The army had left.
Paris lay in ruins.
But among the rubble, people were digging, searching, crying, and praying.
The living had to keep living.
Old man Grandpa Pierre had a small cottage on the outskirts of Paris, bought in his youth, originally intended for retirement to plant flowers and grass.
That cottage had miraculously survived the war, because it was too remote and inconspicuous; the German army had never even passed in that direction.
The old man moved into the cottage with the baby.
He had no milk, so he fed her goat’s milk.
He had no baby clothes, so he altered his old shirts.
He didn’t know how to care for a baby, so he relied on his seventy-eight years of life experience to figure it out.
When the baby cried, he held her and sang.
When she was hungry, he fed her goat’s milk.
When she was sick, he stayed by her side all night, using a wet towel to cool her down.
Gradually, life returned to that little cottage.
Furina grew up day by day.
When she was three, she looked in a mirror for the first time.
It was a worn-out bronze mirror the old man had salvaged from the ruins.
She stood before the mirror, staring at the person inside, stunned for a long time.
Those heterochromatic eyes, that delicate face, that gradient blue-and-white hair.
She recognized that face.
How could she not?
She had seen it countless times in videos on that small streaming site, imitated it countless times in front of a mirror, and spent two months’ living expenses cosplaying that face.
Furina!
She was Furina!!!
She finally understood what had happened.
She had transmigrated!
Transmigrated into this other world of magic, knights, Titans, and dragons, into the body of a baby named Furina de Fontaine.
She wanted to cry and laugh.
Cry because she could never go back, laugh because she had become the person she loved.
But soon she realized things weren’t that simple.
She had no magical talent.
The old man tried to teach her to sense magic power—something every French child began learning at age five.
But she couldn’t sense it.
The water element in the air flowed past her, but she couldn’t absorb it.
She could see it, feel it, but she couldn’t touch it.
“It’s okay.”
The old man said, patting her head.
“Magic isn’t everything in life.
I’ve lived my whole life without being able to cast even a first-tier spell, and I’ve done just fine.”
Furina knew the old man was comforting her.
In this world, she knew all too well what it meant to have no magical talent.
Why had France declined?
Because its magic was fading.
Why was France bullied?
Because its people couldn’t learn other elements’ magic.
And she couldn’t even learn her own country’s water element magic.
But she wasn’t too upset.
After all, whether before or after transmigration, she was just an ordinary girl.
Before transmigration, she was an ordinary college student; after, she was an ordinary French girl.
What difference did it make?
Wasn’t it all just living an ordinary life?
As for changing the world, saving France—that was something only protagonists in novels did.
What kind of protagonist was she?
A transmigrator who couldn’t even learn magic?
Days passed like this.
The old man taught her to read and write, told her about the history of this world.
(The world view and basic settings will be introduced uniformly at the end of this chapter.)
Seven Divine Envoys, seven nations, five hundred years of peace, five hundred years of war.
The German’s Titans, Britain’s Wyvern Knights, Saint-Yel’s angels, Ottoman’s forbidden arts, Russia’s trolls, China’s Dragon Emperor, Japan’s sea beasts.
The old man talked most about France.
Once a powerful nation, once the land of water.
In the era when the Divine Envoys still existed, France’s great mages could summon floods, freeze oceans, and control every drop of the Seine River.
But now?
After the Divine Envoys passed away, France’s magic began to decline.
No one knew why, but the elements here grew thinner, and its mages grew weaker.
Other nations could learn new elements, but the people of France could only cling to the water element, to this ever-weakening power.
“You know, little Furina.”
The old man said to her one night.
“In the era when the Divine Envoys existed, France’s mages could do many things you can’t imagine now.
They could shape water into any form, give it any temperature, even let people breathe underwater and walk on water.”
Furina blinked.
“And now?”
The old man sighed.
“Now?
In all of France, you can’t find more than three sixth-tier mages, and not a single seventh-tier one.
Any Titan Knight from the German can trample Paris.”
Furina was silent for a moment, then asked, “Grandpa, are you sad?”
The old man paused, then smiled.
“Sad about what?
I’ve lived a long life, seen peace and war, glory and decline.
When France was strong, I wasn’t particularly happy; when it declined, I wasn’t particularly sad.
In this life, just being able to live in peace is already not easy.”
He looked down at Furina.
“I only hope you grow up safely, marry a good man, have children, and live an ordinary life.
The future of France is not something a little girl like you should worry about.”
Furina nodded.
She really didn’t want to worry about France’s future; she just wanted to live well.
…
holy calendar 884, winter.
Furina was fourteen.
In those fourteen years, the world hadn’t gotten better.
The German Empire continued to expand, annexing over a dozen small countries to the east.
Britain’s Wyvern Knights occasionally appeared over the continent, causing panic.
Saint Yier Theocracy’s priests preached everywhere, saying the return of the Holy Goddess was near.
Ottoman’s mages were still researching forbidden arts; it was said they had recently sacrificed another village.
Russia’s troll army stirred restlessly at the borders.
China remained mysterious, Japan still distant.
And France?
France still existed.
But only just.
The newly formed French Republic government was deeply corrupt.
Officials thought only of embezzling money and fleeing abroad; the wealthy thought only of colluding with foreign powers to protect their assets.
Life for ordinary people grew harder, prices rose, and public security worsened.
Paris’s streets were full of beggars, the countryside full of bandits.
But Furina’s life was still stable.
The old man had saved some money in his youth, and with his pension from teaching at the university, he had more than enough to support a granddaughter.
They sold the cottage in the suburbs and moved to a relatively safe neighborhood in Paris.
The old man bought a small apartment with a bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, and a balcony facing south.
In winter, sunlight streamed in, warm and cozy.
Furina went to school every day, came home to help cook and clean, listened to the old man’s stories at night, or read on her own.
She learned the language and history of this world, as well as basic arithmetic and common knowledge.
She had no friends, and didn’t really want any.
She always felt she didn’t belong here, and would leave someday.
As for how to leave or where to go, she didn’t know.
That winter was especially cold.
Heavy snow fell on Paris, freezing the Seine River.
Furina came home from school, pushed open the door, and found the old man lying in bed, pale-faced.
“Grandpa?” She walked over.
“What’s wrong?”
The old man opened his eyes, saw her, and smiled.
“Nothing, just a little tired.”
Furina touched his forehead; it was burning hot.
She turned to run out and find a doctor, but the old man called her back.
“Don’t go.” His voice was very soft.
“It’s too late.”
Furina wouldn’t listen.
She ran out anyway, stumbling through the snow for several blocks to find the doctor who usually treated him.
The doctor followed her back, took one look at the old man, and shook his head.
“Prepare for the end.”
Furina was stunned.
That night, the old man held her hand and spoke a lot.
Said the greatest luck of his life was finding her, said watching her grow up made him happier than anything, told her to take good care of herself, said his savings were hidden in an iron box under the bed.
“Furina.”
The old man said at last.
“You are a special child.
I knew it the first time I saw you.”
Furina asked through tears, “Special how?”
“There’s a light in your eyes.”
The old man said.
“That kind of light, I’ve only seen it in the eyes of the divine statue.”
He smiled, then closed his eyes.
“Live well, and keep going.”
The old man’s hand went slack.
Furina held that hand, sitting there all night.
Outside the window, snow continued to fall.
Paris’s winter night was as silent as a grave.
She thought of her parents before transmigration, of the Earth she could never return to.
Now even the only person in this world who was kind to her was gone.
Fourteen-year-old Furina, on that cold winter night, felt true loneliness for the first time.