Is the skin really the problem? Or isn't it?
—Or is it?
Rosha really wanted to curse—*You're the one with the problem in the head!* But instead, his mind drifted to the real, pressing question: was this body the unlucky fool Rosha's, or was it originally his own? If it was that poor bastard's body, he could explain away his love for reading easily. But if it was his own… that would be a big problem.
Whether he liked it or not, his body was recovering. Much of the charred skin was peeling away, and now that his limbs were freed, his daily routine included working to regain physical mobility.
Father Asa had brought him many books, and people were happy to lend them to someone who liked to read. It seemed to Rosha that Ionians considered reading to be both noble and a source of pride—so much so that even villagers from nearby settlements brought books for Asa to pass along.
To those living in Valoran or on the Shuriman continent, Ionia was a mysterious and enchanting land—known in legends as the "First Lands." Isolated overseas and surrounded by treacherous waters, its culture had long been shaped by the pursuit of balance in all things. Here, the boundary between the material and the spiritual realms could feel faint, especially in the forests and mountains.
Though its magic was unpredictable and its creatures both dangerous and wondrous, for centuries Ionians had lived in prosperity. Martial monasteries, provincial militias, and even the land itself were enough to protect its people.
But from the books written by locals, Rosha gained a new perspective. Strictly speaking, Ionia wasn't truly a nation. It had no central government—only a loose collection of provinces tied together by cultural identity. There was no hierarchy of rule, and religion here was so inclusive that one could believe in anything—even spirit dances and shamanism—so long as the balance and peace weren't broken. To Rosha, this "Buddhist" way of life would inevitably drag Ionia into a dark abyss.
Before the war, Ionia's main powers were religious and monastic, such as the monks of Shokku and the Kinkou Order, who sought a return to secluded peace and pastoral tradition. But things seemed to be changing. The Kinkou had splintered, giving rise to the Shadow Order, while in Irelia's resistance army, some radicals had formed the Navori Brotherhood. Both factions wanted to militarize Ionia's magic and forge a unified nation strong enough to strike back at Noxus.
This land would not know peace for some time. The moment of power struggle was always the moment of greatest chaos—but all of that had little to do with him. In this world, his existence was less significant than that of an insect. The thing he wanted most right now was to rip away the charred skin from his face to see if he'd crossed over in soul alone… or in both body and soul.
Luck was debatable. Every time he tore away a piece of dead skin and tossed it aside, the small monkey-like creature living in the tall lingwillow outside the door would dart over and snatch it up. It wasn't playing with it—that skin was definitely being eaten. Man and monkey worked together in perfect harmony.
When he asked Asa about it, the old man said he didn't know when the monkey had arrived. It was just a normal "python monkey," so-called because the tip of its tail and the shoulders and chest were covered in something like snake scales instead of fur. These silvery, armor-like scales gleamed like real metal, giving the creature a fierce yet charming look. According to Asa, they were also called "general monkeys," and their call was a strange "lu-lu" sound. So Rosha named it Lulu.
Maybe from eating his skin for days on end, the python monkey wasn't afraid of people at all now. Every day, it would wait outside the window for him to be carried out to sunbathe, ready for its snack of roasted human hide.
"Shakyamuni fed himself to an eagle… I'm not much different—just peeling skin for a monkey," Rosha muttered, greeting Lulu before stepping outside.
Riven had already gone down to the fields. Father Asa and Mother Shava had gone to the market. Another lazy day began.
Rosha felt like he was going to waste away. It had been almost a month of idleness. Even in his past life, he'd never been so leisurely. Sure, when he'd been a street punk in this life, he'd had his idle days—but at least he'd worried about where his next meal was coming from. Now? Nothing to worry about. Eat, sleep, repeat.
"What a sin," Rosha sighed. Maybe it was time to exercise.
After searching for a while, he didn't find Riven's greatsword, so he settled for a stick from the firewood pile to practice with.
The Noxian military sword forms were still crystal clear in his mind—every move designed to kill, every strike wide and forceful.
After running through the set once, he felt something strange in his body. A warm current seemed to flow through every part of him. The drowsiness he'd been feeling was gone, replaced by a sharp, heightened awareness.
He couldn't help but swing the stick again. This time, his speed was much faster. He could clearly hear the whistle of the wood cutting the air. When he thrust forward with his right hand at top speed, the stick snapped in two. The front half shot forward with a whoosh, striking the stones in the courtyard with a sharp *thunk*. Lulu bolted up the tree in fright.
"What the—?!" Rosha was stunned. Even with two years of Noxian military training, cutting stone with a steel blade was hard work. Now, with a stick, he'd just pierced stone from seven or eight meters away?
"Magical battle qi?" Riven's voice came from the doorway. She was staring at the stick embedded in the stone, speaking to herself.
"What?" Rosha blinked. He knew what battle qi was—every warrior's dream. A fighter with elemental affinity who trained in martial or sword arts could fuse magic with technique, turning that magic into battle qi to sheath their fists or weapons, making them far deadlier in combat. Such fighters were called magic swordsmen or magic warriors.
In Riven's squad, he'd just been a swordsman—not even at the swordmaster level. How could he suddenly be producing sword qi? It didn't make sense.
"Battle qi," Riven said, pulling the stick from the stone. She examined both the stick and the hole it had made. "Strong, but poorly controlled. You wrapped too much around the tip and didn't cover the whole stick—that's why it broke. Looks like you've just stepped onto the threshold of a magic swordsman, but you can't use it skillfully yet."
"Like hell I—" Rosha started to say, but then he noticed Riven staring at him, her eyes narrowed with a trace of anger. He shut his mouth.
"You're not Rosha. And you're not Atakal. Who are you, really?" Her voice carried a chill.
Rosha realized the problem. The charred skin on his face had fallen away during his exertions, revealing his own face. That meant he hadn't just crossed over in soul—his body had come too. Only his mind now carried the fused memories of the unlucky soldier named Rosha.
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