Joseph Bentham was a man to whom life had given everything.

He belonged to a relatively important house with a centuries-old history, but being the youngest son he would never have had to worry about things like succession, political struggles or in any way pleasing his very strict father.

His elder brother Gerome was no genius, but he did his best to please the family and had a brilliant career ahead of him, both as the next Marquess of Marton and in the politics of the Principality.

Their father fought day and night to increase the prestige of the family, and for a long time he had worried about his problematic youngest son, enrolling him in every possible civil and military school, which Joseph, however, soon abandoned, returning to dedicate himself to those material pleasures that he loved so much.

The incredible thing was that Joseph excelled in almost every field he tried his hand at, whether intentionally or not, as if there were no limits to the talents Gaia had decided to bestow upon him; he simply quickly lost interest.

But there was a secret that Joseph jealously guarded, and which he had never spoken of, not even to his faithful servant Barnaba: his dreams.

Not dreams like the others, fantasies of a child or a teenager that reflect what he would like to become one day.

They were so vivid and so detailed that they almost seemed like memories. Memories not belonging to him made of political disputes, intricate intrigues and power games.

Each time they showed up, Joseph felt like he was collecting another piece of the puzzle, as if someone was trying to tell him a story through them that he had to piece together.

Unlike his father, his brother, and a good portion of the people of Connelly in general, he had never been a great frequenter of temples; but as the years passed and his awareness increased, Joseph had often found himself wondering if those dreams might not really be the memories of some past life of his.

Talking about it with anyone was out of the question. Since the cult of Gaia denied reincarnation, even expressing such ideas could cost a charge of heresy, one of the few crimes from which not even the nobles could hope to escape.

It had all lasted until the night of his fourteenth birthday, when like a revelation all the pieces had fallen into place by themselves, and the last dream had dispelled all doubts.

The dream of his death. His previous death.

Suddenly, everything had become clear.

Before he was Joseph Bentham he had been someone else.

In another place. In another time.

And not an Average Joe; an important person, whose decisions and actions had changed the course of a nation, and perhaps the entire world.

Aware of the reality, he had decided once again to keep the secret, and not to be influenced by his new memories; because he realized that his old life had only brought him many regrets, and he had died, rather young at that, feeling that he had sacrificed too many things to pursue the dream he had set for himself.

He wanted to think of this new life as a second chance, and of having preserved his memories as a gift from heaven so that he could understand the importance of what he had been granted.

But fate followed unpredictable plots, and it took little to transform a blessing into a curse.

Almost two years had passed, during which Joseph had managed to hide his secret with difficulty, appearing the same as always, although more moderate and less dominated by vices.

On a hot summer afternoon, while he was transcribing notes in his usual diary of memories, he was suddenly overcome by tiredness, falling asleep before he could even realize it.

But instead of one of his dreams he found himself on top of one of the high cliffs of Connelly, in the company of a disturbing masked individual dressed in black.

"Where am I?"

"I am truly speechless. I have lived far longer than any other living being I have ever heard of, and I have very rarely met anyone who had retained the memories of one of their past lives. And of these chosen few, none could say they had lived a life like yours, Mr. Count."

Realizing that trying to lie or play dumb was futile, Joseph chose not to hide: "Do you know why this happened to me?"

"Even though I can move through the folds of the multiverse and harness some of its powers, I am far from understanding its nature. I suppose even the most perfect creation can sometimes present unexpected events."

"Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who I am, but what I have to say to you. Since you are so special and unique, maybe you could be the person I need."

"What are you talking about?"

Thus Joseph heard the most incredible, and in some ways paradoxical, story of his life. The story of a Demon Lord destined to arrive on Erthea in just over twenty years, and of a war with a foregone conclusion that would bring the entire world to ruin.

"Why are you telling me these things?" Joseph asked at the end of the story.

The man in black hesitated as if ashamed: "I have already prevented this world from coming to an end once. By saving your civilization I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You mean the Dark Lord? So you were behind the sudden turnaround that finally allowed humanity to win over the monsters?"

"My actions only made things worse. I had decided not to interfere anymore, and let fate take its course. But then..."

"Did you change your mind?"

"I saw something that made me realize that you were worth giving another chance. But unlike five centuries ago, I no longer intend to take direct action, since as I said doing so has only had dire consequences. And while I was considering how I could do so in the little time that remains, here comes you. Perhaps you could be the person this world needs."

In his old life, Joseph would have been honored by such a consideration; but those very memories and the knowledge they brought were what drove him to decline: "I am flattered that you think me capable of such a thing, but I fear you overestimate me. It has taken me a lifetime to pacify a single nation. To do the same to an entire continent, and in such a short time, is well beyond anything I can hope to accomplish."

"So you're not going to do anything?"

"That's not what I'm saying. Now that I know what's coming, I intend to do my part to prevent it. But it's going to take someone far beyond my abilities to pull this off."

The man in black noticed the strange light in Joseph's eyes. "Do you have someone in mind?"

"Perhaps. But there's a problem. This person died long before me, so I assume that by now his spirit will have already followed other paths."

"Do not underestimate my powers. The only flow of time I am bound to is that of this world, but beyond that I can travel wherever and whenever I want."

"So you could make it so that he could share my fate, and be reborn with all his memories?"

"That's quite a feat, even for me. He'd have to be someone really special to justify such a thing."

"Trust me, he is."



I had always loved dramatic turns of events, because I knew what effect they could have on those who witnessed them.

Nevertheless, the box had not fallen from my hand because I had wanted it, nor could the expression on my face have been falsely surprised.

I had noticed that there was something strange about the Count of Marton before I had even shaken his hand, and now I knew that the feeling of déjà-vu I had felt the whole time just by looking into his eyes had not been the result of suggestion.

If only that enchantress of a lamia had known, since in her opinion I was practically unique in the entire history of Erthea.

Or maybe she knew, but for her own amusement or whatever reason she preferred to keep me in the dark.

"And that's all. You now have the broad outline of my story."

"All clear. So it's you I have to thank for the situation I've found myself in."

"As I said then, it takes someone with extraordinary skill and genius for an undertaking of this kind. Sorry to have involved you."

The more I listened to him talk, the more I realized that, as much as he tried to hide it, there was something terribly provincial in his French.

He must have been Swiss; or Piedmontese.

"But who exactly are you?"

"Unlike you, no one the history of our old world has reason to remember. I was born at the twilight of your empire, and I lived first-hand the hard years that followed. If it can console you, when I died there was a grandson of yours on the throne of France."

"Who? Charles Lucien?"

"No, Charles Louis. Your brother's son. Now he calls himself Napoleon III."

"That idealistic imbecile. I only hope his son hasn't inherited his turnip head."

"On the contrary, Your Majesty. He was a clever strategist and astute politician, although his diplomatic antics often kept me awake at night."

"By the way, I do not think it is appropriate for you to call me Your Majesty. That life is over. I am only Daemon Haselworth now."

"In that case, allow me to congratulate you, Master Haselworth. Although I had no idea where or in what guise you were reborn, the moment I heard what was happening beyond the Khoral I knew who was behind the name. And as I imagined, my expectations were not disappointed. You have achieved more in just over a year than I have achieved in almost twenty."

"Don't be so modest. You've done a lot, actually. Mostly to help me."

"Excuse me?"

"Since you've retained your memories like me, you could have brought the technological and social advances I've brought into this world yourself, if not even more. On the other hand, if you had done that, my most important advantage would have been lost."

Marton looked surprised at first, then smiled. "Actually, although my memories of my old life are mostly intact, I have never been particularly interested in engineering, mechanics, or military matters. So don't expect me to show you any of the great discoveries that followed your death. To be honest, all this time I have been devoting my efforts primarily to ensuring the safety of my country."

To understand this, you only had to look at a map, like the one hanging on the wall to my right that proudly depicted the territorial conquests of the Count in the aftermath of the Flor War.

"According to the words of our mutual friend-"

"By the way, what did you call him?"

"Faucheur."

"Appropriate."

"I was saying. In light of what he told you, we can consider it likely that the Dark Lord was none other than the first coming of the Demon Lord. According to legend, he first appeared somewhere around here, a territory that now belongs to the elves, but was once part of the Empire."

"But if Faucheur is telling the truth, this time it will come from the sea."

"It makes sense. If one plan fails, trying another is the logical choice."

"Do you think there is a pattern behind it?"

"I don't know yet. Faucheur says it's not the same individual. But this world still has so many secrets, that theorizing about the Demon King's true nature now wouldn't make much sense. We can only go by what we know. I assume Faucheur has shown you the location of the continent of Treibam as well."

Marton nodded, and I continued speaking; it was the first time in my new life that I felt so excited to express my thoughts: "The point where the two continents are closest is to the west, which means the invasion will probably come from here. With the high cliffs and these two narrow overland passages, Connelly is practically a natural fortress. But all fortresses have their weak points. These small inlets and ports are ideal points of attack, but on the other hand they can be easily defended. The most obvious weak point is surely this one. Tagrea is located right where the western cliffs thin out towards the low shores of the eastern part of the gulf, and would constitute an ideal beachhead from which to begin a rapid expansion."

Marton seemed almost pleased with how I was disemboweling in a few minutes a plan that had probably taken him years to construct.

"Given the good relations that until recently existed between the Empire and the Principality and its hegemonic role on the North Sea, Saedonia has never found it necessary to fortify Tagrea and its coasts along the gulf, if you exclude the main cities." he said, lighting his third cigar, and then almost trying to justify himself. "I never intended to go this far. The original purpose of the Flor War was what I had declared from the beginning: to redeem Gemona and bring the border between us and them back to where it was before the Holy Wars. But then again, there is nothing that makes a people happier than a military victory."

"I know the feeling. One victory leads to another, after all the Empire had been in crisis for some time. Although of course getting your hands on the only truly vulnerable point in the gulf must have been a tempting prospect for you."

"At one point, I hoped that this would end sooner rather than later. Fortunately, once Tagrea was conquered, the old Emperor finally stepped aside, and we could negotiate. I was even ready to give Tagrea back, because I knew that at that point Saedonia would strengthen it and make it safer. It's just a shame that the people and nobles had other aspirations."

"The problem with feeding the egos of the common people is that they always want more, and then it becomes increasingly difficult to please them."

"Wise words."

"Keeping a nation like this one on its feet, split in two between the secular and the religious, can't be easy, if then these annoyances come into play..."

"Believe it or not, I am quite familiar with this kind of problem. Apparently, trying to get a king and a pope to agree is an ordeal that I could not get rid of even with death."

By now I had a fairly good idea of where Marton had lived in his previous life; but precisely because I noticed how wistfully the Count spoke of said life, I decided not to investigate further.

"You and I know that your machinations had the noblest of purposes, but not being able to speak about them openly is backfiring on you."

"The last thing a nation needs in difficult times is two political spheres at war with each other, like two spouses arguing while the house around them is on fire. As you know very well, forcing the hand and imposing the superiority of one faction over the other is sometimes the only way to get a result."

"I see. With the borders properly redrawn, a Princess Reigning back on the throne, and the clergy's influence on national politics scaled back, Connelly would be better able to play its part when the Demon Lord makes his appearance. On the other hand, your obstinacy in wanting to crown a Princess that few people like and the way you have managed politics and public opinion up to now have led many to believe that this is nothing more than the last step towards the conquest of absolute power."

"Please do not misunderstand, Mister Haselworth, for I would not have you form the wrong opinion of Her Highness. Despite her rebellious nature and sometimes unladylike manner, Lady Elizabeth is gifted with rare acumen, as well as all the qualities befitting a sovereign. With her on the throne, I am sure that Connelly would be better equipped than ever to face the Demon Lord."

A sensible king who was aware of his role was not always a guarantee, indeed sometimes he could be more problematic than an incompetent one who was easily manipulated. But surely Marton also knew this, and if despite this he was still determined to put this Elizabeth on the throne, I felt I had no need to worry about his judgment.

"In that case, I hope you succeed. Connelly needs stability now more than ever."

I had just pocketed the Count's gift when a familiar gasp preceded a soft knock on the door.

"Come in."



Built in the aftermath of the unification of the Kingdoms of Watshire and Balmoral which had led to the birth of the Principality of Connelly, the tower which was home to the Circle had grown over the centuries in step with the prestige of the cult it represented.

Taller, more majestic and opulent than any other building in the city, it seemed almost to want to remind anyone who looked at it of the power and prestige of the Circle not only in Connelly, but more generally throughout the known world.

Throughout the temple area, from the avenue to the gardens, there were a total of fifty-two representations of Gaia, including mosaics, statues and frescoes, and the cult required that once in their life every good believer had to pray and offer tributes before each of them.

The most majestic of all these icons was of course the colossal golden statue that stood in the great main hall of the tower; it was so large that it could brandish as a shield the Miracle Stone, the great block of magical mineral that according to the scriptures had been cracked after being struck by divine lightning during the war against the Old Gods.

One thing that stood out to those who did not regularly visit monasteries and temples was the large number of nonhumans among both the novices and the low-ranking priests and priestesses.

"I didn't think there were so many monsters and demihumans in the Circle," said Sapi.

"For many of them, the novitiate was salvation. If you are part of the Circle, you cannot be enslaved. On the other hand, Gaia's law forbids anyone who follows her cult to practice slavery."

"But then why..."

"It depends on your point of view. Many people believe that monsters and demihumans cannot be considered living beings on a par with humans. Since Gaia rules magic, the fact that only humans know how to use it is proof that they are her favored children, and even within the Circle some support this view."

Sapi had met other members of the Circle besides Sister Esther during her years at the orphanage, and they had all seemed kind and charitable.

That was why hearing Sylvie speak like that made her so sad.

"Don't lose heart. I'm sure most priests are as pure in spirit as Sister Esther."

In all that sea of young aspiring clerics, one of them recognized Sylvie and ran to her, calling her loudly.

"Mistress Sylvie!"

"Vaelia."

"I didn't know you were coming here. I'm so happy to see you again."

"I am happy, too. How is your novitiate going?"

"Very well. I am ordained as an apprentice priestess next month, and I have already asked to return to the Free State. How are Isabela, and Lady Athreia, and everyone else?"

Sylvie would have loved to spend some time with her novice, but at that moment the news arrived that the Conclave had gathered and was ready to receive her.

"I'm sorry, Vaelia, we'll talk later. In the meantime, why don't you accompany Sapi to visit the temple and look for Sister Esther?"

"Of course. Come, Sapi. I saw Sister Esther just now. She will be happy to see you again, she has told me so many things about you."