Ch.1EP.1 – My Story.

I was a slave.

When I was born, my parents sold me to a slave trader before I was even three years old.

I don’t resent them.

…No, to be precise, I don’t even remember my parents’ faces.

I was sold just as I was beginning to speak, how could I remember what they looked like?

The only clear memory I have is of sucking my thumb while following the slave trader around.

Young slaves sold quite well.

They were popular among spellcasters, was it for human experimentation?

Or perhaps because the greedy pigs at the temple had a preference for children?

Either way, we fetched a good price.

I was sold to a spellcaster.

The slave trader called me “an unlucky bastard,” but I’d argue that being sold to a mage was better than being used for the dirty desires of old men.

Ten years as a slave to a spellcaster, a mage.

I became one of three people—no, three test subjects—who survived out of a hundred slaves sold.

The mage’s experiments involved extracting cells from magical beasts and implanting them into human bodies, with the goal of human enhancement.

Children who couldn’t adapt to or withstand the cells would either burst apart or become something neither human nor beast, ending up in the incinerator—a common occurrence in the laboratory.

At the time, though my body was weak, I apparently had good willpower.

The will to live.

That’s what I had.

Even at such a young age, when I didn’t fully understand what death meant, I craved survival and desperately endured the experiments, eventually beginning to show the results the mage wanted.

The mage was delighted as I demonstrated adaptability to the genes of two magical beasts: the human-dog hybrid and the man-eating ghoul.

…And then the mage tried to dissect me.

Thwack!

“…Huh?”

Crack! Could a human head burst so easily?

It was my first murder.

Slaves normally can’t kill their masters, but I realized then that the slave mark doesn’t activate if there’s no intent to attack. I had simply thrashed reflexively without murderous intent, and with just a casual hit, the mage died.

It was truly a miraculous result of coincidence and luck.

…Or should I say, a result compounded by the mage’s mistake?

After all, I had the genes of a man-eating ghoul—a troll.

Is it normal to try to dissect a child who possesses the strength of a magical beast rather than that of a child?

It’s no wonder mages are despised as mere spellcasters. They’re all insane.

Anyway, with the master’s death, I automatically became free, and I tried to escape the laboratory.

“Well, look what we have here, something interesting?”

“…Ah.”

Unfortunately, I couldn’t escape.

I should have been quicker, but sadly, the mage died on the day some organization that sponsored him was visiting, and they caught me in the act.

“Child, choose. Will you come with me? Or die right here?”

“…I’ll come with you.”

“Smart kid.”

The organization sponsoring the mage.

They were none other than an assassination organization called [Black Moon].

At the age of thirteen.

I became an assassin.

* * *

The assassination organization wanted powerful soldiers.

Powerful soldiers with magical beast abilities and excellent assassination skills.

I heard they wanted to overthrow some kingdom.

Just assassins trying to overthrow a kingdom—thinking about it now, the world was truly going to hell.

Well, I was useful to them, so I survived. I was raised as an assassin and for the first time lived like a human.

Although I endured inhumane treatment daily, like consuming poison to build immunity or being tortured to develop resistance to torture.

But for the first time, I ate proper meals and had a decent place to sleep, which made me understand what it meant to be “human.”

So I held no grudge against the assassination organization.

About five years—that’s how long it took to train me into a professional assassin.

“Prepare for your mission.”

“Understood.”

“Number 9 and Number 10 will move with you. Number 8, take care of them.”

“…Yes.”

At that time, my name was Number 8.

That meant there were seven others above me, which made sense.

The assassination organization wasn’t stupid; would they rely on just one mage for overthrowing a kingdom?

They must have sponsored quite a few spellcasters, as there were several people in the organization with unusual physical abilities or mysterious powers like mine.

By the way, Numbers 9 and 10 were the ones who survived the experiments with me.

We didn’t get along at all.

While the organization’s structure didn’t allow for good relationships, they also seemed displeased that I, younger than them, had a higher number.

…Childish fellows.

But perhaps because they were childish…

“Die, Number 8!”

“If only you weren’t here…!”

Numbers 9 and 10, with their severe inferiority complexes, attacked me, and I fought back to survive.

It was quite a bloody battle, but I gained the upper hand.

They needed to understand.

“If you wanted a higher number, you should have worked harder than me.”

Thwack!

“Kuhek!”

“H-how…?”

“Why do you think my number is higher? In your next life, please be smarter.”

Of course, the reason my number was higher was that I was clearly stronger than them.

They were certainly fools for not understanding that.

“Sigh, but what do I do about this?”

I succeeded in killing them all, but I wasn’t happy about it.

Rather, if murder was this empty and bitter, and I rejoiced in it, that would be proof I was insane from that moment.

But the feeling that followed the bitterness was worry.

They were valuable assets the organization had carefully raised, and now that I’d killed them…

I was deeply concerned the organization would try to kill me.

But fortunately…

“Huh?”

When I returned to the organization, it had been completely destroyed.

The kingdom had discovered the overthrow plan, dispatched its army, and begun wiping out all assassination organizations.

At first, I couldn’t believe it.

I knew the organization was quite powerful.

So I searched and investigated all the places I knew, including the organization’s safe houses, but they were all burned to the ground, and decisively…

“…These gentlemen really went out with a bang.”

Seeing the organization’s instructors and executives all beheaded and hanging on stakes, I finally became convinced.

Ah, the organization is finished.

At the age of 18, I finally became truly free.

* * *

Two years later.

I moved to another country for a second life and worked hard for a fresh start, but what I clearly realized was that the world is merciless, and much harsher than when I was in the organization.

Is this the way of the world?

“This is dog shit.”

The harshness of life made me constantly use the first vulgar curse I learned.

From earning money to maintaining relationships and finding jobs—everything was difficult.

After trying various jobs, I eventually had to choose the profession I was best at, as they say, you stick with what you know.

“Rookie, you’re too slow.”

“Yes, coming now!”

I became a mercenary.

Specifically, the youngest member of a medium-sized mercenary group.

“Where did you come from? What did you do before?”

“Just wandered the back alleys.”

“Really? Your footsteps are exactly like an assassin’s.”

“Me?”

“…Hmm, am I wrong? Sorry. Must be my mistake.”

“Come on, no need to apologize for that, haha.”

…These people are like ghosts.

These mercenaries, I thought they lived day-to-day lives, but they have good instincts and senses.

Well, that’s probably why they survive by the sword.

From then on, I tried to abandon my assassin posture.

I discarded my walking style and habits.

Of course, I kept what was necessary.

Skills and useful habits would always be valuable.

After four years of mercenary life, shedding my rookie status and making a living by the sword through several battlefields…

Thwack!

“Kuhek!”

“You sons of bitches!!”

Life is truly unfair.

The mercenary group was properly stoned after being backstabbed by the client.

I took a direct hit to the head with a rock and collapsed, my vision blurring.

‘…I should play dead.’

In truth, this wasn’t enough to kill me.

What kind of body do I have, after all!

Would I die from getting hit by a few rocks?

‘We can’t win this.’

Even if I revealed all my hidden skills and techniques, a small number of people couldn’t defeat well-trained soldiers.

So pretending to be dead and waiting for the right moment was the best option, and I endured the stoning and kicks from military boots, trusting in my strong regenerative abilities and tough body.

Don’t ask if that’s okay when everyone else is dying.

I’ve endured so many strange looks every time I picked up soap—not killing them with my own hands was already being very generous.

As I was justifying myself while my head throbbed…

‘…Ah, I want a cola.’

I recalled a memory I had forgotten.

It wasn’t a memory from this life, but from a ‘previous life.’

At the age of 24, I realized I was a reincarnator.

‘…No reincarnation perks?’

Unfortunately, after surviving and trying various methods to summon a status window for about five hours, nothing appeared.

“…This is dog shit.”

I should never have remembered.

* * *

After the mercenary group was annihilated, I, the sole survivor, reported the client’s betrayal, and the Mercenary Union immediately moved to punish them.

No matter how heartless mercenaries are called, or how they’re labeled as butchers who’ll do anything for money, contracts must be fulfilled properly, and if a client backstabs them, the absolute rule in the mercenary industry is to never let it slide.

For trying to save a few coins through betrayal, only bloody retribution awaited.

The territory ruled by the client was completely devastated by the Mercenary Union, with everything plundered and taken.

Especially the client’s blood relatives were either sold into slavery or committed suicide.

They probably decided they couldn’t endure life as slaves.

‘…I should retire.’

Perhaps because I had awakened memories of my previous life.

I began to feel some aversion to cruel processes like looting, which I had previously ignored.

It was a minor aversion, not unbearable, but I had the intuition that the moment this aversion disappeared, my humanity would erode.

It must be that subtle sensitivity.

“I should become a civil servant.”

After deciding to retire, I began studying.

Just being able to read made it easy to become a soldier in any territory.

But perhaps after seeing the territory trampled by the Mercenary Union,

I made an effort to become a soldier of a kingdom that wouldn’t collapse.

“Better a capital civil servant than a local one!”

For reference, I’m not discriminating against regions.

I hope there’s no misunderstanding.

Anyway, I prepared diligently for the exam, giving it my all, and finally…!

“Hmm, you’re quite impressive.”

“Pardon?”

“For a talent like you to be a mere soldier, the others must be blind. From today, you’ll report to the knights’ order.”

“…?”

I became a late-blooming knight, not a soldier.

“Well, this is…”

At the age of 27. Knight Ihan was born.