ã€ŠThe Eclipsed Sonã€‹


 Prologue | Day 0: The Fall

    The rain feels like needles against my skin, each drop carrying the weight of everything I couldn¡¯t bear. The knife in my hand feels heavier now, like it knows what it¡¯s done. The blood, once vivid and accusing, fades into the rain, washing away as if it never existed.

    I stare down at the raging water below. The waves crash against the bridge¡¯s pillars with a force that seems alive, like they¡¯re calling me. The height doesn¡¯t scare me anymore. Nothing does. I¡¯m ready. This is it.

    Even if someone screamed at me to stop, begged me to step away from the edge, it wouldn¡¯t matter. Their words would just be noise, lost in the storm. I¡¯ve already made up my mind. My life¡¯s been shredded too many times, and I¡¯m done picking up the pieces. Done pretending things can get better when I know they won¡¯t.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    It¡¯s not anger that brought me here, not really. It¡¯s something worse¡ªenvy. I envy the people who hurt me, how easily they brushed it all off and moved on while I stayed stuck. Stuck in the guilt, the shame, the endless loop of ¡°what ifs¡± and ¡°why me?¡±

    The truth is, I thought I could handle the pain. I thought I was strong enough. But strength doesn¡¯t mean much when the weight never lets up. They say pain makes you stronger, but no one warns you that it can hollow you out, make you feel like nothing inside you is real anymore.

    I¡¯m a failure, I know that. But maybe this is the one thing I can succeed at. Maybe there¡¯s peace waiting for me at the bottom, a place where I don¡¯t have to keep pretending I¡¯m okay. A place where I belong.

    And yet¡­ just for a moment, I wish things were different. I wish I could live like everyone else¡ªlaughing with friends, feeling safe, loved, normal. I wish I could feel my parents¡¯ warmth again, the kind of love that makes you believe everything will be okay. But I know I¡¯ll never have that. Not again. Not ever.

    The wind howls louder, the rain pelting harder, as if the world itself wants to push me off. I tighten my grip on the knife, but my hands are trembling now. I can¡¯t tell if it¡¯s the cold or something else.

    I closed my eyes.

    "Goodnight."

 Chapter 1: Beginning Of Hell

    I didn¡¯t have that loving parents anymore. My dad was an alcoholic, deep into it, the kind you couldn¡¯t reach no matter how hard you tried. My mom? She left. Took me with her, and for a while, I thought maybe things would get better. But then came my stepdad. At first, he seemed okay, like maybe this was a chance at a fresh start. But soon, his anger turned into fists and shouting, and I couldn¡¯t even tell my mom. I didn¡¯t know how to, or maybe I just didn¡¯t think she¡¯d believe me.

    Even back then, I knew I wasn¡¯t a normal kid. I couldn¡¯t pretend like everything was fine. The cracks in my family didn¡¯t just break me¡ªthey showed in everything I did. No matter how much I tried to act like everyone else, it was always there, just beneath the surface.

    On top of that, I was half-blind. My left eye didn¡¯t work at all. I didn¡¯t know what it was at first, but one day at school, I snuck into the computer lab and looked it up. It was something called hemianopia, a condition where you lose half your vision. Sometimes it was temporary, but for me, it had been nearly ten years. At first, it was impossible to adjust¡ªI kept bumping into things or missing people standing on my left side. But eventually, I got used to it. At least, as much as anyone could.

    High school was when things really started to fall apart. I¡¯d just transferred to a new school, and I still remember the way my stomach churned when my teacher asked me to introduce myself. I stood in front of the class, trying to keep it short, but I could already hear the whispers.

    As I walked to the empty seat in the back, the murmurs got louder.

    ¡°Look at his eye. It¡¯s like he¡¯s wearing some weird contact lens,¡± someone muttered.

    ¡°What? Is he trying to look cool or something?¡± another voice said, followed by stifled laughter.

    Then a boy tapped my shoulder. I froze for a second before turning to him. ¡°Hey, is that, like, a new trend?¡± he asked, pointing at my gray, blind eye.

    I hesitated, my throat tightening, but I managed to say it. ¡°I¡¯m half-blind. My left eye doesn¡¯t work.¡±

    For a moment, he just stared, like he didn¡¯t know what to say. I thought maybe he understood. But after lunch, it was like everyone in class had heard. Some of them were just curious, giving my eye long, awkward glances. I could handle that. But others? They looked at me like I was some kind of freak, their stares full of judgment, disgust, and something else I couldn¡¯t quite place.

    The worst part was the laughter, the way some of them whispered and snickered whenever I walked by. Even the ones who didn¡¯t say anything still made me feel like I didn¡¯t belong. Like I¡¯d never belong.

    It wasn¡¯t just my eye they were laughing at¡ªit was me.

    Back then, the only thing I was really good at was being shy. Awkward, quiet, and weird¡ªthat was me. It wasn¡¯t something I chose, but it became my armor. Hiding in plain sight was the only thing I knew how to do.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    When we moved into the new house, it didn¡¯t feel like a fresh start. It felt like I was being erased. I couldn¡¯t blame my mom for wanting to be happy, but seeing her with her new husband was like watching her build a new life that didn¡¯t have room for me. He didn¡¯t like me from the start, and it only got worse over time. He had his own son, and slowly, I watched my mom grow closer to him. She treated him like he was her real child.

    At first, I told myself it was fine, that it didn¡¯t matter. But then came the little things that chipped away at me. Like how they¡¯d sit together at the dining table, laughing and talking like a perfect family, while I sat alone in the living room. I¡¯d listen to their voices, trying not to let it hurt, but it always did.

    His new husband had a way of comparing me to his son, subtle but sharp enough to leave scars. ¡°You¡¯re really great, son. I¡¯m so proud of you. You¡¯ve got so much potential.¡± He¡¯d beam over some award his son won, showering him with praise. I had my own award from the same school, but I didn¡¯t bother showing it. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to ruin their perfect moment. My mom was happy, and if staying quiet kept her that way, I was willing to do it.

    At school, my first year as a transfer student wasn¡¯t terrible. People were curious about my half-blind eye, some amazed, some laughing, but I learned to deal with it. When vacation rolled around, I decided I¡¯d had enough of just surviving. I wanted to change. I needed to.

    I started small. Going out more, not just to escape the house but to push myself. I began jogging in the mornings, even saying hi to strangers as I passed. At first, it was a disaster. People barely noticed me, and when they did, it felt like they were judging me. But I kept going. Little by little, I got used to it. I used to be so insecure about my nose and lips, always trying to hide them. But after a while, I realized people didn¡¯t care. They¡¯d look at you, maybe for a second, and then they¡¯d move on. It wasn¡¯t as deep as I made it out to be.

    I also started studying more, even during the break. I threw myself into books, determined to come back stronger.

    When my second year began, I noticed the difference. I looked healthier, more confident. I could hold conversations without stuttering, without feeling like I had to shrink away. I aced my classes that semester, surprising even myself.

    I even met someone I considered my first real friend. I met him after I started to improve myself slowly.

    We¡¯d hang out after school, talking about the most random stuff¡ªmovies, music, or whatever came to mind. He taught me how to be silly, how to let loose. We will be running down the pavement, laughing like maniacs, flipping off passing cars with both hands raised high.

    ¡°Dude, get your finger higher! It looks cooler!¡± he¡¯d yell, grinning like he didn¡¯t care who saw us.

    ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± I¡¯d mutter, pretending to hate it. But inside? I felt alive. It was the first time I wasn¡¯t hiding behind my awkwardness or trying to blend into the background. For once, I was just... me.

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s better! Hahaha! Let¡¯s keep going!¡± he¡¯d shout as we ran toward the park, our middle fingers still up.

    The truth was, my ¡°friend¡± wasn¡¯t someone else¡ªit was me. I was finally letting myself be free, and it felt incredible.

    ¡°This is amazing!¡± I shouted, jumping in place at the park, my heart pounding with excitement. For the first time, I felt like things were starting to fall into place. My confidence, my habits, even my relationships¡ªthey were all improving. Life was finally giving me a break.

    But life has a way of reminding you that the climb up is never easy. There¡¯s always someone waiting to pull you back down.

    ¡°Wassup, you weirdo.¡±

    The voice cut through my celebration. I stand there, turning to see who it was.

    It was a guy from my class, the one who always sat in the back, quiet but smug. After school, I¡¯d see him with his group, sneaking cigarettes or causing trouble around the near streets. He was the kind of guy you didn¡¯t want to mess with.

    ¡°What a coincidence seeing you up here,¡± he said, his smirk widening. ¡°I thought your mom locked you in the basement or something.¡± His laugh was loud.

    I forced a small smile, thinking I could just walk away, but then I noticed another figure stepping in front of me. He was tall¡ªway taller than me¡ªand he didn¡¯t look like a student at all. His clothes were rough, his face hard, like someone who¡¯d seen and caused his share of fights.

    Panic. My legs felt like they were stuck to the ground, my mind racing with questions I didn¡¯t want answers to. What did they want? Were they just here to mess with me, or was it something worse?

    Deep down, I knew. This wasn¡¯t just trouble. This was the beginning of something that would drag me back into the darkness I¡¯d fought so hard to escape.

 Chapter 2: The Day I Died

    "Don''t go. We¡¯ll have fun, I promise," Lucas said, his voice light and inviting.

    He threw his arm over my shoulder like we were old friends. For a moment, I felt relief. Maybe this was just harmless. Maybe they weren¡¯t as bad as they seemed.

    Then he pulled something out of his pocket. "Look at this," he said, holding up a pack of cigarettes. "Let¡¯s smoke, yeah?"

    Before I could respond, his friends formed a circle around me, their voices chiming in like a chant. "Just one, come on! Just one!"

    Lucas smiled, holding out a cigarette. "Here. It¡¯s no big deal."

    "I don¡¯t smoke," I said, my voice shaky but polite. "I¡¯m... I¡¯m sorry." I tried to stay calm. I knew better than to offend them, but the last thing I wanted was to put that thing anywhere near my mouth.

    Lucas raised an eyebrow. "It¡¯s just one. What¡¯s it gonna do to you?" His friends nodded, egging me on like this was some kind of initiation.

    I hated smoke. I hated everything about it. The smell, the taste, the way it clung to you. My dad used to smoke all the time when he was drunk, shoving cigarettes in my face and telling me to "be a man" and try it. I¡¯d always say no, and he¡¯d just click his tongue in disappointment before lighting up himself.

    "Come on," the tall guy said, his deep voice cutting through the noise. "Just try it."

    Lucas pushed the cigarette closer to my face. I wanted to back away, but his friends were blocking me in. I hesitated, thinking maybe if I just took one puff, they¡¯d leave me alone.

    With a shaky hand, I grabbed the cigarette. "I thought you were a weirdo!" Lucas shouted, laughing. "But you¡¯re awesome after all!"

    Their laughter erupted as I brought the cigarette to my lips. I took a hesitant inhale, and immediately, my throat burned. I coughed uncontrollably, my chest heaving as I doubled over. "Hack! Hack! Kuhhh-kuhhh!"

    "WAHAHAHAH!" Their laughter was deafening, echoing around me. Lucas wiped tears from his eyes, barely able to stand. "Do it again! Come on, try it again!"

    He picked up the cigarette from the ground, brushing it off like it was a prized possession, and shoved it toward me.

    "I already did one," I said, my voice small, the taste still burning on my tongue. It was awful¡ªbitter and disgusting, like ash mixed with regret.

    "Just one more," Lucas said, his grin wide, his tone almost daring.

    I shook my head, feeling trapped, humiliated, and utterly powerless. "I need to go home." I said.

    "Come on, let your bitch mom wait. Just finish this one, and you¡¯re good," Lucas sneered, shoving the cigarette toward my mouth.

    I didn¡¯t care about the cigarette anymore. But when he said that about my mom¡ªsomething even my drunk, angry father had never dared to say¡ªit hit a nerve I didn¡¯t know I had.

    Thwack.

    In my mind, I saw it all: my fist connecting with his face, the shock in his eyes as I grabbed his head and drove my knee into his gut. I imagined him crumpling to the ground while I kept hitting him, punch after punch, until he begged for mercy.

    But none of that happened.

    Instead, I just stood there, shaking with rage and fear. My fists clenched, my teeth grinding together, but no words came out. I wanted to fight back so badly, but I was terrified¡ªof him, his friends, and whatever consequences would follow.

    So I did the only thing I could. I inhaled the cigarette, forcing it down in one long drag, and tried to keep my coughs to a minimum.

    "THAT¡¯S IT!" Lucas shouted, clapping his hands like he¡¯d just seen the performance of a lifetime.

    "Woah, woah!" one of his friends said.

    "He¡¯s quick," another muttered, their voices buzzing around me like flies.

    I finished the cigarette, my throat burning, my lungs screaming for air. But the worst pain was inside. I didn¡¯t care that I smoked¡ªI cared that I¡¯d let him insult my mom and did nothing. I¡¯d failed her, and I¡¯d failed myself.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "That¡¯s great," Lucas said, grinning like a devil. "Now we¡¯ve gotta do this every day after school, huh? You¡¯ll hang out with us. What do you think?"

    I didn¡¯t answer. I couldn¡¯t. But I didn¡¯t say no either, and that was enough for them.

    From that day on, I became their plaything. Lucas and his friends started using me for everything. They¡¯d demand I bring them money or food, force me to smoke every day, and eventually, I started drinking too. All the good habits I¡¯d built¡ªjogging, studying, working on myself¡ªthey crumbled into nothing.

    I even started talking back to my mom. I hated myself for it, but it was like the more I hung out with them, the more I became like them.

    Every day after school, we¡¯d hang out. I¡¯d watch them torment kids and random strangers, bullying them, beating them up, sometimes even spitting on them. At first, it made me sick. But as time passed, I got used to it. It became normal.

    Eventually, they made me join in. Kicking someone when they were already on the ground, shoving them, laughing as they cried¡ªI hated it. But I also felt... powerful. Stronger than I¡¯d ever felt before.

    We started stealing too. Money, phones, whatever we could grab. I stopped caring about school completely. Even on weekends, I hung out with them. We¡¯d waste hours at the arcade or just roaming the streets, pretending we owned the world.

    It was like I¡¯d become someone else. Someone who didn¡¯t have to worry about my broken family, my stepdad, or my failures. When I was with them, I wasn¡¯t the awkward kid with no friends. I was dangerous.

    But then they started to change. Lucas and his friends, the same people I thought I could trust¡ªeven if just a little¡ªbegan turning on me. At first, it was subtle. They¡¯d make me clean up their messes, force me to carry their stuff, or shove me harder than usual during their so-called ¡°friendly punches.¡±

    But then it escalated. They began focusing their attention on me. They demanded more money, more cigarettes, more of everything. And when I couldn¡¯t deliver, they¡¯d beat me senseless.

    "Don¡¯t be mad at us," Lucas said once, his tone casual like we were still friends. "This is just normal, considering you didn¡¯t bring anything valuable today."

    Then came the kicks¡ªsharp, brutal kicks to my back. I curled up on the ground, shielding my stomach as best I could, but it wasn¡¯t enough.

    That¡¯s when the thought hit me: I could fight back. I could throw a punch at Lucas, hit him in the face, and let the chips fall where they may.

    But then fear took over.

    "Be sure to bring money tomorrow," Lucas said, towering over me as I lay on the ground, barely conscious.

    The same things they used to do to other people¡ªbeating them up, kicking them while they cried for help¡ªwere now happening to me. Lucas spat on my shirt, laughing as he muttered, "Fuck you, blind weirdo."

    And then, the dreaded ¡°tomorrow¡± came. I still couldn¡¯t bring him anything. My mom wouldn¡¯t give me money, and when I swallowed my pride and begged my stepdad, he just scoffed.

    "Are you doing drugs or something?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing at my deteriorating appearance.

    I didn¡¯t recognize myself anymore. My face looked gaunt, my body thin, my hygiene unkempt because I no longer cared enough to even clean myself. I was consumed by the need to scrape together enough money to avoid another beating.

    "Fuck!" Lucas screamed, biting his nails in frustration as I stood empty-handed. "Why don¡¯t you just bring me my money?"

    His obsession with money made me want to snap. If I had cash, I¡¯d shove it in his face and punch him until he couldn¡¯t stand. But I didn¡¯t have any. And even if I did, I wouldn¡¯t have the guts to fight back.

    "Come here," Lucas said, motioning me toward the center of their group. His grin was a mix of mockery and menace. "You ready for your punishment?"

    The tall guy stepped forward, his fists the size of bricks.

    "Give him ten punches to the stomach," Lucas ordered, his voice cold.

    I tried to brace myself, but it was useless. The punches came hard and fast, each one worse than the last. I couldn¡¯t stop the blood from rising in my throat. By the fifth punch, I was vomiting blood, my body collapsing under the pain.

    They saw it. They saw the blood, but they didn¡¯t stop. They just kept going.

    When I got home that day, I looked worse than ever. My mom immediately came up to me, worry etched on her face.

    ¡°Are you really doing drugs?¡± she asked, her voice shaky, almost pleading

    I didn¡¯t answer. I just walked past her and headed to my room, shutting the door behind me. I didn¡¯t have the energy or the will to explain. I dropped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as the pain in my stomach throbbed.

    That¡¯s when the thought of suicide crept into my mind. What if I just ended it all right here? Wouldn¡¯t it be easier than living like this? Was it normal for high schoolers to feel this way, to experience this kind of hell?

    But then the questions came, relentless and unkind. Why didn¡¯t anyone care? Why didn¡¯t the teachers stop it? Why didn¡¯t anyone stand up and help me?

    But then I thought, Maybe it¡¯s my fault.

    I never spoke up about it. I never tried to ask for help. And I wasn¡¯t innocent either. I¡¯d punched someone for fun once becasue of Lucas and his friends, and it felt good. Maybe this was karma. Maybe I deserved everything that was happening to me.

    ¡°This is... really... f-fucked up,¡± I stuttered, tears streaming down my face. I cried myself to sleep that night, I never expect to rain so much that night.

    Then came the day my stepdad finally had enough.

    ¡°You¡¯re affecting us! You really.. I warned you and I had enough,¡± he said coldly, glaring at me like I was a stain he couldn¡¯t wait to clean off.

    I stood there, frozen, while my mom stayed silent. She didn¡¯t argue, didn¡¯t defend me and I understand why. All she did was tap me on the back as if to say goodbye.

    I packed my things quietly, the weight of their rejection crushing me. When I walked out the door, my mom didn¡¯t even look back.

    From that moment on, I was alone. I stopped going to school entirely. There was no point. I had no home, no family, and no future. I started smoking on my own, not because of anyone else, but because I wanted to. I drank whenever I could scrape together enough spare change.

    No one controlled me anymore. But the freedom felt empty. I was out on the streets, where peace was a joke. The constant noise, the chaos, and the unexpected dangers were my new reality.

    It wasn¡¯t a life. It was survival. And even that felt like too much.

    When I thought I was finally free from Lucas and his grip on my life, I saw them again. They were walking toward where I had been sleeping that night.

    "There you are, you rat," Lucas sneered, flanked by four guys.

    The fear came rushing back like a wave, suffocating and paralyzing me. Trauma wrapped around me like chains, pulling me into the familiar hopelessness. But this time, something felt different. I remembered: I had no one. No family, no home, no future. If I died, no one would care. That thought cleared my mind in the most unsettling way.

    Lucas pointed at me like I was a dog. "Come over here," he commanded, his tone dripping with mockery.

    I¡¯ll end you. I¡¯ll make you suffer. You deserve this. Those were the only thoughts in my mind as I started walking toward him. The other guys were too far back to intervene if I acted quickly.

    "Walk faster, you shitface," Lucas snapped, his arrogance oozing from every word.

    "Smoke with m¡ª"

    Thwack.

    Lucas¡¯s words were cut short.

    I had my knife. I didn¡¯t even know when I picked it up¡ªa random find while wandering the streets, something I thought might be useful for protection. I never imagined using it. But now, it was in my hand, and I¡¯d slashed it across Lucas¡¯s face.

    Blood poured from his eyes as he screamed, his hands clutching at his face in sheer agony. My plan had been simple: blind him. Maybe even slash his neck after. But the moment I saw the blood dripping from the blade, reality hit me like a freight train.

    Lucas dropped to his knees, screaming, cursing, crying. I stared at the knife in my hand, my grip shaking. Blood dripped onto the ground, and for a moment, everything around me went silent.

    I didn¡¯t think. I just ran.

    I darted into the shadows, through alleys and dark corners, gripping the bloodied knife like it was my lifeline. My heart raced so fast it felt like it might burst, but my mind was eerily calm, almost numb.

    Fear coursed through me, sharp and cold.

    But underneath that fear, something darker simmered.

    Excitement.

    Contentment.

    For the first time, I didn¡¯t feel powerless. For the first time, I fought back.

 Chapter 3: Where Am I?

    Huff.

    Huff.

    Huff.

    I kept running, my chest burning as the rain started falling, light at first, then heavier with every step I took. I kept glancing back, expecting them to chase me, to come after me. But there was no one. Just me, alone in the storm.

    I reached the bridge, my feet heavy, my breath ragged. The rain mixed with the sweat and blood on my skin, washing it all away like it didn¡¯t even matter.

    "Ha... HAHAHAHAHA!"

    I laughed so hard it hurt, a hollow sound that echoed into the emptiness around me. I didn¡¯t even know why. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all¡ªhow my life had turned into a nightmare so quickly. Just yesterday, I was celebrating my growth, feeling like I was finally becoming someone worth being proud of. And now? Everything was shattered.

    I walked to the edge of the bridge, gripping the cold metal railing with trembling hands. The knife was still in my hand, blood dripping off its edge and mixing with the rain. I looked down at the water below, dark and huge waves, swirling with the storm.

    "It¡¯s clear," I muttered, my voice almost blocked by the sound of rain.

    I took a shaky breath and stepped onto the peak of the bridge, the rain stinging my skin. Raising my arms out to the sides, I felt the weight of everything crushing down on me¡ªthe fear, the regrets, the pain I¡¯d been carrying for years.

    "I''m pathetic," I said, laughing bitterly.

    The thought of jumping off felt... simple. One step and it¡¯d all be over. No more pain, no more fear, no more trying to figure out why life felt like one endless cycle of being beaten down. But then the questions started flooding in.

    What if I¡¯d fought back earlier? What if I had just said no? What if I hadn¡¯t been so afraid? Would my life be different? Would I still be here?

    But it didn¡¯t matter now. It was too late.

    I stepped forward.

    The water, it was painful jumping from that height. The impact shocked every nerve in my body, and my lungs burned as water filled them. I thrashed, desperate for air, for anything to hold onto, but the river pulled me down.

    This is what you wanted, I told myself. But as my body fought to stay alive, I realized how much I hated it¡ªhated the feeling of suffocating, hated how helpless I was.

    I couldn¡¯t stop thinking. About the things I never got to do, the potential I¡¯d thrown away, the way I let everyone and everything walk all over me.

    If I had another chance, I¡¯d fight. I¡¯d fight for myself, for my happiness. I wouldn¡¯t let fear control me anymore.

    But it was too late for regrets. My vision blurred, my lungs tightened, and my thoughts faded.

    I sank, feeling like trash being swallowed by the deep.

    Then, through the darkness, a bright orb appeared, glowing faintly. It moved toward me quickly, cutting through the water like a comet. My vision was fading, but I saw it¡ªjust barely¡ªbefore my mind went blank.

    And then...

    Clink.

    [You are being reincarnated.]

    [Searching for a host...]

    [Failed.]

    [Searching for another...]

    [Failed.]

    [Searching for another host...]

    [Failed.]If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    [Searching in another world...]

    Clink.

    [100% Success & Compatibility.]

    Clink.

    [Preparing for takeover...]

    [Success.]

    I didn¡¯t hear all of it, not clearly, but I heard enough. Reincarnated? That was impossible. I didn¡¯t believe it¡ªor at least, I didn¡¯t want to. But when I woke up, the proof was all around me.

    I can see, my left eye can see clearly.

    And I wasn¡¯t dead.

    I blinked. The air was damp and cold. The walls around me were made of rough, gray stone, and the room was small¡ªtiny, really. There was nothing but a thin bed, a bucket, and shadows.

    A jail cell.

    I sat up, my body aching in unfamiliar ways. Scars lined my arms and chest, deep and jagged, like a roadmap of pain. Some were thin and straight, knife wounds by the look of them. Others were rougher, like burns or whip marks.

    Who is this guy?

    I glanced around, catching sight of a violet leaf on the bed. Beside it, a dark stain on the ground¡ªdried blood and vomit. My stomach twisted. He looked like he poisoned himself or someone poisoned him.

    I tried to stand, but as soon as I moved, a sharp spark of pain shot through my skull. It was like someone had taken a hammer to my brain. I grabbed my head and let out a low groan, my knees buckling under the pressure.

    "Arrgh..."

    Then it came to me¡ªwaves of memories that weren¡¯t mine, crashing into my mind like a strong flood. Faces, voices, places I¡¯d never seen before. The pain eased, but the memories didn¡¯t stop.

    That¡¯s when I learned his name. The name of this man.

    Zachary. Zachary Hale.

    The second-youngest son of a duke, a noble born into wealth and privilege¡ªbut, as the memories showed me, that didn¡¯t mean much. Zachary was a disappointment to his family. Talentless, they called him. Useless. He¡¯d trained, sure¡ªhis body wasn¡¯t completely soft¡ªbut it was clear his efforts had never been enough to earn anyone¡¯s respect.

    And now, I was in his body.

    I felt excitement at first. Living again? Fully breathing and feeling alive? That was a feeling I can''t even explain! I could finally live a better life, maybe even fix some of the mistakes that ruined me before.

    But then reality set in.

    I was in jail.

    The memories filled in the gaps quickly. A week ago, Zachary had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He stumbled across a rebel meeting¡ªmen and women plotting against the king¡ªand before he could explain himself, he was thrown into jail. Worse, his family had done nothing to help him.

    Suspected of treason.

    It didn¡¯t matter that he was innocent. I thought being noble meant everything but when those memories come crashing to me, I learned that being noble meant nothing if your own family didn¡¯t stand by you.

    I knew I had to stop reacting like I always did before. Reacting out of fear or anger never worked. This time, I had to think. Plan.

    I had to get out of here.

    But how?

    It wasn¡¯t like I could break out. I had to prove that I was innocent, that I was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The truth should¡¯ve been enough, but no one was listening. I was stuck, and this wasn¡¯t going to be easy.

    I needed to think, and I needed to do it fast. Fear couldn¡¯t control me this time. But as I tried to focus, I heard footsteps.

    Thud-thud-thud.

    They were getting closer, and my heart raced. I wasn¡¯t ready for whatever was coming next, but there was no stopping it now.

    A man appeared in front of my cell. He was huge, tall, broad, with a thick black beard and hair. His military uniform looked too big on him, but the way he carried himself showed power. Confidence.

    He grinned when he saw me. ¡°Yo, didn¡¯t expect you to look so relaxed in there,¡± he said, like he was enjoying it.

    I couldn¡¯t tell if he was mocking me or just being smug. Either way, his presence made the tension in the air even thicker.

    ¡°You gotta step out for a moment,¡± he said. ¡°Your interrogation¡¯s starting.¡±

    I stood up and walked towards the door. It felt like the world had narrowed down to just me and him. I was about to be interrogated.

    He unlocked the cell, and as I stepped outside, I felt how much smaller I was compared to him. He could¡¯ve easily crushed me if he wanted to. His presence felt like a wall of muscle and authority.

    The word ¡°interrogation¡± stuck in my mind. I had no idea what to expect, but one thing was certain: I had to stay calm. I needed to answer their questions without giving anything away. Prove I was innocent.

    This wasn¡¯t just my chance to escape¡ªI had to prove I wasn¡¯t guilty of treason. But I¡¯d never been interrogated before. I didn¡¯t know how it worked. I had to think carefully, because one wrong move could be the end of everything.

    I just had to hold it together.

    Thud-thud-thud.

    Thud-thud-thud.

    The sound of footsteps echoed through the cold hallway, getting louder with each step. We passed by a few cells, some prisoners barely clinging to life, others just sleeping, lost in their own world. The constant thud-thud-thud was like a countdown, each step pulling me deeper into whatever fate awaited me.

    Creak.

    The door opened, and I stepped into a room that looked too clean for a place like this. A large, chubby guy sat at a desk, grinning like he knew everything.

    "So, it''s gonna be interrogation time, huh, Mr. Hale?" he said, his voice almost mocking.

    I didn¡¯t reply, just walked past him and took a seat. I wasn¡¯t about to let him get to me.

    "Your father must be in a rage," he added, smirking as if the thought amused him.

    Before I could even think of responding, the tall, muscular man with me pointed at the chubby guy. "Do me a favor, and leave the room already."

    The chubby guy didn¡¯t argue. "Fine. Just be quick with that," he muttered, standing up and leaving the room.

    Now it was just me and the big guy. His presence was overwhelming, like he could break me with a single look. I sat across from him, trying to keep my breathing steady. The table between us felt like it was miles wide.

    "Alright," he said, leaning forward. "I know you¡¯re a noble, but let me tell you something¡ªnobles are plastic. They¡¯re snakes. I don¡¯t like liars. If I catch you lying, I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re executed. And I¡¯ve got the power to make that happen."

    I wasn¡¯t sure if he was just trying to scare me or if he really would do it. Either way, I wasn¡¯t about to show fear. I nodded, trying to hide the chill running down my spine.

    "What? Are you deaf?" he snapped suddenly, his voice booming, filling the small room. "I need answers, damn it!"

    I flinched at his shout, my ears ringing, but I quickly pulled myself together. This wasn¡¯t the time to crumble. "Y...yes!" I stammered, forcing myself to look him in the eye.

    He stared at me for a long moment, as if waiting for me to break. When I didn¡¯t, he asked, "Why were you at the location where the rebels were meeting?"

    If I wasn¡¯t careful, I could say the wrong thing and everything could fall apart. I had to stay calm. I thought back to the memories of this body¡¯s original owner¡ªZachary Hale. He had been meeting with a swordsmith. Simple, no political connection, no rebel ties.

    "I was about to meet a swordsmith," I said, my voice steady.

    He didn¡¯t buy it. "A swordsmith?" He laughed, shaking his head. "Why would a swordsmith meet you on an open street? Swordsmiths have shops. Why would he want to meet in a place like that?"

    I knew this was coming. He was trying to poke holes in my story. "I¡¯m telling the truth. Check my record¡ªyou¡¯ll see I¡¯ve never been involved in any kind of political movement or rebellion. And I was there for only five minutes before the guards showed up. If I was a rebel, why would I risk being caught?"

    I could feel my heart racing as I spoke. Was he buying it? Or was I digging myself deeper?

    But he wasn¡¯t done. "And you aren¡¯t suspicious of this swordsmith? Why would he meet you in such a hidden, dark place? Doesn¡¯t that seem strange to you?"

    "I think it¡¯s a setup," I said, forcing myself to sound calm, but inside I was freaking out. Someone had to be framing me. It made too much sense.

    The big guy chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "You¡¯re reaching, aren¡¯t you? Trying to talk your way out of this. It¡¯s pathetic."

    I wasn¡¯t backing down. "Have you searched my belongings?" I shot back, my voice sharp.

    He stopped, clearly taken aback by my question. "No. But we will. After this. We¡¯ll go straight and check the Hale estate."

    The thing was, I had to talk my way out of this. If I could keep answering their questions and stall them long enough, they¡¯d eventually check my belongings. And once they saw there was no proof to link me to the rebellion, they¡¯d have to let me go. At least, that¡¯s what I was hoping for.

 Chapter 4: Bond

    They threw me back into the cell, telling me to wait until they were done checking all possible evidence.

    I didn¡¯t argue. Instead, I told them to find some vendors¡ªpeople who might¡¯ve seen me in that five-minute window before the guards showed up. Someone had to have noticed. A witness could be my best shot at proving my innocence.

    It was different this time. Back on Earth, I¡¯d been the type to just sit there and let things happen, but now? Now I was determined to act, to fight for my survival. I couldn¡¯t let myself get swallowed by fear again. Not here.

    But as I lay on the hard, cold bed in the cell, those thoughts started to slip away. The mattress felt more like a slab of stone, with no blanket to soften the chill. Still, I figured it was better than being out on the streets. At least here, I had a roof over my head and the muffled sounds of other prisoners to remind me I wasn¡¯t completely alone.

    Sleep didn¡¯t come. My mind kept spinning, trying to piece things together, trying to understand. I thought about the memories of this body¡ªthe memories of him.

    This world wasn¡¯t like Earth. It wasn¡¯t just another time or place; it was something entirely different. A world where magic existed, where swordsmen fought for power and status, and where everything seemed tied to something called myogen.

    The word echoed in my head, over and over. Myogen. The lifeblood of this world. It flowed through everything¡ªpeople, animals, even the land itself. It wasn¡¯t magic, but magic could manipulate it. It was... something deeper. A force that connected vitality, spirit, and will.

    It was strange how much this guy had focused on myogen in his memories. It wasn¡¯t just knowledge to him¡ªit was almost like an obsession. Maybe it was because of what it represented: a bridge between physical strength and something far more profound. People used it to wield incredible abilities, things that went beyond what I¡¯d ever thought possible. And yet, it wasn¡¯t just about power¡ªit was balance. Control.

    Myogen was the backbone of this world, a strange force that blended physical strength and metaphysical influence. From what I could see, it was more than just energy¡ªit was a bridge. Something that allowed people to do extraordinary things while still keeping the balance of this sword-and-sorcery reality intact.

    It didn¡¯t make sense why this was the clearest memory I¡¯d inherited from this body, but it stood out like a flashing warning sign in my mind.

    ¡°Hah! Another life huh?¡± I muttered, staring at my hand as I lay on the stiff bed.

    Then it appeared.

    Clink.

    A faint, metallic sound. It wasn¡¯t from outside the cell. It was closer¡ªinside. And it was eerily familiar. My mind raced as the sound appeared again.

    Clink.

    Clink.

    I knew it, this was the same sound I¡¯d heard when I drowned. My chest tightened, and I stand up from the bed.

    Crack.

    Out of nowhere, something dropped from above. A massive egg, larger than anything I¡¯d seen before, landed on the floor right in front of me. It was the size of an ostrich egg but strange, almost glowing faintly in the dim light of the cell.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°WHAT THE¡ª!¡±

    ¡°Hey, shut up! Some of us are trying to sleep!¡± a prisoner barked from another cell.

    I ignored him, too stunned to care. My heart pounded as I stared at the egg, which had already cracked open on impact. The shell was jagged and split, but when I looked inside, there was nothing. No creature. No slime. Just... emptiness.

    I stumbled back, instincts screaming at me to get as far away as possible. ¡°What the hell is this?¡± I whispered to myself, my voice shaking.

    I saw it.

    From the shadows, two violet eyes emerged, glowing faintly in the dark. They blinked, slow and deliberate, and locked onto me.

    It was alive.

    And it was creepy.

    A second later, the glowing violet eyes disappeared. I felt a small wave of relief, but deep down, I knew it was still there. Maybe it just closed its eyes.

    ¡°HOOOOOO!¡±

    The sudden shout sent a jolt through my chest. It wasn¡¯t just loud¡ªit was sharp, almost unnatural. Before I could process it, something jumped at me.

    ¡°What the¡ª!¡± I hissed under my breath, trying not to shout too loud.

    It was right in front of me now, and it wasn¡¯t what I expected. I had braced myself for something monstrous¡ªa dinosaur hybrid or some kind of terrifying creature¡ªbut no. What I saw was... small.

    It looked like a tiny, shadowy fox. Its fur was pitch-black, and those violet eyes were even more striking up close. It looked almost harmless, but something about it felt... off.

    ¡°Human!¡± it said in a high-pitched, childlike voice that matched its size.

    I blinked, staring at it in disbelief. My mind struggled to keep up. ¡°What are you?¡± I asked cautiously, half-expecting it not to understand me.

    ¡°Your bond!¡± it said proudly, its voice brimming with excitement.

    Bond? The word didn¡¯t make sense to me. It was the first time I¡¯d heard it in this context. I frowned. ¡°Bond?¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± It nodded, its little head bouncing up and down. ¡°I¡¯m your bond!¡±

    I still didn¡¯t understand. Shaking my head, I tried again. ¡°Sorry, but what¡¯s a bond?¡±

    ¡°A companion!¡± it said, its voice practically bubbling with excitement.

    My initial shock shifted to amazement. I studied it more closely, taking in its small, delicate frame and glowing eyes. It was undeniably cute, but there was something about it¡ªsomething dangerous¡ªlurking just beneath the surface.

    "Like a pet?" I asked.

    "Yup!" It nodded, its small, sharp teeth showing as it grinned.

    It explained to me that it wasn¡¯t just any bond¡ªit was a soul bond. There were different types of bonds, it said, but this one was special. A soul bond meant our souls were intertwined, creating a pact that tied us together.

    It went on to explain the different bonds.

    Magical Bonds: Formed through magic.

    Elemental Bonds: Linked to elemental forces like fire, water, earth, or air.

    Blood Bonds: Created through blood, often passed down through heritage or family.

    Life Bonds: A bond where if one gets hurt, the other feels it too.

    Destiny Bonds: A connection tied to prophecy or fate, often linked to some grand purpose.

    Emotional Bonds: Non-magical but incredibly strong, built through shared experiences, loyalty, or love.

    I listened, trying to process everything it said.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked after a while. I¡¯d started to feel a little more comfortable around it. We were sitting on the hard, cold bed, and I found myself tapping its small head lightly as I spoke.

    "I don''t have one," it said with a yawn. "But you can give me one."

    I had no idea what to name it.

    This was my first time having a pet, let alone one that could talk and understand me. It was overwhelming at first, but it started to feel a little more natural¡ªstill, naming it? That was a whole new level of pressure.

    "Are you a boy or a girl?" I asked.

    It looked at me like I¡¯d just insulted its entire family. "A girl!" it said, with a tone that seemed way too happy for my comfort. Maybe it was just me, but it felt like if I messed this up, I might end up as its next meal. You know, just casually eaten for asking the wrong question.

    Hmmm.

    What should I name her? She was a girl, so that narrowed it down a little.

    Foxy Brown? Nah, doesn¡¯t fit. She had black fur, so maybe Foxy Black? Nope. Biscuit? Ugh, I kept thinking of terrible names. What about Foxy Cleopatra? That sounded cool, right?

    "Do you like Foxy Cleopatra? Or just Cleopatra?" I asked her, but she gave me a look like I¡¯d just suggested naming her after a used sock.

    She raised one little paw, making some dramatic pose. I didn¡¯t expect her to be so picky. But, yeah, naming a pet that could talk was a whole new level of stress. It could actually judge me if I gave her a terrible name.

    "Maybe... Darky?"

    She gave me a disappointed look that could freeze fire.

    "Marlo?"

    She glared.

    "Gina?"

    She turned her head.

    "Marla?"

    She gave the most dramatic ¡°Nope¡± look ever.

    "Okay, okay. What about... Nix?"

    She stopped, blinking.

    "...Nix?"

    To my surprise, she seemed to consider it. Then she looked at me, as if saying, Finally, you¡¯re getting it.

    "Alright! You are Nix!" I said with excitement.

    It felt different. Naming a pet had its effect on me, like I¡¯d actually done something right for once. It was a weird sense of accomplishment. I felt fulfilled, and just seeing her with her new name made me happy.

 Chapter 5: Hunger

    "So, are you a half-god?" I asked Nix.

    She told me she came from a family of gods, that her grandfather was a god, and there were other gods in this world possessing humans.

    "I don¡¯t know, Zach! But my grandfather is!" she said, her excitement clear. It surprised me that she knew my name without me telling her. Was it because she was my bond?

    "How do you know my name?" I asked.

    She pointed to a blank space. I looked where she was pointing. "Try saying ''Appear!''" she said, smiling.

    I nodded slowly. "Appear?"

    "Again! But with a different tone," she said, shaking her head.

    A serious tone? "Appear," I said.

    Clink.

    <hr>

    [Activated Status Window]

    Zachary Hale

    21 years old

    Level: Unranked [XP: 30/99]

    Race: Human

    Title: Useless

    Myogen: None

    [Skills]

    Current Active and Passive Skill: 2

    Active:

    Phantom Slash: A high-speed sword strike that phases through defenses [ Mastery: 15%]

    Passive:

    Soul Resonance: Taps into the spiritual bond of the user.

    Current Progress: 15% [Novice]

    [Next Mastery: 26% [Apprentice]

    [Reputation]

    Family Of Hale: 5 (Low)

    <hr>

    A bright screen appeared in front of my eyes. It said it was a status window, showing my current status, my name, my age, my level, my skills, and my reputation. It looked just like the screens I¡¯d seen in the games the students at school played.

    "So, this is how you knew," I said, smiling.

    She nodded. "Yup!"

    The screen was literally in front of me, and if I tried to touch it, it would move to the other side. I could see my current progress.

    Everything looked fine, but what was up with that title?

    "Useless." I¡¯d completely forgotten that this guy was considered useless. He was seen as trash by his family because, despite being in his twenties, he didn¡¯t have any real skills. His siblings were far more talented and had better reputations, so he was nothing more than a shadow. It was a little tragic, almost like my past life, but it was what it was. If you¡¯re weak, you¡¯re tossed aside. But if you have the courage and skill to back it up, you rise.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    "How about this one?" I pointed at myogen.

    "Hmmm." She seemed to be thinking, or maybe curious.

    "None?" she asked.

    "It¡¯s also showing up in my memories from this guy," I said.

    "I think this guy never practiced myogen," she said.

    It made sense. It got me thinking about why this guy kept thinking about myogen. Maybe that was why his family didn¡¯t acknowledge him¡ªbecause he wasn¡¯t good enough to even try to practice myogen?

    "Usually, humans practice one myogen. It takes experience and strength to practice two, and extraordinary ability to practice all three. But it seems this body doesn¡¯t even have one," she said in a serious tone, sounding more mature than I expected.

    "Nix?"

    "Hmm?" she replied.

    "Is it possible to see his memories again?" I asked, looking at her with hope that it might work.

    Maybe, I thought, seeing his memories once more would give me more of the information I needed about this guy¡¯s background.

    "Hmm? Maybe?" she said, walking toward me and raising her hand to my head.

    "It is possible?" I asked again.

    "It is. But this guy never practiced myogen. To see memories of another, I¡¯d need to use harmonics or one of the myogen forms. If I use myogen on a body that¡¯s never been exposed to it, it could cause brain damage," she explained.

    I thought I could gather more information by seeing this guy¡¯s memories, but I guess it made sense. Using a power this body had never been exposed to was risky.

    "The good news is that his memories can manifest in your dreams when you sleep," she said, smiling at me.

    "Really?!" I said, excitement in my tone.

    "But it doesn''t have a 100% chance," she added.

    "It doesn¡¯t matter. I can still try to manifest his memories," I said, patting Nix''s head as a token of appreciation.

    "Thank you, Nix," I said, sliding my hand through her fur as she let out a happy sound.

    I learned that every pet deserves appreciation too.

    After that night, I couldn''t sleep properly at all. I kept thinking about how the memories might manifest, but nothing happened. In the end, I just kept my eyes open, sleeping only for a few hours, I think.

    When I woke up, Nix wasn''t there. I couldn''t find her anywhere in the room.

    "Nix?" I called out, looking around. "Where are you?"

    Then, a sudden voice cut through the silence. "Are you finally losing it?" it said.

    I turned, and saw a familiar face. It was someone from the memories of this body. The man had long black hair and wore noble clothing. He was a noble, and he was somehow connected to me.

    "What are you d¡ª" I started to ask, but was cut off by the interrogator''s voice from yesterday.

    "Cilian! What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone excited¡ªvery different from the usual cold, interrogating voice I¡¯d heard yesterday.

    Cilian? The name sounded familiar. I needed to think and take this moment as an opportunity to figure out who he was.

    Cilian?

    Who was this guy?

    As the name kept circling in my head, a memory of him surfaced. I saw a noble standing in front of a massive chair, with three children in front of him.

    The man spoke, "I want to congratulate the youngest son for entering the academy," he said. "Ronan, you must aim for the top at the academy!"

    "Next!" the man said, walking toward a guy with medium-length black hair. I expected him to be acknowledged too, but the man ignored him.

    "Cilian!" The man turned to him with a proud, authoritative tone. "You continue to make the Hale family proud with your achievements! As a reward, I will promote you to vice leader of this family!"

    The thing is, this memory was from the perspective of this guy¡¯s father and siblings being recognized. Ronan, his younger brother, who was 18, started attending the academy to study swordsmanship and arcane studies. Meanwhile, the oldest, Cilian, was off fighting in the war for territory, moving between different kingdoms. He was already destined for greatness, as people said, and had earned a strong reputation. As for Zachary, the middle child, he was still training hard every single day, never resting for long. He was desperate for recognition, and it showed.

    "Brother?" I muttered, catching the attention of my oldest brother and the interrogator.

    He smirked. "Don¡¯t call me brother in public!" he snapped.

    The uselessness of this guy was so extreme that his so-called oldest brother didn¡¯t even want to be called "brother" in public? My relationship with my family was seriously messed up.

    "He¡¯s losing it," Cilian said, pointing at me as he spoke to the interrogator.

    "Probably," the interrogator replied. "But why are you here?"

    It took Cilian a second to answer. "I¡¯m here because your men insisted on searching our estate. When I found out why, I guessed it was because of this idiot!" he shouted, waking up the other prisoners.

    "Hmm." The interrogator thought for a moment. "It was necessary, though. We can search it if we have the authority. We need to check if this guy is really up for treason," he said.

    It didn¡¯t take long for Cilian to respond. "I¡¯m warning you. You already finished searching. But if I see your men on our estate again, it won¡¯t end well. Just let this guy rot here. Make him clean or something, I don¡¯t care. He¡¯s probably more useful here anyway."

    He was the one rotting. I couldn¡¯t even imagine how a brother could act like that. And honestly, I was seeing Lucas in him. He was acting so high and mighty.

    "Hey," I said, grabbing Cilian¡¯s attention once again as he turned to leave.

    He looked back at my cell. "When I get out, let¡¯s have a drink, you and me," I said.

    His expression twisted into disgust. "You¡¯re talking nonsense. You¡¯ll never get out of there," he said before finally walking off.

    As if. I already had a plan to get out of this. They didn¡¯t have any strong proof, after all. And once I was free, I was going to reach the top on my own.

    "You''ve got some nerve," the interrogator said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

    I smirked. "I had to."

    "You had to?" He chuckled. "What are you fighting for? You''re known as the talentless son of a duke. Seems Cilian was right. You''re losing it," he said.

    I didn¡¯t need everyone to believe in me, and I didn¡¯t need their support. But, sure, powerful support would help. Still, I knew people liked to tear each other down, and I also knew this time, I wouldn¡¯t be the one getting dragged down.

 Chapter 6: Quest

    "But that brother of yours is really a pain in the ass," the interrogator said, scratching his head.

    "Did you find anything?" I asked, hoping they hadn¡¯t uncovered even a shred of evidence.

    "No," he said flatly. "But you won¡¯t be granted freedom just yet. You¡¯ll stay here until tomorrow while we continue looking for more proof."

    As I expected.

    They¡¯d eventually have to let me go. I figured holding a suspected criminal in a prison for hours without evidence had to violate some law, though I wasn¡¯t entirely sure how things worked in this world.

    "You¡¯ll wait until early tomorrow before we decide to set you free," he added. "Until then, you¡¯re stuck here." He settled himself on a barrel in front of my cell.

    "Ha! What a busy morning," he said, yawning.

    I wasn¡¯t sure if I was supposed to respond, so I stayed silent, sitting on my bed while he just lounged there. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

    It was a cigar.

    "What? You want one?" he asked, catching me looking at it.

    I shook my head slowly. "No."

    "Hah, like I¡¯d give you one even if you wanted it," he said with a chuckle.

    He was clearly bored. Maybe his coworkers were out investigating while he stayed behind, receiving reports and managing this small prison. All he seemed to be doing was passing the time.

    "You know, I really hate your brother. He got so cocky after coming back from their so-called legendary expedition," the interrogator said. I had no idea why he was telling me this. Maybe he was just that bored, sharing random stories with someone he¡¯d interrogated just yesterday.

    "And?" I asked, still curious but confused. "Why are you suddenly telling me this?"

    "I don¡¯t know. Maybe I¡¯m just trying to figure out if you¡¯re as annoying as Cilian. Or maybe I¡¯m just telling you because you suck," he said, but his tone was more teasing than serious.

    "You probably know this yourself. Even though we know the Hale family, everyone stands out for something¡ªexcept you. You¡¯re the only one with a background that doesn¡¯t fit for a noble," he said with a chuckle, putting the cigar to his mouth.

    He wasn¡¯t entirely wrong. It was true. I¡ªwell, this guy whose body I was now in¡ªwas disappointing. His talent was far from what was expected of the son of a respected duke. He wasn¡¯t like his father or siblings, and yet he kept trying. He trained, practiced, and pushed himself past his limits. But in the end, he still ended up here, dead and forgotten.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    "And yet, isn¡¯t it strange how something that doesn¡¯t fit often turns out to be the most valuable piece of the puzzle?" I said, locking eyes with him, my tone steady.

    He stared at me, his expression shifting to something more serious, as if he was trying to decide whether I was delusional or onto something. Then, he broke eye contact and let out a laugh.

    "Hahahaha! What did you just say? A valuable piece? That¡¯s one hell of a statement, kid," he said, shaking his head with amusement.

    Then it got quiet for a moment¡ªtoo quiet¡ªbefore he burst out laughing again. "Hahaha! You know what? That actually got me thinking," he said, wiping tears from his eyes as he tried to calm down.

    He shook his head, probably to clear whatever ridiculous thought was lingering. "You might be the worst at swordsmanship and magic, but hey, at least you¡¯re good at talking. Hahaha!"

    I smirked, leaning back slightly. "Great. If I can¡¯t swing a sword or cast a spell, I¡¯ll just sweet-talk my enemies to death," I said dryly.

    He chuckled and shook his head again. "That¡¯s an insult, by the way," he added, pointing at me.

    I didn¡¯t know if this conversation was supposed to happen, but it definitely caught me off guard.

    "Hah," he said, standing up and stretching like he¡¯d just finished a hard day¡¯s work. "For the record, I don¡¯t like you either," he added with a chuckle and a smirk before strolling toward the next room.

    What a guy. Honestly, he had the vibe of someone who¡¯d argue with a rock just to prove he¡¯s smarter. I was half-convinced he¡¯d go in that room and start interrogating the furniture.

    "Just a few more hours and I¡¯m out of this jail!" I said, stretching on the bed like I was getting ready for a vacation.

    Puff!

    "Sweet mother of¡ª!" I yelled as Nix suddenly appeared out of thin air.

    She stood there grinning like she¡¯d just pulled off the best prank of her life, completely oblivious to the fact she nearly made me see the afterlife. I didn¡¯t even know she could vanish and reappear whenever she felt like it.

    Grabbing my chest, I glared at her. "Seriously, one of these days, you¡¯re gonna send me straight to the grave." I sighed and tapped her head. "I didn¡¯t even know you could hide like that."

    She looked up at me with a grin, her sharp teeth on full display. "Whenever I sleep, I hide inside your body," she said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

    That threw me for a loop. She could hide inside my body? It did make sense, though¡ªshe was my soul bond, after all. But still, the thought of her coming and going like that without a hitch? It was insane¡ªand honestly, kind of amazing.

    "That¡¯s seriously awesome!" I said, genuinely impressed. I picked her up gently and ran my hand from her head down her back.

    She absolutely loved it. I could tell by how happy and excited she looked. Having her around felt... different, in a good way. Even in this short time, it gave me a sense of completeness and joy I didn¡¯t think I could feel in a place like this.

    Clink!

    [Primary Quest]

    [Warning: Required to Complete]

    Huh? A glowing screen popped up in front of me out of nowhere. A quest? Nix could see it too.

    "I love quests!" she said, practically bouncing with excitement.

    I stared at the screen. "What am I supposed to do with this, Nix?" I asked, pointing at the floating text.

    She tilted her head at me like I was an idiot. "You¡¯re supposed to do the quest. Just wait for it to update!" she said, grinning.

    I glanced back at the screen. It said "Primary Quest," which I guessed meant it was the main quest. Beneath that was a warning¡ªfailure apparently came with a punishment. Great.

    [Primary Quest]

    Quest Title: Make it out of prison... alive

    Reward: XP

    Punishment: Black Void (a pitch-black room filled with unseen creatures... that are hungry. For you.)

    Quest Progress: 85% (almost complete)

    Why? Why did I have to make it out of prison alive? Did that mean I just needed to sleep, wake up tomorrow, and walk out? No, not really. It¡¯s a quest, which meant there had to be some kind of challenge or danger involved.

    "What do you think?" I asked, turning to Nix.

    She tilted her head, studying the screen for a moment. "Someone¡¯s gonna try to kill you," she said matter-of-factly.

    "And obviously, I have to survive it," I said, narrowing my eyes.

    She nodded. That confirmed it¡ªsomeone, maybe an assassin or some other individual, would try to end me. When? I had no clue. Tonight? Early tomorrow? I couldn¡¯t tell. But one thing was certain: I¡¯d have to be ready.

 Chapter 7: Winning Against Unknown

    I wasn¡¯t ruling out the possibility that someone might come for me before I got out of this cell. It felt like someone was pulling the strings. First, this guy ended up in prison under suspicious circumstances. Then I woke up in his body, which had died from poisoning. And now, this quest to make it out alive¡ªit all pointed to something bigger.

    Getting out wouldn¡¯t be simple. Someone would probably try to stop me. But who? Who would bother targeting someone deemed useless?

    "You¡¯ll be killed," Nix said bluntly.

    I shook my head, caught off guard by her directness. "What should I do? I don¡¯t have any weapons, and this guy didn¡¯t even learn martial arts."

    Fighting with just basic punches and kicks wouldn¡¯t work against someone aiming to kill me. I felt the odds stacking against me. The tight space of the cell offered no room for maneuvering, and being unarmed made it worse. I couldn¡¯t shake the thought that I was at a complete disadvantage.

    "It¡¯d be great if you had myogen so you could use my powers too," Nix said with a cheerful smile. "But don¡¯t worry! I¡¯ll take care of it for now."

    I looked at her, frowning. "It¡¯s a nice idea, but I¡¯m not letting you drain your life force," I said firmly.

    If she used her myogen or her powers while I remained unable to channel it, it would cost her life force, leaving her drained. She¡¯d need a long rest to recover, and that wasn¡¯t something I could let happen. The harsh reality was that this guy¡¯s body was too weak and completely untrained in myogen, leaving us both at a disadvantage.

    "It¡¯s fine!" she said, grinning. "I¡¯ll just use a small part of my power."

    I glanced toward the cell door, deep in thought. "No," I said after a moment. "I¡¯ll come up with something else."

    Even if she only used a small part of her power, the side effects would still hit her. I couldn¡¯t stand by and let her suffer while I stayed unharmed. There had to be another way.

    "I can do it!" Nix insisted, her tone firm as I remained lost in thought.

    I looked at her and gently tapped her head. "I know, but not now," I said.

    I needed to think. How could I turn this disadvantage into an advantage? Reacting wouldn¡¯t cut it¡ªI had to plan.

    I forced myself to analyze my surroundings: the cell, the bed, the dust, the structure. The door to the cell was the only entry point, meaning whoever came to kill me would have no choice but to use it. That was their only way in. On top of that, the assassin would most likely strike when I was most vulnerable¡ªat night.

    A grin spread across my face, catching Nix''s attention. "We¡¯ve got our first advantage, Nix!" I said, my voice brimming with excitement.

    She tilted her head curiously. "What is it?"

    I smiled wider, almost like a madman. I didn¡¯t know why, but the thrill of piecing this together excited me. "The assassin¡ªor whoever tries to kill me¡ªdoesn¡¯t know that I know they¡¯re coming. We can use that against them."

    The quest was my secret. Only Nix and I could see it. That meant the assassin wouldn¡¯t suspect I was aware of their plan. I had the element of surprise on my side.

    Earlier, I thought I was completely outmatched¡ªno skills, no weapons, nothing. But now I realized that knowledge and information were my biggest weapons. I just needed to think harder, to stay one step ahead.

    The pattern of comings and goings in this jail was simple: no visitors unless they had authority¡ªeither nobles or someone carrying a pass from a higher-up. Second, there weren¡¯t many guards. In my time here, I¡¯d only seen four guards and the one interrogator who managed this whole small-time operation. The low numbers made sense, considering it was a tiny jail holding just eight prisoners, all waiting for sentencing.

    But despite its size, the jail¡¯s security was annoyingly tight. Infiltrating from the outside seemed almost impossible, which narrowed down the potential threat to the guards or staff.

    And that¡¯s when it clicked. The sheer absurdity of it all hit me, and I burst out laughing like a complete maniac. "Wahahahaha!"

    Nix froze, wide-eyed, and instinctively shuffled a step back, her fur puffing up as she put on some weird defensive stance. "What is wrong with you?!"

    Through my uncontrollable laughter, I managed to gasp out, "Oh, relax, Nix, I¡¯m not possessed!"

    She squinted at me like I¡¯d just grown a second head. "Could¡¯ve fooled me! Who laughs like that in jail?"

    That only made me laugh harder, which seemed to freak her out even more. She crossed her tiny arms and muttered, "Great, I bonded with a lunatic."

    I thought eliminating some variables would lead me to a much greater conclusion¡ªand I was right. Outsiders definitely wouldn¡¯t try to infiltrate this heavily guarded jail; it had high-level defensive magic protecting it. That led me to the conclusion that the killer had to be someone on the inside. The few guards made it easier to narrow it down. There were two guards on the morning shift, and two more on the evening shift. The morning shift was off the table, so the killer had to be one of the two evening guards.

    I looked at Nix, clearly deep in thought, but still creeping her out a bit. I had to wonder¡ªdo I look like a serial killer when I¡¯m thinking? Right now, I felt like I could do anything. Thinking was, honestly, kind of fun.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    I then glanced over at the bed. "Nix, could you help me push this bed?" I asked.

    She looked at me suspiciously. "Why?" she asked.

    "It¡¯s for the plan," I said. "I have a plan that doesn¡¯t require you to use your powers."

    That got her attention. She leaned forward, her little ears perked up. "A plan?"

    The bed was normally positioned near the door, and the light from the outside room made half of it visible, which wasn''t ideal. So, we had to move it further back, making it darker and farther from the entrance.

    "What¡¯s your plan?" Nix asked as we successfully moved the bed.

    I smiled. "Finding the culprit."

    Buzz!

    Before I could even think of what to do next, the alarm went off, catching the attention of the prisoners and me alike.

    A guard appeared in front of my cell. "Hey, get out. Time to clean outside," he said.

    I slowly nodded and walked toward him, then stopped when I reached the door. "Wait," I said, turning to look at the guard. "What day is it today?"

    He scratched his head. "It¡¯s Sunday."

    So, it was cleaning day. I had seen the schedule posted on the wall when I was walking to the interrogation room. Sunday was the designated cleaning day. On cleaning days, prisoners were allowed to clean outside¡ªbut, of course, under maximum security. Prisoners couldn''t even think of escaping, as the magical security could kill them with just a touch.

    "I forgot about that, sorry," I said as I walked over and lined up.

    This was off-plan, but I figured I had to do it before continuing to think. It could also be an opportunity to learn more about the structure of the jail. We weren''t allowed to talk to other prisoners, just seen cleaning.

    As we walked outside, a strong, unpleasant smell hit my nose. The air inside the city where the jail was located was clearly polluted. It was thick with pollution, and the ground we were meant to clean was covered with dirt, leaves, cigarette butts, and dead birds.

    Was the air even safe? Or was this air going to kill me? It was full of dust, too. When the wind blew, it carried the dust everywhere. Then I waited for the guards to remove their attention to us and that''s when I grabbed some sand and a brick stone from the ground and stuffed it into my tight pocket.

    After cleaning, we were given our meals, back inside our cells. Even though I was grateful for the decent food, I needed Nix to check for any poisonous substances.

    She shook her head. "You''re safe," she said.

    The activities on this Sunday were definitely more than a normal day. In the morning, we cleaned; in the afternoon, we went back to our cells like usual, but were given requests¡ªbooks to read, puzzles to solve, and other hobby and craft items. In the evening, we were given a piece of paper by the city¡¯s priest, and we had to write our repentance on it.

    Sunday was like a cheat day for prisoners here. We could request things, and they''d give them to us¡ªbut only for Sunday. Me? I didn¡¯t wish for any food or things to fight boredom. Tonight could be my last night, so I had to keep planning for my safety and survival. I requested a blanket and two soft pillows, and they gave them to me.

    "You said you were going to request expensive food for us, so why ask for a blanket and pillows?" Nix asked, eyeing the pillows and blanket I requested.

    I pointed at the pillows. "These will be valuable." I grabbed the pillows and blanket.

    The sun had set, and the night was settling in.

    The guards shifted. Two were now on the evening shift, and one of them was the killer. I couldn¡¯t rule out the possibility that there might be more than one assassin targeting me. But now, I had to act and start identifying the potential killer.

    They began handing out the paper for us to write on. One guard stood by the other side of the cells, while the other stood in front of mine. Once we handed over the paper, they''d go outside to guard the prison, leaving one of them to watch from inside one of the rooms.

    "I''m done," I said quickly, hoping to catch the attention of the guard in front of my cell as I passed him the paper.

    As he grabbed it, I stopped him. "Something¡¯s off," I said, locking eyes with him.

    I knew this was risky, but it was necessary. Even if it led to a different conclusion, it could give me a better chance to survive.

    He didn¡¯t seem to understand. He was focused on taking the paper from my hands. "Give me that, are you insane?" he said. "What are you talking about?" He managed to pull the paper away from me.

    "Someone¡¯s gonna kill me tonight."

    It was a slip-up, a confession that could increase my chances of survival. If he wasn¡¯t the killer, he¡¯d be alarmed and would probably keep an eye on my cell. If he was the killer, he might back off and not go through with it.

    He chuckled. "Hey, just act normal. I heard you¡¯re going out tomorrow. If you act like you¡¯re losing your mind, they won¡¯t let you go. So, if I were you, I¡¯d stop saying those crazy things." He clearly didn¡¯t know anything.

    That was it.

    He was cleared. I looked him in the eye, studying his expression. He didn¡¯t seem nervous or scared by my confession. Instead, he seemed casual, but I thought he might also be wondering if what I said was true.

    So, the other guard was the killer.

    "Nix," I said, but got no response.

    "Hey, Nix."

    Still nothing. She was clearly resting inside my body.

    I sighed and fixed the pillow and blanket. Honestly, it wasn¡¯t for me¡ªit was for the killer. I arranged it in a way that made it look like someone was sleeping in the bed.

    A decoy.

    It was too dark for the killer to see clearly, so he¡¯d have to physically check and uncover it to find out. Meanwhile, I positioned myself under the bed, close enough to slide out smoothly and make my move.

    In my hand was the brick I¡¯d grabbed earlier, shaped into a small knife with a sharp edge. It wasn¡¯t much, but it might be useful. In my other hand, I had the sand I¡¯d picked up. It would serve as a distraction. If I could blind him, I could make my attack.

    "Hah!" I exhaled, realizing this was finally happening.

    My original plan had been to tell the interrogator, about someone possibly trying to kill me, but he wasn¡¯t here¡ªhe was in another city, I heard. That forced me to go with this plan.

    "Hah!" I exhaled again, trying to calm myself as my hands shook. The only sound I could hear was my own heartbeat.

    I waited for an hour under the bed.

    It was exhausting. Sweat covered me, and my heart kept pounding. I gripped the sharpened brick tighter in my hand.

    "Come on," I whispered.

    Thud. Thud.

    Tu-tump. Tu-tump. Tu-tump.

    I tried to steady my breathing, clutching my chest as the footsteps neared my cell. I heard the lock turn.

    Tu-tump.

    He was here.

    I gripped the sharpened brick harder, knowing the killer was getting closer to my bed.

    Swishhh! He pulled the blanket off.

    I couldn¡¯t see him, but I could tell he was shocked. "Where are y¡ª!" He was cut off mid-sentence as I slid out from under the bed, grabbing the sand and throwing it at his eyes.

    It worked.

    "Fuck!" he shouted, clutching his face. But as he dropped his hands, I closed the gap and slashed at his eye.

    He dropped his sword.

    The light made him clearer to see now.

    Tu-tump.

    I shook my head, staring down at him as he knelt, clutching his injured eye. "You," I said, stunned as I took in the sight of him fully.

    He chuckled, wincing in pain as he held his eye, reaching for his sword and trying to stand up.

    "You¡¯re not just good at talking," he said, finally standing tall with the sword in his hands. He was massive. "You¡¯re a good thinker, too," he added, then lunged at me.

    It was the interrogator.

    This time, I didn¡¯t know what to do. I was an idiot for not going for his neck earlier.

    But then, my body moved on its own. Muscle memory?

    Swishhh!

    Huff.

    I dodged the massive sword¡¯s swing, but it crashed into the wall, the sound echoing through the cell. The other prisoners must¡¯ve heard it¡ªthey¡¯d realize someone was being killed.

    Huff.

    He grabbed his eye, the one I¡¯d slashed. "Damn. You got it pretty deep," he said. "Dodge this."

    He swung again, but this time in a different pattern, coming from an angle I couldn¡¯t see.

    Swishhh!

    I barely dodged it. It was just muscle memory, the body reacting on its own.

    The problem was, I couldn¡¯t defend myself. I had no real weapon, just this small sharpened brick. I had to think.

    Think.

    Think.

    Think.

    Swish.

    "Aghhhh!" I screamed as he slashed me. His speed had picked up. What was slow before was now faster. He wasn¡¯t playing anymore. The sword cut through my body, leaving a long, painful slash.

    I collapsed to my knees, unable to think, unable to move. The wound wasn¡¯t deep, but it was enough to paralyze me. The blood pouring from the gash made me fall, my knees giving out.

    He chuckled. "Hahahaha. I don¡¯t get why you were such a nuisance to him. You¡¯re just a weak guy," he said, laughing again.

    Thud. Thud.

    More guards arrived.

    The massive interrogator looked at them, still chuckling. "Give this man a sword," he said. "It¡¯s not fun to kill him without a fight."

 Chapter 8: Another World

    Clank.

    The sword dropped to the ground as one of the guards threw it toward me. I saw it clearly, but something about it felt familiar.

    It was silver, sharp. I grabbed it with one hand, my other hand still pressed against my wound. Blood continued to drip, but I managed to stand, my hands shaking from the pain. This is how scary it felt. Just holding the weapon, standing against an opponent, was suffocating. Yet, I couldn¡¯t understand why I felt the urge to fight.

    Huff.

    He smiled. "Come on," he said, motioning for me to approach.

    His sword dripped with my blood. It wasn¡¯t a lot, but it made me shiver slightly as I gripped my sword tightly.

    "Come on, swing," he said, casually dropping his sword beside him, still smiling.

    "Haa!" I charged and swung the sword.

    But it didn¡¯t even reach him. He dodged effortlessly, just taking a step back, avoiding the blow without even drawing his own sword.

    He laughed, and the two guards outside joined in. "Come on, swing again," he taunted.

    Swishhhh!

    I kept swinging the sword.

    Swishhh!

    Swoshhh!

    What was happening? I looked at my hand, the sword coming to a stop. But somehow, I had drawn his attention.

    This familiar feeling... I couldn¡¯t stop swinging. No, I didn¡¯t need to.

    I... my mind... my body... seemed to enjoy it without me even realizing.

    Swishhhhh!

    "Haaa!" I swung again.

    Huff. Huff.

    He stepped back, grabbing his sword. "You¡¯re... weak," he said, then lunged toward me.

    The blood, my blood, from his sword began to fall as he swung it quickly. I could see every drop, every crimson stain hitting the ground. I didn¡¯t think about how to dodge this attack; instead, I focused on how much blood I was going to lose in this fight. I was clearly at a disadvantage, but something inside me kept telling me I had the power to turn this disadvantage into an advantage. But... I couldn¡¯t move anymore.

    Tu-tump.

    I could feel it ¡ª my skin, the warm air, the sweat, the blood flowing from my wound, the pain. I could see it too, the surroundings, full of sword slashes, but my mind couldn¡¯t stop thinking... why am I so weak?

    Why couldn¡¯t I be reborn with a stronger body? With a more powerful, respected person? Why was I another weakling? I thought I could erase the memories of my past life, but every time this body failed to keep up, I remembered how weak I was and how pathetic it felt to be weak in a world full of strong people. He lunged toward me with his sword, and I could tell this was his last shot. With this, I¡¯d be killed.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    "Huff..." I exhaled sharply, watching him lunge as my body refused to move, and the sword dropped from my hand.

    Then, as I was about to close my eyes, a voice spoke in my mind.

    A familiar voice.

    Nix?

    "I just woke up." She said. "Need help?" she asked.

    I didn¡¯t know how to respond, but I forced a smile and closed my eyes completely.

    The last thing I thought I would see was the sword swinging at me.

    Swoshhhhh!

    But then... it was something I didn¡¯t expect.

    A head flying?

    Thud.

    The sound of the interrogator¡¯s head hitting the floor was deafening in the silence. I stared at it, the crimson pool spreading beneath it, and felt... empty. There wasn¡¯t relief. There wasn¡¯t satisfaction. Just emptiness. I should have felt victorious, but all I could think about was how close I¡¯d come to dying.

    The black shadowy sword hovered above me like a phantom. Its sharp edges seemed alive, pulsing with an unnatural energy. And then, Nix appeared, her small form glowing faintly as she walked toward me. Her voice, calm and steady, broke the silence.

    "We have to escape now," she said firmly.

    I nodded, though I wasn¡¯t sure I even had the strength to move. She raised her hand, and a bright light emerged, flowing directly into me. The moment it entered, I felt a surge of energy ripple through my body. My limbs, moments ago heavy and useless, now felt alive.

    "Hurry," she urged, already running toward the exit. My legs wobbled, but I forced myself to follow. Each step was shaky, but I kept moving. "Whe...where?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

    She glanced back, her pace never slowing. When we reached the outer barrier, shimmering with faint magic, I knew brute force wouldn¡¯t get us through. She didn¡¯t hesitate. Raising her hand, she spat out a black, pearl-like object and hurled it toward the barrier. The pearl exploded mid-air, forming a swirling, dark portal that loomed before me like an abyss.

    She turned to me, her exhaustion clear in her small frame. "I¡¯ll be resting for a long time after this," she said. Her voice was softer now. "Go inside. It will take you far from here."

    I stood frozen, watching as she disappeared back into my body. She had given everything, too much, and I knew it was because I wasn¡¯t strong enough to handle any of this on my own.

    I clenched my fists, staring at the portal as guilt clawed at me.

    This was my fault.

    I thought I¡¯d planned well. I thought I could handle it. But every step of the way, I¡¯d been nothing more than a burden. My so-called plan was useless. I¡¯d let my weakness dictate everything, and it nearly cost me¡ªand Nix¡ªour lives.

    Why was I so weak? Why did I have to carry the weight of this person¡¯s failures on top of my own?

    But it was immature.

    I gritted my teeth. That thinking, that weakness, was the same thing that haunted me in my past life. Back then, I let life crush me because I believed I couldn¡¯t fight back. And now, here I was again¡ªrepeating the same pathetic cycle.

    But I couldn¡¯t afford to stay like this. Not anymore. Nix had put her faith in me, even when I hadn¡¯t earned it. She was paying the price for my failures.

    I looked at the swirling darkness of the portal and took a shaky breath. This was it. I couldn¡¯t stay weak. Not if I wanted to survive. Not if I wanted to protect her¡ªor myself.

    I stepped forward, into the unknown, promising myself that this would be the last time I let weakness define me.

    When I stepped inside the portal, everything changed.

    At first, there was nothing but darkness. Not the kind you see when you close your eyes, but something heavier¡ªlike it pressed down on you, wrapped around you, and refused to let go. I couldn¡¯t tell if I was standing or falling. Time didn¡¯t seem to exist here. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours¡ªor maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

    My breathing echoed around me.

    It was the only sound in this suffocating void. I tried to move forward, but every step felt like I was dragging my feet through thick mud. There was no sense of direction, no path, no light¡ªjust an endless black.

    And then, all at once, it ended.

    The air shifted, cool and sharp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. I stumbled forward, catching myself against a tree. When I looked up, I realized I wasn¡¯t alone anymore.

    A dark forest stretched out in front of me. Towering trees with twisted branches clawed at the sky, blocking out whatever light might have been above. The air felt heavier here, like the forest itself was alive and watching me. Shadows moved¡ªnot from the wind, but from something deeper, something that felt unnatural.

    The ground beneath my boots was soft, littered with fallen leaves and moss that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light. It wasn¡¯t comforting. If anything, it made everything more unsettling.

    I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but my hands were still shaking. This place was wrong. Everything about it screamed danger. My body felt like it had been through hell. The wound on my side throbbed, a painful reminder of the fight I¡¯d barely survived. I pressed a hand to it, wincing as fresh blood soaked through my shirt.

    "Nix," I whispered, hoping for some kind of reassurance. But there was no response. She was still resting, silent and hidden within me. I was on my own now.

    The thought sent a chill through me. I couldn¡¯t rely on her to save me again. I had to figure this out myself.

    A branch snapped somewhere behind me.

    I froze. My heart pounded in my chest as I turned toward the sound, gripping the hilt of the sword still in my hand. My eyes darted between the trees, searching for movement. There was nothing¡ªjust the stillness of the forest and the faint rustle of leaves.

    "Calm down," I whispered to myself. "Think."

    But thinking wasn¡¯t easy when everything in me screamed to run.

    I forced myself to take a step forward, then another. My muscles were tense, every movement deliberate, every breath measured. I didn¡¯t know where I was going, but staying in one spot felt like an invitation for something to find me.

    I clenched my jaw, pushing the fear aside as best I could. It didn¡¯t matter why or how. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making it through the night.

    If I could do that, maybe I¡¯d figure out the rest.

    For now, I just had to keep moving.

 Chapter 9: Slimes

    The forest was nothing like anything I had ever experienced. The air was damp and heavy, and the silence felt unnatural, as if the world itself was holding its breath. I tried to steady my own breathing, but it came out in short, uneven gasps.

    I wasn¡¯t used to this. At all.

    My boots squelched against the soft earth with every step, and I flinched at the sound. Each snap of a twig underfoot felt like a scream in the silence. My hands were clammy, gripping the sword I¡¯d taken from the jail like it was the only thing tethering me to sanity.

    I was trying to focus, trying to remember anything that might help me navigate this place, but nothing came. What did I know about forests? Nothing. The closest thing I¡¯d ever seen was the neatly trimmed hedges outside the estate. This was chaos. It was too wild, too unpredictable.

    Branches snagged at my clothes as I pushed forward, their sharp edges scraping my skin. The shadows danced in ways they shouldn¡¯t have, making me whip my head around more times than I could count. I couldn¡¯t tell what was real anymore.

    ¡°Where am I even going?¡± I muttered, the sound of my voice barely breaking the oppressive silence.

    I kept walking, but the further I went, the worse it got. Every direction looked the same¡ªjust endless trees, shadows, and the faint glow of moss underfoot. My heart pounded harder with each passing minute, and a horrible realization started creeping in.

    I was lost. Completely and utterly lost.

    My breathing quickened as the panic set in. "No, no, no," I whispered, shaking my head. My steps became quicker, more frantic, as if I could outrun the fear. "This isn¡¯t happening. This can¡¯t be happening."

    Branches snapped behind me. I spun around, sword raised, but there was nothing there. My hand trembled as I lowered the blade. Was something following me? Or was my mind just messing with me now?

    I stumbled forward, tripping over a root and crashing to the ground. Mud smeared across my hands as I scrambled back up, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

    ¡°Stop it. Get a grip,¡± I hissed to myself. But I couldn¡¯t. My legs felt like they were moving on their own, like every step was a desperate attempt to escape the crushing weight of this place.

    Time didn¡¯t make sense anymore. Had it been minutes? Hours? I didn¡¯t know. My throat was dry, and my muscles ached from the constant tension. I felt like I was suffocating, even in the open air.

    I kept walking¡ªno, running¡ªlike something was chasing me, hunting me, ready to devour me. It felt far scarier than facing that massive opponent earlier. The sheer thought of being alone in this dark, unending forest was enough to make me act without thinking.

    Cling!

    A sudden sound broke through the chaos in my mind, and a glowing screen appeared before me.

    [Congratulations on escaping the prison alive!]]

    Rewards: 20 XP [Current XP: 30 ¡ú (+20)]

    Current XP: 50/99. Reach 100 to move to the next rank!

    The timing couldn¡¯t have been better. It snapped my attention away from the suffocating darkness around me and onto the glowing screen. For once, I felt a sliver of relief¡ªsomething to distract me from the fear threatening to consume me.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    I focused on the numbers. 50 out of 99. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was progress. At least it felt like something was moving forward, even if I wasn¡¯t sure where I was going in this forest.

    I kept walking, my steps slow and cautious, the weight of the dark forest pressing down on me. Every sound felt amplified, every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig making me flinch. My sword was still gripped tightly in my hand, though my arms ached from holding it for so long.

    Then I saw them.

    At first, it was just one¡ªa blob of shimmering blue mass wobbling in the faint light. Its form pulsed slightly, as though it were alive and breathing. And then, more appeared. Five of them, gliding and bouncing over the mossy ground toward me.

    Slimes.

    I didn¡¯t know much about them, but the memories of this body told me they weren¡¯t supposed to be too dangerous. Still, that didn¡¯t mean I could afford to be careless. My heart pounded as I tightened my grip on the sword and took a deep breath.

    "Alright, let¡¯s do this," I muttered to myself, stepping forward.

    The first slime lunged¡ªor as much as something so gelatinous could lunge. I swung the sword, slicing cleanly through its body. The creature quivered for a moment before dissolving into a puddle of goo.

    Cling!

    [Slime defeated! 1 XP earned.]

    I barely had time to process the notification before another one bounced toward me. I dodged to the side, the creature missing me by inches. I swung the sword again, but my form was sloppy, the blade wobbling slightly in my grip. Still, it hit its mark, cutting the slime in half.

    [Slime defeated! 1 XP earned.]

    The remaining three slimes came at me together. I stepped back, trying to create space. My movements felt clumsy¡ªI wasn¡¯t used to this body, to the weight of the sword, or to the rhythm of a fight. One of the slimes managed to graze my leg, and I hissed as a burning sensation spread across my skin.

    "Focus!" I told myself, raising the sword again.

    This time, I steadied my breathing. With a quick swing, I took out one of the slimes, its body splattering on the ground. The other two lunged simultaneously, and I barely managed to dodge, slicing one as I moved and quickly finishing the last with a downward strike.

    Cling!

    [Slime defeated! 1 XP earned.]

    [Congratulations! Total XP earned: 3 XP. Current XP: 53/99.]

    [Swordsmanship Mastery: . No improvement.]

    I stood there, panting, looking at the mess of slime goo around me. My arms trembled from the effort, and my leg still stung from where the slime had touched me.

    "Guess I¡¯ve got a long way to go." I muttered, glancing at the mastery notification.

    I wiped the sword on the mossy ground, trying to clean off the sticky residue. But as I looked ahead, I froze.

    More slimes.

    At least ten of them, bouncing and shimmering in the dim light, blocking my path. My grip tightened on the sword as I let out a shaky breath.

    "Here we go again."

    The first two slimes lunged simultaneously. I sidestepped, my boots sliding slightly on the damp ground. With a swift swing of the sword, I sliced through both of them in one clean motion.

    Cling!

    [Slime defeated! 1 XP earned.]

    The remaining slimes started closing in, their movements more aggressive than before. I stepped back, raising the sword in a defensive stance. My breathing was steady now, my focus sharper.

    Two more slimes bounced toward me. I ducked under one and brought the sword down in a heavy arc, cutting it cleanly in half. The second slime was already coming at me, but this time I took a chance. I activated a skill I barely knew how to use.

    The blade shimmered, a faint outline of its shape slicing forward ahead of me like a shadow. The skill struck the slime dead-on, splitting it apart instantly. My chest tightened as the energy drain hit me, but the move was worth it.

    Cling!

    [Slime defeated! 1 XP earned.

    [Phantom Slash improved: 15% ¡ú 16%.]

    The remaining six slimes hesitated for a moment, giving me just enough time to catch my breath. They didn¡¯t stay still for long, though, and soon, three of them lunged at me together.

    I swung the sword in a wide arc, hitting two of them but missing the third. Before I could react, the missed slime hit my arm, its acidic touch burning through my sleeve. I winced, gritting my teeth against the pain, and quickly countered with a horizontal slash that finished it off.

    Cling!

    [Slime defeated! 1 XP .]

    The last three slimes circled me, their movements more erratic. I shifted my stance, trying to predict their next move. They attacked one by one this time, forcing me to dodge and counter each lunge. My swings were getting slower, but I managed to cut them down one after another.

    Cling!

    [Slime defeated! 1 XP earned.]

    [Total XP earned: 5 XP. Current XP: 58/99.]

    [Swordsmanship Mastery: No improvement.]

    I stood there, panting and drenched in sweat, surrounded by puddles of goo. My arm throbbed from the burn, and my grip on the sword felt weaker than before.

    But despite the exhaustion, a faint smile tugged at my lips. My active skill "Phantom Slash" had improved, even if it was by just one percent. Progress was progress.

    I wiped the blade on the ground, trying to clean it off, and glanced ahead. The forest stretched endlessly in front of me, but I felt a small flicker of hope. I was getting stronger, little by little. My fear slowly fading, and that was enough to keep me moving forward.

 Chapter 10: Hunter & Hunted

    Every hunter is prey to something greater. The question is, do you know what hunts you?

    I leaned against a tree, gasping for air. My arms ached, my legs felt like they could give out at any second, and the burn on my arm stung every time I moved. The slime goo clinging to my sword and clothes didn¡¯t help either. Every part of me felt drained.

    But I kept going.

    The forest felt even darker now, as if the trees themselves were closing in. Each step was slower than the last, my boots dragging against the soft, uneven ground. Every sound felt louder¡ªthe rustle of leaves, the creak of branches, even my own breathing.

    But I saw it.

    A light in the distance.

    I froze, narrowing my eyes. It was faint at first, but as I got closer, the outline of a small building became visible. It was a tavern¡ªor at least, it looked like one. The wooden structure had a slanted roof, a single window glowing faintly with warm light, and a heavy wooden door. Smoke rose from a chimney, curling into the dark sky.

    But something about it felt... off.

    I crouched behind a tree, watching from a distance. Who in their right mind would build a tavern here? In the middle of this dark, desolate forest? It didn¡¯t make sense. The location was too remote, too dangerous. And yet, the light inside suggested people were there¡ªalive and well.

    I squinted, trying to make out any movement through the window. Shadows flickered against the glass, but they were indistinct. Maybe someone was inside, or maybe it was just the firelight playing tricks on me.

    As I walked closer to the tavern, the warm glow of light spilling through the windows revealed the shadow of someone inside. At first, it was just a faint blur, but as I drew nearer, the figure''s movements became clear. The person was practicing something¡ªa martial art, perhaps. Slow, deliberate motions: knees rising, fists cutting through the air with precision. Yet, there was a calmness to it all, a grace that made it seem less like fighting and more like... an art form.

    I stopped in my tracks, caught off guard by the sheer discipline in the movements. Each punch, each step, was measured and exact, like a master sculptor carving their vision into stone. I found myself unable to look away, as if the rhythm of their motion had ensnared me.

    What struck me most was the intensity. It wasn¡¯t just a routine¡ªit was like the the individual poured their soul into every move. Strict and unyielding, it bordered on obsessive perfection. My pulse quickened, excitement bubbling beneath my skin. The sheer skill, the mastery¡ªit was almost intoxicating to watch. I didn¡¯t even realize how long I¡¯d been standing there, utterly dumbfounded.

    Tu-tump.

    The figure¡¯s movements were mesmerizing, drawing me deeper into the moment. I leaned closer, almost forgetting where I was, when suddenly, the light in the tavern flickered out, plunging the area into darkness. My heart jumped into my throat. Instinctively, I stepped back, retreating into the shadows where I wouldn¡¯t be easily seen.

    Every muscle in my body tensed as I pressed myself against the cool surface of the wall. The silence around me seemed louder than before, every faint rustle or creak sending a spike of unease down my spine. My breathing felt too loud, my heartbeat like a drum in my ears.

    Then, as if to confirm my worst fears, a screen appeared before me, its bold red text glowing ominously:The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    [Warning: Stronger opponent is lurking.]

    Panic gripped me. My eyes darted to every corner, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. My mind raced, conjuring all kinds of scenarios¡ªnone of them good. Who¡ªor what¡ªwas out there? I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that I was being watched. My grip on reality wavered, the paranoia creeping in with every passing second.

    And then, before I could react, a cold blade pressed against my neck. My entire body froze, my breath catching in my throat.

    A deep, calm voice cut through the silence like the blade on my skin.

    ¡°Who are you?¡±

    I didn¡¯t dare move.

    It felt like a checkmate in chess, the kind where every option leads to defeat. Just moments ago, I was watching with excitement, and now here I was¡ªone wrong move away from losing my head.

    I focused on staying perfectly still, not even daring to breathe too deeply. My eyes flicked around, scanning the surroundings for any kind of escape route. There wasn¡¯t one. Not with this person. They were too close, too precise. Talking might be my only option.

    I steadied my voice, forcing calm into my words. ¡°I¡¯m just passing through,¡± I said, slowly lowering my sword to the ground. The sound of metal against dirt felt louder than it should have. ¡°I don¡¯t mean any trouble.¡±

    The blade at my neck didn¡¯t move, but the pressure didn¡¯t increase either.

    ¡°Passing through?¡± the voice repeated, low and calculating. ¡°And yet, you were watching me so intently.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a question¡ªit was an accusation. My heart pounded, but I managed to keep my tone even. ¡°I was curious. Your movements... they were incredible. I didn¡¯t mean to intrude.¡±

    For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of my own pulse roaring in my ears. Then, the blade eased off my neck, just enough to give me space to breathe but not enough to make me feel safe.

    ¡°Curiosity can get you killed,¡± the voice said coldly. ¡°Remember that.¡±

    I resisted the urge to rub my neck as I slowly turned my head to get a glimpse of the person who had disarmed me so effortlessly. A man stood before me, his face partially obscured by the dim light filtering from the tavern. His stance was relaxed but radiated a sense of control.

    When I finally got a good look at his face, I noticed his black and white hair, a striking contrast that somehow made him appear even more intimidating. He was older than I¡¯d expected, with faint wrinkles tracing his features, and he stood taller than me by a good margin. After a few seconds of tense silence, he slowly lowered the knife from my neck.

    Breaking the quiet, he spoke. ¡°You¡¯ve got sharp eyes,¡± he said, smoothly sheathing the knife. His tone carried a mix of amusement and authority. ¡°Not many would stay to watch martial arts these days.¡±

    I straightened up, trying to mask my nerves. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t exactly see martial arts like that every day, sir. Your movements were... impressive.¡±

    His lips twitched into a faint smirk. ¡°Flattery will only get you so far, kid.¡±

    I didn¡¯t reply, just offered a respectful smile. He watched me for a moment longer before speaking again. ¡°And you¡¯re a brave one¡ªfor standing out in the open, gawking like a fool. That¡¯s a good way to get yourself killed.¡±

    ¡°Duly noted¡­ sir,¡± I said, glancing toward the tavern. ¡°You live here, I take it?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer directly. Instead, he gestured toward the building. ¡°Come inside. Better to talk where no one¡¯s holding a knife to your throat.¡±

    I hesitated briefly but nodded. At this point, I figured I¡¯d already pushed my luck enough for one night. Following him seemed like the safer option compared to staying out here and wondering if another knife was lurking in the shadows.

    Creak.

    The door groaned as we stepped inside. Warm light and the comforting smell of woodsmoke greeted me, instantly easing the tightness in my chest. The place was simple but inviting¡ªsturdy wooden tables, a crackling fire. But the most captivating thing was the aroma of food drifting through the air. It was rich and mouthwatering, a cruel reminder of just how hungry I was.

    He led me to a quiet corner, pulled out a chair, and gestured for me to sit. ¡°Name¡¯s Daisan,¡± he said, settling into the seat across from me. ¡°And you are?¡±

    I tore my attention away from the tantalizing smell and looked at him. ¡°I¡¯m Zachary,¡± I said, though my eyes betrayed me as they wandered back to the food being cooked beside.

    Daisan caught me looking and chuckled. ¡°You don¡¯t have to say it. Hunger speaks louder than words,¡± he said with a knowing smile. ¡°Have patience¡ªI¡¯ll make sure you leave with more than just the smell.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t help but feel a strange sense of joy in how calm and welcoming he was. His words carried a weight, yet there was an ease to the way he spoke, as if just being near him brought a sense of peace.

    ¡°So, Zachary,¡± he said, his tone casual but still probing, ¡°what brings you to a place like this? Doesn¡¯t seem like the kind of spot someone just passes through.¡±

    I hesitated for a moment. Lying didn¡¯t seem like the smartest idea¡ªnot to someone like him. ¡°I came here to get stronger,¡± I admitted. It wasn¡¯t entirely the truth, but it wasn¡¯t a lie either. I had a goal, and strength was part of it.

    He studied me with a serious expression, then spoke again. ¡°So, you¡¯re a man chasing¡ªno, seeking¡ªto take life and lose your own in the process. A hunter and the hunted, all at once.¡±

    I froze at his words. He wasn¡¯t wrong.

    As I glanced around the room, I realized something¡ªthere was no one else here. The tavern was empty except for the two of us. He lived here, alone, deep in these woods.

    ¡°You live here alone, sir?¡± I asked, looking back at him.

    He picked up a mug from the table, took a sip, and nodded. ¡°I do,¡± he said simply. ¡°Living alone, I thought, would be all freedom and fun. But it¡¯s a strange blend¡ªmoments of joy wrapped in the quiet ache of loneliness.¡± He chuckled softly, the sound laced with both humor and melancholy.

    I didn¡¯t know why, but every word he spoke felt profound, as though there was a lesson buried beneath the surface. His voice carried the kind of wisdom you didn¡¯t hear from modern teachers back on Earth. He wasn¡¯t just speaking; he was teaching, in a way that only experience could.

    This man, he had the aura of a mentor¡ªa great mentor. I could feel it in every word, every movement. I felt like I had stumbled onto something, or someone, truly extraordinary.

 Chapter 11: Unwavering

    I don¡¯t know why, but I felt like I understood him. Maybe it was because, in my past life, I¡¯d spent a short but unforgettable period alone on the streets. Even though it wasn¡¯t for long, it left a mark, like all my life I¡¯d been alone. I was used to being my own company, my own support.

    But isolation feels like strength¡ªuntil you realize it¡¯s just loneliness wearing a mask.

    Roran moved toward the simmering pot of food, and I couldn¡¯t help but watch from where I sat. He grabbed a bowl and spoon, then placed them on the table in front of me. The aroma hit me full force, making my stomach twist with hunger. How could I be this ravenous? I¡¯d eaten in prison, but it was barely enough to call a meal.

    ¡°Fill yourself,¡± Roran said, sliding a steaming bowl of soup my way.

    The smell was intoxicating up close¡ªrich and savory, the kind of smell that promised comfort. It was a hearty sheep stew, with tender chunks of meat that practically fell off the bone. The broth shimmered slightly, thick with flavor and dotted with bits of vegetables.

    I stared at it for a moment, as if it might disappear if I looked away. My stomach growled loudly, betraying just how desperate I was. It wasn¡¯t just food¡ªit was warmth, something I hadn¡¯t felt in a long time.

    I couldn¡¯t control myself as I devoured the stew. The meat was so tender it practically melted in my mouth, rich with flavor and perfectly seasoned. It was, without a doubt, the best meal I¡¯d ever eaten. And no, I wasn¡¯t exaggerating¡ªit was a masterpiece, especially after everything I¡¯d been through lately.

    Roran glanced at me occasionally, his expression unreadable save for the faint nods of approval as I attacked the bowl like a man possessed.

    ¡°Careful,¡± he finally said, his tone dry but tinged with humor. ¡°You might choke."

    I froze mid-spoonful, then chuckled sheepishly as I slowed down. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve had anything this good,¡± I admitted, setting the spoon down for a moment.

    ¡°Really?¡± he said, leaning back and grabbing his mug. ¡°Well, everyone deserves a good meal every now and then.¡±

    As I paused, curiosity got the better of me. I couldn¡¯t forget the way he moved earlier¡ªfluid, precise, like a living embodiment of control. ¡°What martial art were you practicing earlier, sir?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±

    Roran raised an eyebrow, setting his mug back on the table. ¡°That was my own,¡± he said, a faint smirk forming. ¡°Flowing Whisper.¡±

    I blinked, trying to process what I¡¯d just heard. His own creation? ¡°You¡­ created it?¡± I repeated, leaning forward, intrigued.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said simply, his tone calm but carrying a hint of pride. ¡°Out of foolishness.¡± He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh.

    That caught me off guard. ¡°Foolishness? Why out of foolishness?¡± I asked, shaking my head slightly.

    Roran tapped the side of his mug, staring into it as though it held answers to questions long forgotten. ¡°I created it to prove that aggression¡ªrecklessness¡ªonly leads a man to his death,¡± he said.

    I didn¡¯t fully understand his reasoning, but the weight of his words kept me from pressing further. There was a depth to his explanation that hinted at something personal, something he wasn¡¯t ready to share. Still, the fact that he had created his own martial art made me question just who this man was. Could he be a legend, a master hiding in the middle of nowhere?

    Just as I was lost in thought, he spoke again, his voice breaking through my awe. ¡°It¡¯s also excellent for Myogen training,¡± he added casually, as if dropping a pebble into a still pond.

    I froze, the spoon hovering inches from my mouth. ¡°Myogen?¡± I echoed, the word carrying more weight than he might¡¯ve realized.

    Roran gave a faint nod, his expression unchanging.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    My mind raced. He¡¯s a Myogen practitioner? The way he spoke, the calm authority in his voice, made me wonder if he was more than just a practitioner. Could he really be a master?

    As I stared at him, piecing together what little I knew, one thing became clear: Roran wasn¡¯t just any warrior. He was something far more. He didn¡¯t need to flaunt his strength or skill¡ªit was in the way he carried himself, in the quiet confidence that surrounded him like an unspoken truth.

    That made me want to learn Myogen even more.

    Roran took another sip from his mug, his eyes studying me. ¡°What kingdom are you from, Zachary?¡± he asked casually.

    Kingdom? What kingdom was I from? My mind froze. Freak. I didn¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t even remember. Why didn¡¯t the memories of this body include something as basic as the name of the places in this world? If I didn¡¯t answer quickly, he¡¯d get suspicious. Think¡­ think¡­ I wish memories from this world just appear this time.

    Clink.

    A screen flickered to life in front of me.

    [The kingdom you are currently in: Kingdom of Barsil.]

    [Your birthplace: Neopatras Kingdom.]

    [Estimated travel time: 20 days (on foot).]

    The information floated in front of me. It not only told me where I was but also where I¡¯d come from¡ªand how far away that place was. The timing couldn¡¯t have been better. Did I summon this? Trigger it somehow?

    ¡°I¡¯m from Neopatras,¡± I said, trying to sound calm as I looked back at him.

    Roran¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°How did you escape the prison?¡±

    I froze, his words left me... speechless. I hadn¡¯t expected that. Not at all.

    I was an idiot. Of course, he¡¯d noticed.

    I glanced down at my clothes, the rough and worn fabric clearly marking me as a prisoner. It was obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. Of course, he¡¯d figured it out.

    ¡°You knew from the beginning?¡± I asked hesitantly.

    He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. ¡°Yes.¡±

    I stared at the half-empty bowl in front of me, suddenly losing my appetite. Setting the spoon down, I looked back at him. ¡°Why did you let me in, then?¡±

    He smiled faintly, his gaze steady. ¡°I sensed something in you when you were outside watching me. It wasn¡¯t power¡ªit was darkness,¡± he said, his voice calm but weighted.

    Before I could respond, he continued. ¡°The reason I let you in is simple: I want to hear your side of the story. If you lie to me, I¡¯ll be the one to take you back to where you belong. But if you tell me the truth, you can finish your food, stay the night, and leave in the morning.¡±

    I stared at him, weighing his words. I couldn¡¯t say I didn¡¯t have a choice¡ªI had two. Lie and face the consequences, or tell the truth and hope for a chance to get stronger. The decision wasn¡¯t hard.

    I met his eyes. ¡°I was imprisoned because I was caught in a place I didn¡¯t realize was a rebel meeting spot. At first, I thought I¡¯d get out easily, but¡­ it felt like a setup,¡± I explained, using my hands to emphasize my point.

    Roran listened intently, occasionally sipping from his mug or tapping its side thoughtfully. ¡°Go on,¡± he said when I paused.

    ¡°On what I thought was my last day in prison¡ªbecause I was supposed to be released the next morning after they found no proof of my involvement¡ªa man tried to assassinate me. I should¡¯ve died, but¡­ I survived. With the help of my bond,¡± I admitted, my voice steady but cautious.

    He froze, then dropped his mug onto the table with a dull thud. ¡°Bond?¡± he asked, his tone sharper now. ¡°You have a bond?¡±

    I nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±

    He stood abruptly, turning his back to me and staring out the window. His silence stretched for a few long seconds before he finally spoke again. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re too weak to handle your bond, aren¡¯t you? That¡¯s why it¡¯s not here, why it¡¯s nowhere to be seen,¡± he said, his words cutting but eerily accurate.

    I nodded again. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I admitted quietly.

    He turned back to me, his face unreadable at first, then broke into a smile. ¡°And you escaped,¡± he said, his expression shifting to something more intense. Then, to my utter surprise, he burst into laughter.

    ¡°HAHAHAHA!¡± The sound was unexpected, filling the small room and catching me completely off guard.

    I frowned, utterly confused.

    He shook his head, still chuckling. ¡°Because that¡¯s a smart move,¡± he said, wiping tears from his eyes. ¡°Forgive me¡ªI couldn¡¯t help it. The thought of you escaping like that just¡­ amused me.¡±

    I didn¡¯t know whether to be insulted or flattered, but his tone carried no malice.

    ¡°You can sleep in the living room tonight,¡± he said, his voice more composed now. ¡°Take some time to think about where you¡¯ll go tomorrow. And if you¡¯re smart enough to escape prison, you might just figure out how to survive out there too.¡±

    I was stunned by how casually he had taken everything, as if my escape and my bond were no more surprising than the weather. Still, I managed to smile and bow slightly, muttering a quiet, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    I didn¡¯t know it then, but that night would go down as one of the best sleeps of my life. For the first time in what felt like ages, I slept deeply¡ªno restless tossing, no creeping fear, just pure, undisturbed rest.

    The next morning, I woke up early, long before the sun had risen. The faint gray of dawn barely touched the horizon, and the air outside the house was crisp and cool. I sat for a moment, unsure of what to do with myself. The thought of doing something to express my gratitude to Roran nagged at me.

    I couldn¡¯t just sit there.

    Quietly, I moved around the house, starting with the basics. First, I tidied the living room where I¡¯d slept. I folded the blanket he¡¯d given me, smoothed out the makeshift bedding, and straightened up the sparse furniture. The room wasn¡¯t messy, but I wanted to make it look better than when I¡¯d arrived.

    Next, I found a broom tucked away near the kitchen and began sweeping the floors. I worked quietly, careful not to wake him, as I cleared away the faint traces of dust and dirt that had collected in the corners.

    Once the inside was as clean as I could manage, I turned my attention outside. The yard around the house was simple but well-kept, though the path leading to the front door had been scattered with fallen leaves and small branches. I gathered them into a pile, taking my time to make sure the area looked neat.

    By the time I¡¯d finished tidying up the yard, the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. The golden light caught the morning dew, making everything glisten.

    Still feeling restless, I spotted an axe leaning against the side of the house. A small stack of wood sat nearby, and I decided to put myself to work. Grabbing the axe, I began chopping wood, enjoying the rhythmic motion of the task. Each swing of the axe felt purposeful, and the sound of the blade splitting the logs echoed through the quiet morning.

    Finally, with a decent stack of firewood set aside, I went back inside to prepare breakfast. I scavenged through the kitchen, finding some eggs, bread, and a few simple ingredients. I wasn¡¯t much of a cook, but I did my best to whip up a meal. The scent of frying eggs and toasting bread soon filled the house.

 Chapter 12: Autumn

    ¡°Waking up to food on the table isn¡¯t so bad after all,¡± he said, settling down at the dining table after washing his face.

    The dish I¡¯d prepared wasn¡¯t anything fancy, but it was enough. I hadn¡¯t planned on eating with him¡ªI was ready to leave¡ªbut he invited me to join him for breakfast. I couldn¡¯t think of a good reason to refuse, and honestly, I needed the energy. Walking through this forest again wouldn¡¯t be a walk in the park.

    He took a bite of the scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully before glancing up. ¡°Where did you get these eggs?¡± he asked, pointing at the plate.

    I gestured with my chin toward the kitchen shelf where I¡¯d found them. ¡°Over there, sir.¡±

    He nodded, continuing to eat. ¡°Huh. I thought I was out of chicken eggs,¡± he muttered, scratching his head. Then he froze mid-bite, coughed.

    I jumped up, grabbing a mug of water from the kitchen, and handed it to him.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, lifting the mug in appreciation after taking a sip.

    This was the least I could do to repay his kindness. He¡¯d given me shelter and food, so it only felt right to give something back¡ªeven if all I could manage right now was cooking and cleaning. It wasn¡¯t much, but I hoped it lightened his load for the day.

    I didn¡¯t mind, really. In my past life, chores had been second nature. After school, I¡¯d come home to a house that needed cleaning because my mom worked overnight shifts, and my dad had spiraled into drinking after accusing her of cheating. I¡¯d taken it upon myself to keep the house in order¡ªnot just for my sake but to keep it from falling apart entirely.

    It felt strangely natural to slip into that role again, even here.

    "I completely forgot to ask yesterday, but how old are you now?" he asked suddenly, pausing between bites.

    "I''m 21, sir," I replied without hesitation.

    He gave me a curious look, the kind that said he was putting pieces together in his head. "Did you ever attend the academy in Neopatras?"

    Did I? According to the fragmented memories of this body, yes, I did. But why was it so hard to access them? It felt like digging through fog. How could I learn more about this person¡ªme?

    Then it appeared once again when I desperately needed it.

    [You can trigger the "help" screen by saying "appear" in your mind.]

    Oh, so this is what¡¯s been activating in the corner of my thoughts! All I have to do is think the word?

    ¡¶Appear¡· I thought, and like magic, a screen materialized in my mind.

    [Do you have any questions?]

    I almost said my question out loud but caught myself just in time. He was still watching me, patiently waiting for an answer.

    ¡¶Give me the educational background of this body¡·

    The screen shifted, displaying the details.

    <hr>

    [Zachary Hale]

    [21 years old]

    [Educational Information]

    ? Studied at Neopatras Academy of Knowledge

    ? Enrolled in the Swordsmanship course at 18 years old

    ? Failed the Swordsmanship course and switched programs

    ? Completed the Artisan course at 21 years old

    <hr>

    So, he¡ªI¡ªfailed swordsmanship and pivoted to¡­ artisan? What even is that? Some kind of an artist? Maybe.

    ¡¶What is artisan?¡·

    <hr>

    [Artisan]A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    A skilled craft worker who makes or creates material objects, partly or entirely by hand.

    [Artisan Course at Neopatras Academy]

    Focused on teaching painting, sculpting, and various handcrafted arts.

    <hr>

    A completely different path. This guy shifted from wielding swords to wielding paintbrushes.

    I smiled and answered aloud, "Yes, I attended Neopatras Academy."

    His face lit up with a smile. "Oh? And did you graduate?"

    "I graduated this year and I took Artisan course."

    His smile widened, clearly entertained. "An artisan? And now you¡¯re seeking to get stronger? That¡¯s¡­ a unique path."

    He wasn¡¯t wrong.

    I grinned. "I figured it couldn¡¯t hurt to be good with both a blade and my hands."

    He laughed, clearly amused. "That¡¯s a great ambition," he said, taking a sip from his mug.

    The truth was, I didn¡¯t know much about either. I¡¯d never even held a real sword in my past life, let alone used one. As for creating art? Forget about it. Painting, sculpting¡ªthose weren¡¯t my things either. Sure, I knew of famous works back on Earth¡ªimitations of masterpieces by renowned painters and sculptors¡ªbut that was it. Still, I figured it wasn¡¯t so bad to pick up new skills in this life. The more you learn, the more doors open. Right?

    But the conversation felt a little one-sided. Maybe I needed to shift the focus. "What about you, Mister Roran? Why are you in the middle of a deep forest?"

    He paused, looking down at the table before meeting my eyes again with a small smile. "This might sound foolish to you, but I did what my master did."

    "Your master?" I asked, intrigued.

    He nodded slowly. "Before he passed, he separated himself from the noise of the world. He came here to understand himself better, to find peace, and¡­ well, he died in the forest. Alone."

    The story carried a weight of sadness, but the way Roran¡¯s eyes lit up as he spoke gave it a strange sense of joy. It was like he took pride in his master¡¯s journey and its outcome.

    "When I found him," Roran continued, "his final words to me were: ¡®I came here searching for answers but found something better: the silence that let me hear my own heart.¡¯" He scratched his nose, smiling wistfully. "He said that, and he just¡­ smiled at me. He looked so happy, even in his last moments. No tears, no regret. But me? I was the one crying."

    His smile never wavered, even as he recounted the moment.

    I sat quietly, trying to process his words. It took me a while, but eventually, I started to understand. Death will come for all of us¡ªit¡¯s inevitable. But the point isn¡¯t to wait for it, sitting idle or wallowing in fear. It¡¯s to use the time we have to do something meaningful, something that brings us peace or joy before we leave this world.

    Roran¡¯s master didn¡¯t just accept death¡ªhe embraced it, but only after finding what truly mattered to him. And maybe that¡¯s the real lesson.

    I was dumbfounded.

    Hearing those words stirred something deep inside me, something I¡¯d never confronted before. In my past life, I didn¡¯t fight for anything. I let myself be controlled, thinking I deserved it¡ªthat every failure, every hardship, was my burden to bear. My mindset was fixed, unchanging, and I wasted my youth believing I had no time or power to change. I died without ever realizing I had the chance to rewrite my fate. It took courage to fight against death, but even more to fight for life.

    I stood there, silent and in awe, until something surged within me¡ªan energy, a motivation, something electric. Without thinking, I stood up abruptly.

    "Can you show me your martial arts once again, sir, before I depart?" I asked, bowing my head respectfully.

    He looked at me, his expression shifting from surprise to something more serious. "My martial arts?"

    I nodded. "Yes, sir."

    For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, then shook his head with a smile. He stood up and walked over to a collection of wooden swords displayed near his room. "What about a spar? How does that sound?"

    A spar. That was more than I¡¯d asked for, and exactly what I wanted.

    "Here," he said, handing me a light wooden sword. He walked outside and gestured for me to follow. "Let¡¯s go."

    The sun peeked through the trees as we stepped into the open, its golden rays filtering through the falling leaves. Shades of orange and red fluttered to the ground, a telltale sign of autumn. If this world¡¯s seasons were anything like Earth¡¯s, it must be September.

    ¡¶Appear¡·

    [What questions do you have?]

    ¡¶What is the calendar system of this world compared to Earth?¡·

    [Calendar System Compared to Your World:]

    ? Lunara (January)

    ? Frosthem (February)

    ? Thawren (March)

    ? Blumorne (April)

    ? Solvane (May)

    ? Ignira (June)

    ? Embrith (July)

    ? Voryn (August)

    ? Criseth (September)

    ? Duscan (October)

    ? Glacidor (November)

    ? Nivralis (December)

    Seasons:

    ? Spring

    ? Summer

    ? Autumn

    ? Winter

    Each month has 30 days (360 days total).

    So, this world wasn¡¯t entirely different from Earth. The names of the months were changed, sure, but it wasn¡¯t so complicated that I couldn¡¯t adjust quickly.

    ¡°Are you thinking of backing down?¡± Roran asked, raising his wooden sword with a grin.

    I shook my head, snapping out of my thoughts. ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    His eyebrow arched, amused.

    ¡°No, sir,¡± I corrected, gripping my wooden sword tightly.

    I stood there, waiting for him to make the first move. My plan was simple: stay alert and react. But then I blinked. And when I opened my eyes again, he was right in front of me, his sword raised.

    I froze, completely caught off guard.

    ¡°Did you see me?¡± he asked, smiling as he stepped back casually.

    I didn¡¯t answer. I was too busy trying to process what had just happened. How the hell did he move that fast?

    I couldn¡¯t react. He moved like lightning.

    ¡°Come on, move forward, Zachary,¡± Roran called out, his tone firm but encouraging.

    He didn¡¯t need to tell me twice. My body moved on instinct, raising the wooden sword to a mid-guard position as I tried to time a good swing.

    Swung!

    As expected, my swing didn¡¯t come close. He¡¯d already stepped back, avoiding it with subtle ease.

    I huffed, frustrated.

    I swung again. And again. Wild, desperate movements, but none of them reached him.

    Huff.

    Each attempt drained me. My arms ached, my breaths came faster, and I was quickly realizing that this body wasn¡¯t built for endurance. It wasn¡¯t bad¡ªneither athletic nor frail¡ªbut stamina? That was another story.

    Roran wiped his forehead as he watched me struggle. ¡°React too late, and you¡¯ll bleed. React too early, and you¡¯ll overreach. React just right, and you¡¯ll survive.¡± He shifted into an offensive stance, the seriousness in his voice cutting through my exhaustion.

    React just right. I repeated the phrase in my head. Could I? Against someone like him? He moved like a storm, faster than my eyes could track. But then, I stopped myself. This mindset wasn¡¯t helping. If I kept labeling myself as weak, I¡¯d only end up defeated before the fight even began.

    ¡°Let¡¯s share a few swings,¡± he said, lunging toward me, his movements slower now¡ªdeliberate, measured.

    I barely managed to block his strikes, dodging with clumsy steps. But I wasn¡¯t just avoiding him; I was analyzing. Every swing, every movement, every angle. He was teaching me with every motion, and I was starting to see the patterns.

    ¡°Remember what I¡¯ve told you,¡± he said, smiling as I stumbled but stayed upright.

    I focused on his swings. Slowly, they became less of a blur and more like a map. The trajectory, the timing, even the force behind them¡ªI was starting to predict them.

    Swossssh!

    This time, I parried. Barely, but I did it. His slow strike wasn¡¯t just a test¡ªit was training. And for the first time, I felt the satisfaction of getting it right. My chest swelled with pride as I realized I¡¯d done it. It was like I¡¯d been practicing swordsmanship for years.

    Roran clapped a hand on my shoulder, beaming. ¡°That¡¯s it! You¡¯re thinking right.¡±

    But just as I opened my mouth to invite him for another spar, excitement bubbling in my chest, the world tilted. My knees buckled, and before I could react, everything went black.

    [Warning: Your Bond is slowly dying.]

 Chapter 13: A Dying Bond

    ¡°Give up on swordsmanship,¡± said the man with dark red hair, his beard neatly trimmed, as he sat in his imposing chair.

    His words echoed in my head as I stared at the floor. Give up on swordsmanship? The thing I wanted most? How could I? Did dreams have limits? Did failure mean abandoning them entirely? Should I listen to my father and let go of the one thing that gave my life purpose?

    But I didn¡¯t have a choice. He was the head of this family, and disappointing him would mean sealing my fate as nothing more than a disgrace.

    Before I could respond, his voice cut through my thoughts. ¡°You don¡¯t have what it takes to be a swordsman. Our family is renowned for its swordsmanship, and I heard your younger brother defeated you in a spar. Aren¡¯t you ashamed?¡±

    My younger brother? The same brother who had practiced Essence Flow, one of the forms of Myogen, since the age of eight? Losing to him wasn¡¯t shameful; it was inevitable. But I couldn¡¯t say that. Pride¡ªmy fragile pride¡ªkept me silent.

    My father shook his head, his disappointment palpable. ¡°That¡¯s why you must take another path. Never wield a sword again. As for your course, drop it. Shift to something else. Do what I say, and you won¡¯t disappoint me any further.¡± His tone left no room for argument.

    I lowered my gaze again, my hands trembling. Slowly, I tried to meet his eyes. But I couldn¡¯t. I couldn¡¯t face the cold, judging stare of a father who had controlled my every move since childhood. In this family, we were taught that greatness wasn¡¯t just expected¡ªit was demanded. We weren¡¯t allowed to fall short. We weren¡¯t allowed to fail.

    But I wasn¡¯t like them. I was the son of a different mistress, a child they barely acknowledged, a constant reminder of my father¡¯s indiscretions. To them, I wasn¡¯t family¡ªI was a blemish to be hidden away.

    ¡°Just stay out of sight,¡± they¡¯d say, every time I tried to push myself, every time I worked hard to improve.

    I lacked talent.

    I lacked skill.

    I lacked luck.

    And in their eyes, I lacked worth.

    All I have is determination, the stubborn resolve to improve, even if I¡¯m the only one who sees it. But determination isn¡¯t enough, and at my lowest, when I was drowning in self-doubt and teetering on the edge of despair, I met her.

    I was painting when I first saw her. A noblewoman. Beautiful. She seemed like a vision, something out of one of my own works of art. I didn¡¯t have the courage to approach her, let alone tell her how stunning she was or ask her name. Instead, I stood there like a fool, frozen and dumbfounded.

    And then she saw me.

    She approached me with the kind of confidence I could never hope to mimic. We talked, and somehow, we became friends. She¡¯d often watch me paint or sculpt, her presence like a quiet encouragement I didn¡¯t know I needed. I thought I admired her, but somewhere along the way, that admiration turned into something deeper¡ªsomething I¡¯m too scared to say out loud

    Then came the announcement. My father arranged her marriage¡ªto my older brother, Cilian. She didn¡¯t know until he told her, and from that moment, everything changed.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    We stopped seeing each other. She became part of Cilian¡¯s life, and I became a spectator, watching them grow closer.

    At first, it felt unfair¡ªlike the world had taken the only spark I¡¯d ever known and handed it to someone else. But over time, I became numb to it. Maybe I wasn¡¯t good enough. Maybe I never had been.

    That¡¯s when I threw myself into painting. I poured everything into it¡ªthe frustration, the longing, the emptiness. Art became my refuge, and I retreated from the public eye, just as my family always told me to do.

    But I wasn¡¯t lonely. Or maybe I was just convincing myself I wasn¡¯t. I told myself I was happy, even if it wasn¡¯t true.

    Huff.

    Huff.

    "AGGGHHH!" I yelled, jolting awake like I¡¯d just been dropped into reality from a thousand feet.

    Breathing heavily, I realized I was still in the bed at Roran¡¯s place. The same place I slept out last night. The memory appeared as I sat; the spar, losing consciousness, and that ominous warning about my bond, Nix, slowly dying inside me.

    Before I could piece it all together, Roran appeared, moving quickly with a mug in his hand. "Take it easy," he said, his tone calm but firm as I scrambled to sit upright, still dazed. "Drink this." He handed me the mug.

    I stared down at the concoction inside. It was green. No, wait¡ªpurple? "What is this, sir?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

    He chuckled. "It¡¯s for your recovery."

    This was something I would never drink randomly. This looks like the potion you¡¯d give your worst enemy while grinning and saying, ¡®It¡¯s for your own good.¡¯ But then I knew I needed it.

    He crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. "You must drink it."

    I sniffed it, immediately regretting that decision. It smells like a swamp and regret had a baby.

    Roran gave me a deadpan look. "You¡¯ll feel better after you drink it."

    I sighed, holding my breath as I tipped the mug back and swallowed. The taste¡ªbitter, sour, and somehow spicy all at once.

    Roran laughed, patting my shoulder. "If you¡¯re well enough to react this much, it¡¯s already working."

    He stood up again, walking over to the table where the wooden swords were kept. He grabbed one, examined it briefly, and placed it back in its spot, his movements deliberate. Then, turning to face me, he said, "Your bond is slowly dying."

    So, he already knew. He knew about Nix, my bond, fading away inside me.

    ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re too weak to handle a bond,¡± he continued, his tone blunt but not unkind. ¡°Individuals with bonds need to develop strong bodies and practice myogen if they want the bond to survive or reach its full potential. But as far as I can tell, your internal energy is stagnant. You haven¡¯t practiced myogen at all.¡±

    I clenched my fists, biting back the urge to argue. He wasn¡¯t wrong. I already knew how weak I was, how far behind I had fallen. But I didn¡¯t know a bond could die because of a weak host. I thought they¡¯d just¡­ rest until I got stronger. Apparently, that wasn¡¯t the case.

    He studied me for a moment, then asked, ¡°And your bond¡ªis it a soul bond?¡±

    I nodded slowly. ¡°Yes. A fox.¡±

    He sighed, rubbing his temples. ¡°A soul bond.¡± His voice carried a weight that made my chest tighten. ¡°Then you need to start practicing myogen¡ªspecifically Essence Flow, one of its three forms. It¡¯s the bare minimum if you want to keep that bond alive. Without it, you risk not just your bond dying, but yourself as well.¡±

    Essence Flow.

    Essence Flow.

    What exactly is it again?

    ¡¶Appear¡·

    [State your question.]

    ¡¶What is Essence Flow?¡·

    [Are you referring to one of the forms of Myogen?]

    ¡¶Yes.¡·

    <hr>

    [Essence Flow]

    ? One of the three forms of Myogen, sometimes referred to as Internal Flow.

    ? Used by practitioners to enhance their physical bodies.

    ? Heightens strength, speed, healing, and durability.

    ? Practicing Essence Flow unlocks unique skills, which vary depending on the individual.

    <hr>

    In short, Essence Flow is like a buff¡ªa power-up for practitioners. And judging by my current state, I desperately needed it.

    "How could I... learn it?" I asked, my voice tinged with both curiosity and urgency.

    Roran smiled knowingly. "I can teach you but it will take long time, the good news is I know someone who could teach you far more efficiently."

    I tilted my head, a bit skeptical. "You¡¯re a practitioner of Myogen too, sir?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. I just wanted to hear more from him.

    He nodded but quickly shifted the conversation. "You need to go to him as soon as possible," he said firmly.

    "Him?"

    He pointed outside, his gesture vague. "Janga¡¯s Temple."

    Janga¡¯s Temple?

    "You can train there¡ªor rather, you must¡ªif you want your bond to survive," he said, disappearing briefly into his room. When he returned, he was holding a piece of paper and started writing on it.

    I watched him carefully. "Where....exactly is this temple?"

    He didn¡¯t look up as he wrote. "Head northwest. Once you¡¯re out of this forest, you¡¯ll see a mountain. At the very top, that¡¯s where the temple is." He said handing me the paper. "Give this to him when you two met.

    I nodded.

    ¡¶Appear¡·

    ¡¶Janga¡¯s Temple¡·

    [Janga¡¯s Temple]

    ? Located at the peak of Coropuna Mountain.

    ? The mountain is famous for being the residence of Janga, the great teacher.

    ? The area is also infested with low-level goblins inhabiting its caves.

    ¡¶How long is the trip on foot?¡·

    [Calculating...]

    [Approximately 20+ kilometers.]

    This would mean about seven hours or less of continuous walking through the forest and the mountain.

    <hr>

 Chapter 14: Artisan

    I set out for the Mountain of Coropuna after Roran made sure the weakness in my bond wouldn¡¯t overwhelm me. He wanted to be certain I wouldn¡¯t collapse or lose consciousness along the way. Before I left, he handed me new clothes, apologizing for forgetting to replace my prison rags the night before. Along with the clothes, he gave me a sword, a flask of water, and the letter I was to deliver once I reached the summit.

    The forest felt different this time¡ªless intimidating. I almost felt connected to it, as though it had embraced me in some fleeting, inexplicable way. Perhaps it was simply the daylight; the sun¡¯s rays pierced through gaps in the dense canopy, scattering patches of light on the forest floor. Even with the towering trees blocking most of the sunlight, the place felt alive rather than oppressive.

    As I walked, I realized how strangely enjoyable it was to wander through this forest. For the first time in a long while, my mind felt free of clutter. But then my dream from earlier resurfaced, pulling me back into the memories it unearthed.

    Nix had been right¡ªmemories do manifest as dreams.

    This guy¡¯s memories... they were a painful mirror. He¡¯d been the embarrassment of his family, cast aside until he eventually became an artisan. I couldn¡¯t help but compare his past to mine. Like me, he¡¯d been controlled, his choices dictated by someone else. The difference was in the nature of our captors¡ªtheir motivations, their methods.

    He¡¯d loved someone once, a girl he met and cherished. But fate, or perhaps cruelty, had her betrothed to his older brother¡ªthe same brother I¡¯d encountered in the jail. That memory stung with tragedy.

    Every fragment of his life I glimpsed was heavy with failure and heartbreak. He tried¡ªtried so hard¡ªand yet, every effort ended in defeat. Was there no joy in his story? No fleeting moments of triumph? All I seemed to see were his scars.

    But then the walk distracted me from diving too deep into this guy¡¯s tragic memories. After all, tearing up in the middle of a forest isn¡¯t exactly the look of a heroic adventurer¡ªunless ¡°weeping wanderer¡± is the vibe I¡¯m going for.

    This forest was unbelievably dense, as if it had swallowed everything but the trees themselves. Towering giants stretched skyward, their younger counterparts sprouting hesitantly below. The ground was a sea of orange, red, and yellow leaves¡ªa vibrant testament that it was really autumn. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder how people here prepared for the looming winter. Was it a season of scarcity, or did they harvest so much they couldn¡¯t finish it all?

    My musings didn¡¯t last long. A cluster of animal skeletons caught my eye, stark and silent against the forest floor. A grim reminder of nature¡¯s law: the weak get eaten, and the strong survive. It¡¯s a belief I¡¯ve carried with me for as long as I can remember, though I sometimes wonder which side of that equation I truly belong to.

    The walk was so quiet that I couldn¡¯t help but break the silence with a little concert of my own. I belted out the pre-chorus of one of Earth¡¯s greatest hits, a masterpiece only a legend like me could ruin.

    ¡°Every dream¡¯s a little farther,¡± I sang, my voice wobbling like a drunk pigeon.

    ¡°Every step¡¯s a little harder,¡± I continued, hitting notes so off-key they could probably unlock a door.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°But I¡¯ll keep dancing through the fire,¡± I screeched, aiming for the high note with the grace of a cat stuck in a blender. Honestly, I wasn¡¯t sure if I was singing or summoning wildlife to come end my misery. Either way, it was a show no one deserved to hear¡ªbut then, I was killing the silence, and maybe a few birds, too.

    When the sun dipped below the horizon, I reached the edge of the forest where the mountain loomed. It was massive, its jagged silhouette cutting into the night sky. Pathways wound their way up its face, but scattered among them were dark caves¡ªlikely where goblins slept.

    The thought of running into green-skinned goblins lingered in my mind, but I pressed on.

    The ascent wasn¡¯t as steep as I¡¯d expected. It was more like a winding road that tilted upward¡ªnothing extreme, just enough to remind me I was climbing a mountain. Surprisingly, I wasn¡¯t as worn out as I thought I¡¯d be, considering my stamina wasn¡¯t great. Maybe it was thanks to Roran¡¯s concoction, the ultimate energy booster.

    ¡°Huff,¡± I muttered, stopping to catch my breath. ¡°Time for a break.¡± I took out my water and drank the last of it.

    Resting was a lesson I¡¯d learned the hard way recently. With the bond inside me and my body starting to feel the strain, pushing forward without a pause wasn¡¯t an option. But resting here, on this exposed trail or near one of those ominous caves, wasn¡¯t exactly comforting.

    My mind ran wild with scenarios¡ªa goblin leaping out of the shadows while I let my guard down. Overthinking it wouldn¡¯t help, but neither would ignoring the risk.

    I didn¡¯t expect a goblin to jump on me, especially right when I was thinking about one doing exactly that. Perfect timing.

    ¡°Heeheehee!¡± it cackled, landing right in front of me. It must have leapt from above when it spotted me. In its hand was a crude axe.

    The goblin was small, but underestimating it would¡¯ve been a mistake. Still, I wondered¡ªare goblins intelligent creatures? Or just aggressive ones?

    I dropped to one knee, feigning injury as I subtly twisted my leg, readying myself. It took the bait. The goblin''s reckless nature was clear as it advanced, laughing like it had already won.

    When it got close, I lunged forward, driving my sword into its neck with minimal effort. The blade pierced cleanly, and the goblin collapsed instantly.

    [Goblin Defeated! 2 XP]

    Unlike slimes, goblins bleed¡ªa lot. The sight of its blood made my stomach churn. I gagged, barely holding back the urge to vomit. But then I had to keep moving.

    More goblins screeched as they leapt towards me, its jagged blade swinging wildly. I ducked, barely avoiding the slash aimed for my neck, and swung my sword upward. It wasn¡¯t clean or graceful, but the edge caught the goblin¡¯s arm, sending it stumbling back.

    Before I could catch my breath, two more goblins jumped from above, snarling as they landed. My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword. The weapon felt heavy in my hand, and my swings weren¡¯t precise¡ªclumsy, even¡ªbut I had no choice.

    "Heeeee!"

    The first goblin lunged, and I sidestepped, swinging my sword in a wide arc. It wasn¡¯t a perfect strike, but it was enough to cut across its chest and send it crashing to the ground. The second goblin came at me from the side, forcing me to pivot awkwardly. I swung too late, the blade grazing its shoulder instead of delivering a killing blow.

    The goblin snarled and slashed at me with its crude dagger. I stumbled back, barely managing to block its attack with the flat of my sword. My arms were starting to ache, my movements slowing.

    This is bad.

    But somehow, I managed to kill them all, relying on the bits of knowledge and basic swordsmanship I had. The advantage of having a sword skill had made the difference.

    When the last goblin fell, I dropped to one knee, panting. My sword felt like a lead weight in my hand, and my arms trembled from the effort.

    +15 XP earned.

    Current XP: 73+/99. 15+

    Phantom Slash [Mastery: 17+%]

    Swordsmanship  [Mastery: 11+%].

    Damn. That was not what I expected. Facing this many goblins is such a pain. But at least my numbers are going up, even if it''s slow. That part felt¡­ satisfying, in a way.

    I stopped near a small cave. It wasn¡¯t deep¡ªI could see the back wall from where I stood. It was more like a stone hollow carved into the mountain. Perfect for resting, I thought.

    What surprised me was the lack of goblins or monsters inside. It felt oddly peaceful, a safe haven compared to the chaos outside. I glanced back at the scattered goblin corpses nearby and hoped their companions didn¡¯t have a blood-scenting ability. The last thing I needed was a horde tracking me here.

    Cling!

    [Quest Notification]

    Slay 20 goblins

    Progress: 8/20

    Possible Rewards:

    ? XP

    ? New Title: Goblin Slayer (Effect: Instills fear in low-level goblins)

    ? Unlocked Skill: Artisan¡¯s Insight (Allows you to see weak points for 1 second)

 Special Chapter (Side Character)

    I¡¯m Arthur. People on my community call me a hero; others call me a menace. I call myself "the guy who¡¯s been stuck in this godforsaken forest for three weeks with a bear bond who farts louder than thunder." That¡¯s Mo, my "trusty sidekick." Except Mo¡¯s trust level is about as high as a squirrel with a gambling addiction.

    ¡°Arthur,¡± Mo growled, his little beady eyes staring up at me, ¡°if we don¡¯t find food soon, I¡¯m eating your boots.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t even digest my boots,¡± I shot back. ¡°You¡¯d choke on the laces.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯d still taste better than those mushrooms you keep insisting are edible,¡± Mo said, scratching his belly. ¡°Last time, I almost saw God.¡±

    ¡°Almost?¡± I asked, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°So what, God took one look at your furry ass and said, ¡®Nope, not worth it¡¯?¡±

    Mo snorted, swiping at a patch of leaves with his paw. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t claw your face off.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky you don¡¯t. This face is the only thing keeping predators from eating us. They look at me and think, ¡®Wow, no way he¡¯s edible. Probably toxic.¡¯¡±

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Mo blinked, unimpressed. ¡°The only thing toxic is your attitude.¡±

    As we trudged through the endless forest, I couldn¡¯t help but marvel at how utterly unqualified we were for survival. Case in point: the time Mo thought he could scare off a pack of wolves by pretending to be bigger.

    ¡°How¡¯d that work out for you again?¡± I asked, grinning.

    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna talk about it,¡± Mo grumbled.

    ¡°Oh, come on. It was like watching a toddler throw a tantrum at a buffet. You puffed up, growled, and then tripped over a log. Classic.¡±

    ¡°They ran away, didn¡¯t they?¡± Mo snapped, glaring at me.

    ¡°Yeah, because they thought you were rabid.¡± I laughed so hard I had to lean on a tree. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen wolves so confused in my life. They probably went home and questioned their entire existence.¡±

    Before Mo could come up with a snarky comeback, we stumbled upon a clearing. In the middle of it stood a single, glorious apple tree.

    ¡°Finally! Food!¡± I shouted, sprinting toward it.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Mo barked. ¡°What if it¡¯s cursed?¡±

    ¡°Cursed?¡± I scoffed, reaching for an apple. ¡°It¡¯s a tree, Mo, not a warlock.¡±

    The moment I bit into the apple, the ground trembled. A deep, booming voice echoed through the clearing. ¡°WHO DARES TO EAT FROM MY TREE?¡±

    I froze, apple juice dripping down my chin. Mo, ever the loyal companion, pointed at me with his paw. ¡°It was him.¡±

    ¡°Mo, you little traitor!¡± I hissed.

    The earth split open, and out popped a tiny, angry gnome. ¡°You dare steal my apples?!¡±

    ¡°Steal?¡± I said, holding up the half-eaten apple. ¡°I thought it was, you know, communal.¡±

    The gnome narrowed his eyes. ¡°Do I look like I run a charity?¡±

    Mo, of course, couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°You look like you run a daycare.¡±

    The gnome turned bright red. ¡°I¡¯ll curse you both!¡±

    ¡°Curse us?¡± I snorted. ¡°Buddy, I¡¯ve been cursed since birth. Go ahead. Add to the list.¡±

    ¡°Arthur, shut up!¡± Mo whispered.

    ¡°What¡¯s he gonna do? Shrink me? Joke¡¯s on him, my ego¡¯s already microscopic.¡±

    The gnome snapped his fingers, and suddenly, Mo and I were dangling upside down from the apple tree by our underwear.

    ¡°You happy now?¡± Mo growled, swaying next to me.