Joshua woke to the faint scratch of coarse bedding and the smell of damp pine.
He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was unfamiliar—aged wooden beams, cracked and warped by years of dampness. His head ached faintly, but when he searched for memories, he found only an endless emptiness. No name. No past. Only silence.
And then—
[Ding!]
A blue panel shimmered before his eyes, glowing faintly in the dim air.
[System 001 Activated.]
[Host identity locked: Joshua.]
[Current vessel: Mo Xuanyu, outer disciple of Cloud Peak Sect. Status: Cannon Fodder.]
[Mission: Fulfil Mo Xuanyu's last wish.]
[Reward: Soul fragments collected.]
Joshua's gaze didn't change, though the words burned bright in front of him. "Mo Xuanyu?" he repeated, voice even.
The system chimed again.
[Yes. Original soul erased. You now occupy his body. Condition of survival: complete his wish.]
Joshua's eyes narrowed faintly. "And my memories?"
[Locked.]
The panel flickered, the voice calm but firm.
[Your memories are sealed until you retrieve what you have lost.]
[Fragments of what you seek are scattered across worlds. With each mission completed, you will be rewarded with fragments.]
Joshua's hand clenched slightly in the thin blanket. "…Fragments?"
[Yes. Fragments of a soul.]
There was a silence. The candle flame guttered in the draft. Joshua lowered his lashes, concealing the faint flicker in his eyes.
The system continued, as if sensing his doubt.
[You will not disappear even if you fail. But your existence will remain incomplete. Empty.]
"…Empty." Joshua tasted the word, quiet, flat. In his chest, something shifted—an ache, sharp as though he had been cut. He pressed a palm lightly against it, but his expression did not waver.
"What exactly am I regaining?"
[That cannot be told. Instinct will guide you. When you encounter what belongs to you, you will know.]
"…Instinct." Joshua's gaze dropped. "Convenient."
[Your task is simple in words, difficult in action.]
The panel pulsed softly.
[Information on current vessel: Mo Xuanyu, seventeen years old. Born weak, often bullied. Entered the Cloud Peak Sect as an outer disciple three years ago. Talent: Poor. Reputation: Worse. A coward with no achievements. His life ended early in every possible thread of fate. His last wish: to be remembered, even once, not as useless trash.]
Joshua sat up slowly, testing the weight of the frail body. His fingers were thin, wrists too sharp, skin pale like paper. Yet his movements carried a chill that did not belong to Mo Xuanyu.
The system added:
[Each wish fulfilled grants you points, skills, and rewards—tools to survive future worlds. Complete the wish fully, and you will also obtain a soul fragment.]
Joshua's tone remained steady. "And if I refuse?"
[Then the wish remains unfulfilled. The vessel collapses. You will perish with it.]
The faintest curve touched Joshua's mouth—not a smile, only a flicker of disdain. "…So survival is conditional. Typical."
The mirror-screen shimmered, showing Mo Xuanyu's reflection. The boy staring back was pitifully fragile, hair unkempt, shoulders too narrow. But those dark eyes—cool, sharp, indifferent—were not Mo Xuanyu's at all. A beauty mark curved delicately under the left eye, softening the chill into something haunting.
Joshua studied it quietly. His fingers brushed against the mole, but his expression did not shift.
"…This face will do."
The system blinked.
[Host, please take care. This identity is fragile. To change fate will not be easy.]
Joshua rose, his steps steady despite the body's weakness. His voice, faint yet firm, cut through the still air.
"Then let's begin."
________________________________________
Outside the dormitory, morning had barely broken, yet the training field was already noisy with outer disciples.
As Joshua stepped out, conversations faltered. Then, a ripple of laughter.
"Look, it's Mo Xuanyu."
"He still dares to show his face?"
"Careful, don't breathe too hard near him, he might faint!"
More laughter rang out, cruel and unkind. Someone even coughed theatrically into their sleeve, as if Joshua's presence itself was contagious.
The Mo Xuanyu they knew would have hunched his shoulders, mumbled apologies, and run away.
But this Mo Xuanyu… did not even flinch.
Joshua's eyes swept across them once—flat, unreadable, cold. The laughter stuttered. For a moment, the mocking disciples felt as if the air had thinned, as though a predator's gaze had fixed upon them.
The silence stretched. Joshua tilted his head slightly, his voice soft, yet carrying a chill that scraped against the skin.
"…Loud."
That was all he said.
He walked past them without looking back.
The disciples stood frozen, unable to laugh again, an unfamiliar unease prickling at the backs of their necks.