TPWTL 01

Chapter 1. Because I’m a Slave, I Have to Do as I’m Told.

Imperial Year 578. May 22. Continental War.

“We shall bring an end to the war they have declared!”

Princess Olivia of the Empire tightly shut her eyes as the Emperor declared his intent to respond to the King of Norden’s proclamation of war.
Again. It’s starting again—the war that will consume the continent and eventually devour even the foundation stones of the Empire.

She had regressed four times. Each time, the spark that ignited the war had changed, but the result was always the same. No matter how hard she tried, she could never prevent the outbreak of war.

“For the glory of the Empire!”

“For glory!”

The resounding cries that pierced the sky and shook the earth were deafening. Olivia let out a long, weary sigh. The war always ended the same way. Despite knowing the future and running around trying to change it, in the end, it always…

“Olivia? You don’t look well.”

“Your Majesty…”

“No need for that face. Even if it’s war, it will be over quickly.”

From behind the Emperor, who was full of confidence, Olivia opened her mouth—then closed it again. What was the point of saying that this war would end with the Emperor, her father, and herself losing their heads? It would change nothing.

Once again, Olivia was caught in the vortex of war. It intensified day by day, the flame kindled by one man burning across the continent. Though the events didn’t unfold exactly the same as in her previous life, her end was always the same.

“Any last words?”

Olivia looked up at the one pointing a sword at her neck and asked:

“Is conquering the continent your goal?”

The man didn’t even flinch at the sudden question.

“No. More importantly, is that all you want to say before dying?”

“If not… then why drag this war out so far?”

The monster who started and ended the war alone. A man who, as if by some miracle—or rather, through cruel and wicked sorcery—set the entire continent ablaze and dragged the world into ruin. Cryer. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, so close she could feel his breath.

“Because I’m a slave. I have to do as I’m told.”

“Slave? What do you—”

Before she could finish, Olivia died for the fifth time.

Imperial Year 577. May 22. One Year Before the Continental War.

“Guh!”

Olivia awoke in a fit, her body drenched in cold sweat. She fumbled for her neck—still intact.

“Again…?”

Her voice was hoarse, more a sigh than words. It was always like this after a regression. Death never became any easier—it was horribly terrifying every time. If only she could forget everything with each death, then perhaps she wouldn’t have to endure this revolting feeling again and again.

“Well, it’s already happened. Nothing I can do.”

No use brooding over it—she’d already cried herself to sleep during her first regression. Mourning over her death and the world-ending war was something she stopped after the second round. Taking things too seriously only wore her down. It was better to face things lightly, cheerfully, even flippantly—it made it easier to brush off failure and move on.

Olivia ran a hand through her tangled hair and grabbed her pen. She began scribbling down the changes from her previous life.

“Small things may change, but the main flow stays the same.”

No matter how much she struggled, the war happened. The Empire lost. And she died. But…

“I don’t want to die.”

Who would? In her first regression, she believed her memories would help her stop the war and save the people. She failed. In her second, she resolved to at least help the Empire win. She failed again. By the third, she was still thinking of others—her country, her people.

But in her fourth life, Olivia focused solely on surviving.

Yet the war still came. The Empire still fell. And she still died.

Unconsciously, she rubbed her neck.

“I want to live.”

Saying it out loud made her resolve clearer. Yes. She truly wanted to live. She would do anything—become anything—to stop the war.

“I must stop the war and protect world peace.”

Long ago, before the Bolscheiks became the imperial family, after a grueling continental war, a former emperor had released white doves into the sky as a symbol of peace.

Clenching her fists, Olivia declared with all her might:

“I will survive—even if I have to become the dove of peace myself!”

Imperial Year 577. May 28. Continental Conference.

Taking a deep breath, Olivia scanned the vast conference hall. The pain in her shoulders and neck from the tension made her head throb, but she couldn’t afford to worry about that now.

“Your Highness, we’ve received this message from the Principality…”

“Your Highness, we lack manpower in this area…”

“Your Highness—”

Surrounded on all sides, she received countless reports and problems. Olivia issued clear, decisive orders to resolve each issue. Even this last-minute, hastily organized continent-wide summit wasn’t the problem.

On the day she regressed, she immediately sought out the Emperor. Having died and returned so many times, hesitation was no longer part of her.

If something needed to be said or done, she did it.

‘If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well struggle to survive.’

She barged in on the Emperor mid-governance with no appointment.

“What are you talking about?”

“We must hold a continental summit. All leaders and their invited representatives must attend. I know it’s not scheduled for months, but Your Majesty can make it happen.”

He was silent. She pressed on.

“The theme is world peace.”

The real reason? To find one man.

Her nerves were strung so tight it felt like needles pricking her skull, but Olivia didn’t blink. She couldn’t miss him. She wouldn’t.

“Cryer.”

His name escaped her lips so quietly even she could barely hear it. The memory of her death at his hands made her rub her neck again. She shut her eyes and then reopened them, steadying her breath.

She had no time for self-pity. Her eyes never left the incoming participants. She could clearly picture him even with her eyes closed. The Demon of the Continent. The Master of the Battlefield. The Calamity of War.

He appeared out of nowhere like he fell from the heavens—and became unforgettable to Olivia.

Her heart pounded wildly. But it wasn’t admiration or excitement. No—it was fear. Pure fear.

And with fear came confusion. His last words before her death:

“Because I’m a slave. I have to do as I’m told.”

A shadow fell across her pale cheek.

“A slave?”

Even then, she hadn’t understood. She still didn’t.

“Him? A slave?”

Those words didn’t belong together. Cryer, a slave? He would enslave others, sure—but be one himself? Obey someone’s every order?

Despite days of wracking her brain, she’d found no clue. Even background checks yielded nothing.

So, only one option remained: ask him directly.

Though the odds of him answering were slim…

Imagine the Imperial Princess suddenly confronting a man she barely knows:

“You said you were a slave. Who do you belong to?”

The mere thought made Olivia grimace. Completely absurd. But thankfully, this was before Cryer had fully revealed his monstrous nature. For now, he was just emerging.

She swallowed hard.

“Strong drink—no, just lukewarm water. Bring me some.”

She couldn’t face him drunk—but facing him sober might be suicide too.

She downed the cup in one gulp and began preparing what she’d say.

“Your Highness, it is an honor to meet you.”

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off by the crowd that suddenly surrounded her.

“Your Highness, I am—”

“It has been a while—”

“I heard you organized this summit—”

Everyone was trying to get her attention. She pretended to listen, even as she wanted to shoo them all away. Their cooperation was necessary for peace, after all.

It would all be over once he arrived. Just a little longer.

How much time passed?

Her eyes widened.

There he was.

He appeared without a sound, without a presence.

Cryer had arrived—standing right in front of her.

“C… Cryer.”

Olivia inhaled sharply. She had to remind herself to breathe.

When she signaled, the bell rang to mark the start of the summit.

“We now begin the Continental Conference!”

Because of its early and abrupt scheduling, most participants hadn’t even prepared properly. But it didn’t matter. Leaders from across the continent had gathered.

“The topic of this conference—”

The host paused, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“—is world peace.”

And with that, Olivia, as chair, stood and spoke.

“Thank you all for attending. I hope this meeting will be constructive and beneficial for the sake of global peace.”

Everyone tried not to follow Olivia’s gaze—to not look where her eyes were fixed.

Because Olivia wasn’t scanning the room, nor looking at any tapestry or empty space.

Her eyes were fixed solely on one man.

The man with moon-silver hair and eyes like scorched red earth.

A mere knight, attending on a king of a nation so small, its name was barely remembered.