She Who Became Immortal

It had been half a year since the battle against the demon race in the Escard territory.

During this time, Mizetta had grown accustomed to her title of "Saint of Healing," accepting it with a resignation that bordered on indifference. Everywhere she went, her magic was met with astonishment, and in some cases, reverence and fear. There was no denying it anymore.

Apparently, her healing magic was truly remarkable.

In the aforementioned demon battle, Mizetta's abilities far surpassed those of the local healers—by a considerable margin.

Over these six months, the name "Saint of Healing" had become well-known among the nobles of the Louisse Kingdom. Around the same time Mizetta became aware of her own reputation, most of the prominent nobles had come to recognize her.

She was unaware of this recognition, though.

The requests to "go there and heal so-and-so from such-and-such family" had decreased. The phase of building her reputation was over.

Thus—whether it was due to this or not—Mizetta's main task now was to stay at the mansion of Leopold Illyrius and study the ways of the nobility.

She learned etiquette, the history of the Louisse Kingdom, the major noble families, and their power dynamics. Naturally, she also studied the Louisse royal family.

"...And so, the current King of Louisse has six children: four princes and two princesses. Among them, the Queen's..."

Her personal tutor and attendant were Karna Regant and Niomi Arios.

Karna, who knew the most about the kingdom's nobility, noticed Mizetta was barely listening and raised an eyebrow slightly, her usual composed expression hardly changing.

"You seem quite distracted," Karna remarked.

She lowered her eyebrow and sighed softly. For some time after Karna and Niomi were assigned to her, Mizetta felt their disdain.

She expected it.

She was a village girl with some healing magic discovered by Eckhard Muller, the second son of Count Muller, who sought a healer's blood for his noble duty.

She had believed this about herself, and so did others.

However, Mizetta had proven herself. She had accomplished feats that left no room for doubt, healing the incurable and using magic that could drain the battlefield healers.

Gradually, the attitudes of those around her began to change. So, Karna's sigh, which would have intimidated her before, now seemed like a sign of concern.

"I'm sorry, I seem to have been daydreaming," Mizetta apologized.

Thanks to her noble education, she had learned not to show unnecessary humility to servants.

"Since completing your work in the Escard territory, you seem to have relaxed a bit... although it has been six months already."

Indeed, it was a tale from half a year ago. Since then, Mizetta had felt adrift.

Well, perhaps not entirely adrift. She thought she was just daydreaming a bit more than usual, but overall, she was fine. Probably.

For these six months, a particular scene had floated in and out of her mind.

A battlefield at night.

A slope leading to the demonic forest, where soldiers were sporadically hidden.

The back of a girl walking through such a deathly place as if it were a sunny holiday stroll. Her long hair shimmering in the moonlight.

"A source of unyielding light amidst the darkness of death.

Euphemia Grimwood."

For some reason, Mizetta could not forget her image and even construct a phrase based on what she feels towards the girl.

From the circumstantial evidence, it was clear: Euphemia Grimwood had killed Laura and Treno Gillette, the "Gillette Twins."

Leopold Illyrius had later recounted to Mizetta how he had assisted Eckhard Muller, perhaps to use him for his own ends. While Mizetta was healing ailing nobles to build her reputation, that mantis-faced man, Leopold, had taken Euphemia Grimwood under his protection.

Euphemia had been handed over to the Gillette siblings as a magical test subject, almost like a sacrificial lamb. Yet, astonishingly, Euphemia Grimwood had not complained. She had shown some discontent, but she had endured the twins' magic.

Mizetta remembered her first encounter with the twins vividly. Norman, a man she had crossed paths with multiple times over the past six months, had been imprisoned then. One of the twins—she couldn't recall which—had used magic to sever Norman's arm. His wrist had thudded onto the floor. Mizetta had rushed to heal him, and during that chaotic moment, the twins had mentioned "Euphemia Grimwood."

So, Euphemia Grimwood had been with the twins at that time. She had killed them and fled into the forest of Escard territory.

But how?

Mizetta had no idea.

She lay on the bed in her room, provided by Leopold, gazing at the thin sliver of moonlight coming through the window and sighed.

Why?

Why was she so preoccupied with Euphemia Grimwood?

A vision of Euphemia's back, her shimmering golden hair and bathed on sunlight, floated in Mizetta's mind.

Eckhard Muller's former fiancée.

His current fiancée was Mizetta.

Had it not been for Mizetta, Euphemia Grimwood would have married Eckhard. Mizetta would never have been labeled the "Saint of Healing." She wouldn't have learned about the intricate power dynamics and political stances of the nobility. She wouldn't have been healing haughty nobles she had no desire to heal.

What was right? Mizetta didn't ponder it much. Such answers were unknowable.

What she wanted to know was something else.

Over the past six months, Mizetta had tried to learn about Euphemia Grimwood. But her efforts bore little fruit.

After Eckhard had discovered Mizetta, Euphemia Grimwood had been sentenced to burn at the stake. The attempt failed, Eckhard’s father had been killed—likely by Euphemia. Around that time, Eckhard had confided in Mizetta, sharing his doubts and fears.

He spoke of Euphemia, his former fiancée, calling her talentless, a harmless, albeit pretty, girl. There was no love or affection, just a vague sense of duty. Yet, Eckhard hadn’t resisted his father’s decision to break the engagement and seek a healer’s hand.

To Eckhard, Euphemia Grimwood had been an obvious fixture in his life, so natural that her departure seemed just as natural.

A girl doomed to unhappiness by noble politics—how commonplace.

Mizetta once asked Leopold Illyrius about Euphemia. He had narrowed his eyes—a rare expression for the man who reminded her of a mantis—and said, after a brief hesitation:

"If a person who died once comes back to life, are they the same person as before?"

It was a rhetorical question. Leopold hadn’t expected an answer and moved on without giving her a chance to reply.

The information Mizetta had managed to gather was limited. The nobles she had healed as the "Saint of Healing" were mostly elderly or high-ranking aristocrats' sickly offspring. The only time she had healed someone her age had been during the demon battle in Escard territory.

She wanted to know.

But why?

Why did Euphemia Grimwood occupy her thoughts so persistently?

The image of the girl she had seen only once from behind, who probably needed the "Saint of Healing" least in the world—the immortal girl—stayed with her.

 

---