Oakshade Town, Kingdom of Elfreiden
Sunlight graced the lush forest surrounding the town with its brilliance as the sun shone brightly in the sky. Flocks of birds swirled through the blue expanse above while men busied themselves in the streets below.
Humans, elves, beastmen—races that once existed only in fantasy on Earth—now walked these streets in reality.
Near the coast of the River Leda, inside the Hall of Fisheries, a young man could be seen sleeping, his body wrapped in bandages, his face twisting in discomfort as if trapped in a nightmare.
Do not forget your goal... King...
Kill the King.
Kill Souma Kazuya.
Destroy Parnam.
Destroy Parnam! Destroy Parnam! Destroy Parnam!
"—on, Damon! Damon!"
Damon's body suddenly jolted awake, his breathing deep and rapid as sunlight assaulted his eyes.
"Damon?! Are you awake?! Are you alright?" An old voice— shaky filled with worry, entered his ears. His eyes darted in panic as his heart pounded violently in his chest.
"Uncle Owen… huh… so it was you." Recognizing the figure who had pulled him out of his nightmare, Damon exhaled deeply, his heart gradually beginning to calm.
"Are you alright, Owen?" The old man asked in concern, pressing the back of his palm against Damon's forehead.
"Are you feeling unwell? Should I call the priest again?" the old man suggested, clearly worried about Damon's condition.
"No need… no need for the priest," Damon muttered, shaking his head as he tried to sit up only to wince as the pain caught up to him. His body, though wrapped in bandages, seemed to function well enough but pain it radiated throughout his body.
"Oh, thank the Goddess… you scared me." The old man smiled in relief. "Damon, dear, if you feel any pain or discomfort, tell me. Your well-being is what's important."
He prayed softly and smiled kindly before leaving the room, leaving Damon alone once more.
"Huff…" Still panting, Damon flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as he sighed.
"It's been a week…" he murmured to himself, counting the days. Eight days—a week in total—since he, or rather, his memories, had been implanted in this body.
Damon—a man from the Reiwa era, the 21st century to be exact, a resident of Earth. That's who he was—or rather, what his memories told him he was.
After the emergence of Souma Kazuya and the discovery of an illegal time machine, the council that held ownership of the abandoned experimental site—this planet—decided to have a resident of this world handle the chaos.
They conjured up an AI named Damon and trained it to hold the memories of a man from the year 2025 AD, by old standards.
With the character of a rich orphan who wasted his time on anime and light novels, they implanted the future knowledge,the one they got from AI predicting Landia's future course in the form of a novel—
How a Realist Hero Rebuilt the Kingdom—
nineteen volumes, from the summoning of King Souma to the rebellion of the Great Tiger Empire and the death of Fuuga Haan.
Armed with knowledge of the future and of a distant past from the same era as the protagonist, these artificial memories were created before being implanted into this body— that of a seventeen-year-old runaway from the Ravonir Tribe, who had escaped the pursuit of slave traders and nobles that had attacked his tribe without warning, forcing him to leap into the river in a desperate bid for survival.
The River Leda had carried his unconscious body to the town's shores, where the fishermen found and cared for him before his memories were implanted.
Grumbling as he got up with difficulty, Damon let the blanket slip off his body. Bandages wrapped around his thin torso, while countless scars of battle adorned his skin. One leg was fractured, the other barely able to hold his weight.
"Broken ribs, legs, and hands… completely wrecked. How did I even manage to survive?" he muttered, peeling away the old bandages to inspect his wounds, clearly impressed with himself as he replaced them with fresh, clean cloth.
Six foot five—impressive height. Being part of the Ravonir Tribe, with signature black hair and red eyes… a pure-blood Ravonir, from a lineage of savages.
Though human in appearance, the Ravonir were a secluded tribe that had isolated themselves for centuries, preserving their ancient traditions. Their isolation had granted them distinct traits—those rare red eyes and black hair, a combination almost unseen elsewhere on the continent.
As Damon tightened the new bandages, he recalled everything he knew of his past in this world.
"Ugh…" He winced at the sharp pain, wondering if it would be fine to heal himself with magic.
No, not now… now's not the time to test it, he thought, shaking his head as he finally finished dressing his wounds and lay back on the bed once more.
"Now what…" he muttered. A week had passed since his arrival, and all he had done was lie there and talk to the old man, Owen—the fisherman who had rescued him and offered him shelter in the small hall where fishermen gathered.
Through their conversations, Damon had pieced together fragments of the current timeline and situation of this world—one that perfectly matched the events of the novel.
It's been ten days since the throne was abdicated to King Souma by the former king. A week and a half since the man himself was summoned.
Damon recalled Owen's excitement when telling him the news.
"A summoned hero…"
To live in the same age as the hero himself—it was something the people of this world were thrilled about. The legends of old heroes and their summoning had been passed down for generations.
Now, with the Demon Lord's forces threatening the northern continent, the arrival of a summoned hero symbolized hope—an age of prosperity to come.
"A hero…"
The words of his creators echoed through his mind.
Kill Souma Kazuya.
Destroy Parnam.
Kill the hero…
The phrase repeated within his mind as he closed his eyes in contemplation.
"Is that all I was born for?"