth and tried to steady his breathing.
He had always had a hard time looking directly at blood or wounds. Seeing an injured person filled him with overwhelming dread. It had only gotten worse after one particular time he saw Inas badly hurt.
And that wasn’t the only time he had been terrified. When Inas had been wounded by an assassin… or while out hunting… or when he’d gotten hurt trying to stop Nigel from throwing himself to his death…
“No… wait.”
Nigel’s brow furrowed at a bizarre memory that suddenly surfaced. Throwing himself to his death? He had never tried to take his own life. Sure, he might’ve thrown out the occasional melodramatic comment about dying when stress piled up, but he had never seriously considered suicide.
His life, up to that point, had been smooth and without hardship. And he was far too responsible to die without naming a successor.
But… he was certain that in that summer… he had tried to die.
A vague, blurry memory floated up. A moment soaked in a liquid—was it blood? Sweat?—that clung to his body, the heat and stench suffocating.
A pistol in his hand, its barrel aimed squarely at his own head.
“Honestly… you’re hopeless.”
Inas had spoken with a smile—impossibly gentle, despite the moment. Calm. Unbothered.
“If you’re going to die, then go ahead. I’ll see you next time.”
Had he cried then? Screamed? Or was he quiet? He couldn’t remember. What he did remember was that he pulled the trigger. The blood sprayed. Darkness swallowed everything.
“This is insane…”
Suicidal delusions? Something was seriously wrong. Why were these dark, twisted memories cluttering his head? Nigel seriously wondered if he had lost his mind. Because how else could he imagine both Inas killing him and taking his own life?
“I’ve just been working too much…”
Yes. That had to be it. Delusions. He should’ve listened when Inas told him to rest. Nigel pulled the blanket over his head. He just needed some sleep. Once he got some rest, rational thought would return—or so he hoped, clinging to the illusion like a lifeline.
***
When Nigel woke, it wasn’t clarity that greeted him—but the brutal news that Inas had gone missing after committing a massacre.
“Inas would never.”
Nigel flung the documents Hayes had handed him across the room. Hayes, as if he had expected this reaction, quietly began picking them up.
“I think there must be a mistake as well, sir… but there were many witnesses. At the very least, the murder of Lord Idenbach was real.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I agree. Inas would never kill someone without a reason. There must be some explanation.”
“Like what?”
Nigel’s sharp tone softened almost immediately with guilt. He rubbed his face in frustration. Hayes approached slowly, understanding.
“Please, try to calm down and read it first.”
With trembling fingers, Nigel took the report.
Last night, Inas had gone to a small tavern in a southern provincial town. Without warning, he murdered a young boy who had been negotiating for a room. The boy was beheaded in one strike. His companions tried to retaliate, but it was useless. Inas not only killed the rest of the group—he slaughtered nearly everyone present, then set fire to the inn and escaped before the guards arrived.
The report crumpled pitifully in Nigel’s hands.
“I can’t believe this…”
“Nor do I. That’s why you must believe in him, sir.”
“…”
Nigel couldn’t respond.
Inas hated killing. His line of work made it unavoidable, but he always tried to subdue targets without fatal blows—getting himself injured in the process more than once. That Inas… had started with a child and killed over a dozen people? Even if they were commoners, it was unthinkable.
…At least, that’s what Nigel had believed—until Inas drove a blade straight through his heart.
The idea of “Inas the peaceful” was a fantasy Nigel had built up through naive trust. In reality, he had stabbed Nigel without a flicker of remorse, smiling as he did it.
Was this the real Inas? A man whose nature was cold-blooded murder? Committing senseless killings without explanation, evading justice?
Despite everything, Nigel ordered Hayes to track him down. At the same time, he tried to gather anything that could prove Inas’s innocence—quelling rumors, finding witnesses. But there was little to go on. The fire had destroyed all evidence, and the boy’s identity remained unknown. Even the motive was a mystery.
A nationwide manhunt was issued. People whispered horror stories whenever they gathered. And day by day, the public’s opinion of Nigel—who defended Inas—worsened.
He should’ve let Inas go. But even if Inas was a murderer, Nigel couldn’t bring himself to abandon him. Not without hearing it straight from Inas himself.
He barely slept two or three hours a night. Worked until his head throbbed from the stress. All to find a way to save Inas.
But Inas never showed up. And Nigel couldn’t find a way to save him. In the end, the relentless stress took its toll. Nigel collapsed from fever and was confined to his bed by Hayes.
Feverish and drugged, Nigel dreamed of Inas again. Of being loved, cherished… and ultimately stabbed to death.
“Inas…”
“Yes, Nigel.”
Half-asleep, Nigel muttered the name—only to be startled awake by a voice too clear to belong in a dream.
Jet-black hair, finely sculpted features like a statue. Cold eyes, but the gaze fixed on Nigel was warm. So familiar. The face he had longed for. Inas was there, right beside him—close enough to touch.
“Inas!”
Relief overwhelmed everything else—fear, doubt, anger. He had feared that Inas might already be dead, hunted by the kingdom’s trackers.
Any accusations he had meant to hurl, all the sharp questions and suspicion—melted like sugar in hot tea. Nigel reached out joyfully. Inas caught his hand, pressing Nigel’s palm to his cheek. The warmth was real. It made Nigel tear up.
“Were you worried?”
“Of course I was! What happened, Inas? If there’s anything I can do to help—”
Nigel couldn’t finish. Inas pinned him to the bed and kissed him.
The kiss was nothing like the fantasies he’d indulged in for years. It wasn’t soft or sweet. Their lips collided harshly. Inas’s tongue invaded his mouth. As their bodies pressed together, Nigel couldn’t ignore the stench of blood—his whole nose filled with it. He shivered, like prey being devoured.
Another wave of memories slammed into him. Memories of being killed. Over and over. Each death retrieved from the void and hung up inside his mind.
“…!”
Startled, Nigel tried to push Inas away—but the man who would normally back off at the slightest touch didn’t budge. Instead, he pinned him down harder, stealing his breath. When Nigel finally managed to shove him back, panting and disheveled, Inas remained unnervingly calm.
“You’re always so beautiful, Nigel.”
“What the hell are you saying…”
“Does it sound like nonsense? I’ve always thought you were beautiful. I come see you every night when you sleep. But it’s not enough. I prefer you awake.”
“You… come see me?”
“Yes.”
It made no sense. Inas was wanted across the capital—how could he have come to see Nigel every night? He must be delirious. Nigel’s mind raced. That was it—Inas wasn’t in his right mind. He must’ve killed in a psychotic break, then fled on instinct. Hallucinations, delusions, drugs—if they could just prove it, his past service might buy him leniency.
“Nigel… let me see your face.”
“Now is not the time for that! Tell me what happened! I can’t help you unless—”
Inas raised a finger to his lips. Nigel fell silent. Then Inas frowned, apologetic.
“I’m sorry. I meant to come at a better time. But I’m running out of it. So… you’ll have to die again.”
“What?”
Nonsense.
And then, just like last time, Inas drove a sword into Nigel’s heart.
The same event. Or dream. Repeating.
With the blade embedded in his chest, Nigel wondered if he was trapped in some endless nightmare. It should hurt—but it didn’t. That only made everything feel even less real. Even less so than the last time, when Inas had killed him out of the blue.
Inas gazed at him with loving eyes, as if admiring something precious. But the blood splashing from Nigel’s chest, staining Inas’s cheek—that brought reality crashing back.
“Your reaction’s so cute.”
“I… nas…”
“I love you, Nigel. See you next time.”
See you next time.
He’d heard those words before.
As if something were just about to click into place, Nigel’s eyes flew open wide. But before he could think—Inas twisted the blade.
And once again… darkness returned.
