Void space

IN THE BLINK of an eye, the void vanished. I found myself standing before a two-story concrete house, surrounded by other rural buildings. Looking down, I wore the same suit I'd died in on my home planet. Behind me stretched an endless sea of wheat, golden waves rippling to the horizon. The sun hung high, and a gentle breeze stirred the air. Not another soul in sight.

My heart stopped. I knew this house. This was where it all began, my first home, my first life.

Another blink, and I was inside. A scene from my past played out before me: a small child—me—with brown hair and black eyes, sitting with a woman whose brown hair and blonde eyes I'd never forgotten. My first mother. Beside her, a broad-shouldered man with black hair, black eyes, and a neat beard. My first father. They were celebrating something, a cake on the table between them.

"Mother, Father!" I called out, but my words passed through them like wind. Of course—these were just memories.

The door burst open. A figure in a black cloak approached the dining table. My father rose, words forming on his lips—and then the blade struck. My mother snatched up my younger self, running for the door, but the assassin was faster. She fell, still clutching me, her life bleeding out onto the floor.

"Mission complete," the cloaked figure spoke into some device near his ear, then vanished.

The memory burned. I'd hunted this man down years later, killed him and everyone connected to the hit. I'd buried these memories deep, but now they clawed their way back to the surface. Tears streamed down my face, and I whispered to myself, "It's okay. I took my revenge. It's okay." Was this one of the deity's gifts? Making me relive these moments to strengthen my resolve?

The scene shifted. A crowd filled the house now. Someone found my younger self beneath my mother's body. My uncle, with his black hair and eyes so like my father's, spoke to the man holding me: "Let's take him to an orphanage."

Time lurched forward. I was nine, standing in the orphanage that would soon close due to government cuts. The manager's office materialized around me—I watched her arrest, then found myself in a room full of children, facing a white-haired noble with cruel blue eyes and a devil's smile.

"They will make good slaves," he murmured, eyeing us like cattle.

Sina, our pink-haired manager, burst in despite her handcuffs. "Don't you dare make these children slaves, you filthy noble!"

His smirk never wavered. "I'll only take two. The rest can be... disposed of."

"They're supposed to transfer to another orphanage!" Sina's voice cracked. "Don't touch them!"

"I have permission from above," he said softly. "Two will serve me. Consider it payment for your... sins."

When Sina called him a pervert, his facade cracked. He beat her until the police intervened, reminding him they needed her alive for her execution. He selected two children, ordered the building burned, and left us to the streets.

The crowd gathered to watch the orphanage burn, treating it like entertainment. My younger self didn't cry like the others—I remembered feeling only sadness for Sina, our manager who'd taught us fighting techniques and treated us like family. Seven years later, I'd watch that noble's execution in the royal capital, savoring every moment.

The scene shifted again. I stood beside my fourteen-year-old self in the arena stands. After the orphanage, I'd found work in a shop, the owner kind enough to provide food and shelter along with modest wages. Below us, two fighters prepared to determine the kingdom's ninth king—the winner would rule, the loser would serve as knight until death.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the commentator's voice boomed. "Welcome to the selection of our new king! Fear not—the invisible shields will protect you. Please welcome our finalists: Caster and Shimon!"

The fighters entered—Caster with his longsword, Shimon wielding a spear. At the referee's signal, they clashed. The force of their meeting sent waves of energy rippling through the arena. I moved closer, leaving my past self in the stands, watching as they unleashed both ki and fighting spirit in their duel.

Shimon's speed increased dramatically as he combined both powers, leaving dozens of cuts across Caster's body. But Caster merely smirked, his fighting spirit staunching the blood flow. They separated, each charging their weapons with glowing energy. Their special techniques collided repeatedly, shattering the first of three protective shields and kicking up clouds of sand.

When the dust settled, both stood bloody but unbowed, their weapons shattered. A moment passed, then Shimon collapsed. The crowd erupted, chanting Caster's name as their new king.

I returned to my younger self's side, remembering how this battle had inspired my dream to become the continent's strongest warrior. But the academy fees had been far beyond my means.

The scene melted once more, and I found myself walking beside my past self through Volhara's main street. I was running errands for the shop, but something about this day felt significant. What was I about to witness? I couldn't stray far from my past self, so I followed, waiting to see what memory would unfold next...

The scene melted like ice in spring, reforming into the bustling streets of Volhara. Once again, I found myself walking beside my past self through the city's main market street. I remembered this errand—picking up supplies for the shop—but couldn't place the exact date. Something about this day tugged at my memory. Unable to stray far from my past self, I followed, waiting for the significance to reveal itself.

Then I saw it—the alley corner. My heart quickened as recognition dawned. This was the day everything changed, the moment that set me on the path to revenge, the day I decided to prove that a commoner could rise to become king or knight in this prejudiced world.

My younger self spotted it first: a group of thugs surrounding a noble boy around fourteen. Without hesitation, past-me rushed forward—not for gain or glory, but simply because someone needed help.

The first punch was embarrassing. My younger self's fist connected with one of the men, but he might as well have hit a stone wall. The thugs turned, their attention shifting from their original target to this new annoyance.

But the noble boy wasn't helpless. He seized his chance, his stance shifting as he gathered his ki. His first punch dropped one of the men instantly, unconscious before he hit the ground. Then came a side kick, enhanced not just with ki but with a whisper of fighting spirit—remarkable for someone so young, given how much harder fighting spirit was to master than mere ki.

The remaining thugs fled, dragging their unconscious companions.

"How did you do that?" my younger self asked, amazed.

The noble boy shrugged. "Just ki—everyone uses it in fighting. And thank you for saving me." He paused, considering. "Would you like to come to my house?"

"I need to inform my employer first," past-me replied.

"I'll come with you," the boy offered.

As we walked to the shop, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Nova Veincer."

"I'm Rohald von Jeniyold, at your service," he replied with an exaggerated bow that made us both laugh.

The shop owner, waiting outside his medical store, gave his permission readily enough. Then we made our way to Rohald's mansion, where guards eyed my younger self with suspicious curiosity. Inside, the wealth on display was staggering—artifacts and devices gleaming in the lamplight, a massive dining table dominating one room, plush sofas lining the walls.

The chief butler, elegant despite his years, led us to the family head's office. Rohald asked me to wait outside while he and the butler went in. Minutes later, I was summoned.

The family head shared his son's good looks—purple hair, black eyes, aristocratic features. I bowed, introducing myself.

"Thank you for saving my son," he said, his voice warm but measured. "He's asked me to make you his guard at the academy. Would you be interested in attending East Royal Academy? We would cover all expenses and provide a monthly wage. Your only duty would be to protect my son while there. Do you accept?"

My younger self stood frozen, stunned by this turn of fortune. "Yes, my lord. I will."

After discussing the details, we left the office. The family head instructed me to move into the manor to prepare for the entrance exams. Outside, I turned to Rohald. "Did you arrange all this?"

He grinned. "Consider it gratitude. Besides, aren't we friends?"

"Yes," my younger self replied, "we are."

The scene began to shift again, and I braced myself for what memory would surface next...