Prologue

I, Agnes Milia Middelharnis, have returned to the past.

And now, I am about to marry a man who is going to die.

Wearing a wedding dress that looked more like a burial shroud, I was led up the stairs by the maids.

At the end of the second-floor hallway, in the largest and most luxurious bedroom belonging to the Marquis of Winterton, that man would be lying there.

Ash Lucius Winterton, the Border Count.

The greatest mage and magic swordsman in the Empire, who had become a vegetable. The same man who had been my husband in my previous life and would become my husband again in this one.

Completely unaware that he would die in six months.

Back then, I didn’t know. I didn’t know that after Marquis Winterton died, I would also be killed by my own parents.

The memory was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday, and it made me shudder.

This time, I would escape that fate.

No matter what, I would survive.

As I habitually touched the scarf covering my neck, I stepped into the bedroom.

Inside were only a few people: the Archbishop who would conduct today’s wedding ceremony, my father, Grand Duke Middelharnis, who would serve as a witness and guest, and Sir Lake, the adjutant of Border Count Ash Lucius Winterton.

“Lady Agnes Milia Middelharnis, please come this way.”

The Archbishop spoke in a solemn voice.

I walked toward the luxurious bed surrounded by drawn curtains.

There lay Ash Winterton, dressed in formal wedding attire.

His skin was pale to the point of being almost white.

His smooth black hair naturally covered part of his forehead.

His high nose bridge and firmly closed lips were so handsome that he hardly looked human.

If he had not occasionally taken calm, steady breaths, I might have mistaken him for a master sculptor’s work rather than a living person.

“Your Grace, please take Border Count Winterton’s left hand.”

Just as I found myself admiring him, the Archbishop ordered me while holding an open holy scripture in one hand.

I gave a slight nod and carefully took hold of the Marquis’s pale, bloodless hand.

[Damn it. Those bastards deserve to be beaten to death with stones.]

At that moment, someone cursed in a soft, low voice.

Startled, I flinched and turned toward the source of the voice.

“…!”

Then I saw Ash Winterton’s ghost.

It was floating in the air, hazy and transparent like smoke, with its lower body fading away indistinctly.

W-What is that…?

I quickly sucked in a breath and squeezed my eyes shut.

Surely I had seen something wrong.

I must have been tired and imagining things.

Otherwise, how could I possibly see a ghost?

Besides, Ash Winterton was still alive.

He was in a vegetative state, but alive nonetheless.

So when I opened my eyes again, that strange white figure would surely be gone.

Convinced of that, I cautiously opened my eyes a little.

“Gasp!”

But my expectation was wrong.

The ghost-like figure was still standing right in front of me.

My mind went completely blank from the absurd situation.

Then my eyes met those of the “ghost.”

[…Wait. Can you actually see me?]

The ghost asked, sounding utterly unable to believe it.

Then he slowly drifted closer and placed a translucent hand on my shoulder.

The moment he touched me, a damp, chilling sensation spread throughout my body, and a strange blue light flashed before my eyes.

“Ahhh!”

I let out a scream and collapsed to the floor.

Immediately afterward, I heard the shrill screams of the maids and the shouts of the Archbishop and my father.

As my vision began to blur, one thought crossed my mind.

This… has to be a dream.