Somewhere in the Etiah Kingdom, in a dungeon to be more precise.
A young boy around eighteen with a sickly pale complexion was bound by thick chains around his ankles and arms. With his head lowered and long, unkempt dark hair, his pale torso was visible. Coupled with his extremely pale complexion, he looked like a ghost from a story, especially while staying as still as a corpse.
Suddenly, the corpse-looking youth raised his head. From the strands of hair cascading on his face, two green eyes flashed like those of a venomous snake lurking in the night. Confusion, bewilderment, understanding, and acceptance—each one of these emotions flashed through the pale boy's eyes until he opened his mouth to speak, his voice raspy as if he had not spoken in ages.
"So, I've reincarnated."
Immediately, an intense pain assaulted his head.
"Ugh!"
He grunted in terrible pain, as if someone was hammering his brain. Truthfully, it hurt. After what he perceived to be an eternity, the pain subsided, giving way to much clarity. He immediately understood that he wasn't possessing this body; it was simply that he had reincarnated after dying on Earth. Until that moment, he hadn't recalled his memories from Earth; due to certain circumstances, he hadn't been able to recall them until now, hence his understanding of being a reincarnator.
His name was Kael, which means slender and mighty. He was eighteen years old and had lived in a small, poor village on the outskirts of the Etiah Kingdom until three months ago. Then, a monster wave swept through the village, killing many. His guardian, Aunt Mary, was devoured before his eyes; almost everyone in the village died. The rest of them fled for their lives but were ultimately captured by bandits, who killed some for fun while the rest were sold to a slave merchant. The latter sold him to someone who loved torture so much he had literally experienced hell for the past two months. If it weren't for his strong will to cling stubbornly to life, he would have died, broken, a long time ago.
"Fuck whatever God is responsible for all of this shit!" A loud curse escaped from his mouth as he recalled everything he had experienced in this life and his last one. If it weren't for the fact that he was bound and in the terrible state his body was in, he'd even have given them a middle finger of respect.
In his last life, he had been an orphan; for some reason, his birth parents had dumped him at the orphanage door and vanished. He didn't care what kind of difficulties they had or whatever their reason had been; if you can't assume the responsibility, don't start it. From then on, he had jumped from one family to another like switching shoes. They said he was rebellious, they said he was not expressive enough, they said his eyes were dead, but fuck them all! If you went through what he went through, you could understand—some old pervert acting innocent in front of others while secretly—ah, he didn't want to recall it. He had spent his life full of hardships, switching families until fifteen, when he had said fuck it all and run away. From then on, he had lived on the street doing various things in order to survive. By the age of seventeen, almost his entire body was filled with tattoos. He had hung out with bad people doing bad things, often going into detention. He had experienced various substances while living on the street. He had lived day by day, sometimes sleeping in a house, sometimes under a bridge; well, most of the time he was homeless until the age of nineteen. It had been the usual: they went on a heist in one of their rival gang's bases, snatched valuables like cash, drugs, and weapons, and ran away. But, as one could have guessed, they were given pursuit. He had been the driver, and he was a good one; his skill could have put a certain Frank Martin to shame. But the ending? Well, it was a violent accident whose result was his death. He had cheated death to be reborn into a world of magic and sword, filled with mystery, only to become an orphan; now he had become a slave who was beyond toyed with. One would be hard-pressed to imagine how it could be any shittier.
Step! Step!
Suddenly, the sounds of footsteps coming from the corridor connected to the dungeon could be heard, making him tense; it was an instinctual reaction. Whoever was coming did not announce anything good for him.
"Sweet boy~"
"Sweet boy~" A sultry voice that gave him chills was heard, and his body began twitching repeatedly like someone who was being electrocuted. This person was the instigator of his deepest trauma over the past months.
"Sweet boy~, Daddy is here!"
'Fuck your daddy,' he almost cursed in response.
Then the owner of the voice pushed the door of the prison open and walked in; his steps were heavy.
It was a slightly obese man dressed like a sultan with a mustache; his head was so bald one could bet sunlight could reflect on it, almost creating a mobile little miniature sun.
"I come to shower you with love today as well. Open your heart and receive it," he declared rather theatrically.
"Fuck my life!" Another curse inadvertently slipped out of Kael's mouth.