After Arian finished absorbing the exhausted woman's soul,
some of her memories flowed into his mind like faint threads of light…
but amid that strange heaviness, he found himself breathing with an unexpected sense of relief.
An old memory slipped into his head against his will.
He remembered his past life…
He took a deep breath, as if his chest tightened the moment he recalled it.
He wasn't a hero, nor a warrior, nor a noble.
He was nothing more than a delivery worker, laboring day and night for scraps, enduring mockery, humiliation, and people refusing to pay him.
Every day he returned to his small home exhausted, dragging his feet with no hope, no purpose, no meaning to his existence.
And even when he allowed himself to think, for just a moment, that maybe he deserved a better life…
fate never gave him a chance.
On that day…
He was riding his bike back home, his angry breaths overlapping, loud enough to drown out the sound of the rain.
He didn't see anything but a long, dark street.
He didn't notice the speeding truck that suddenly turned toward him.
It hit him.
And then… everything vanished.
He no longer felt his body.
He didn't feel time.
Nor pain.
He found himself drifting in an endless black void—no air, no sound, no ground…
nothing but the sensation of his soul wandering without direction.
Then suddenly…
he saw a distant light, a faint sound as if a soul were calling out to him.
He approached—or perhaps he was pulled toward it. He didn't know.
But when he pierced through the light, he felt himself being forcefully drawn into a dying body…
the body of a young man from a world that wasn't his.
And when his soul devoured the young man's soul…
He became Arian.
He shook his head slightly, releasing a long sigh—an odd, unfamiliar relief curling through him.
At the very least… no one would scream at him anymore for delivering orders late.
No arrogant manager would slap him again.
And no one would send him on meaningless errands…
For the first time since he existed in this world…
he felt a light sense of relief.
This was not his old life.
Here… no one would humiliate him.
Here… he had power.
A place.
A name.
And a body that no longer belonged to anyone else. Yes, he was free.
And as he stood over the woman's corpse, he muttered to himself:
– "At least… the rulers of this world didn't summon me for a suicidal task like killing the Demon King or facing their armies… no one asked for me. All of this is just a coincidence… a coincidence that placed me in this body."
He knew the rulers of this age:
the ruler of humans, the ruler of elves, the ruler of giants, the ruler of dwarves, and the ruler of demons.
Beings who stood above all peoples and powers,
and it was highly unlikely that any of them would care about the soul of someone like him.
He smiled lightly… a soulless smile.
He felt at ease because he wasn't summoned, wasn't forced into an impossible mission, and hadn't attracted the attention of any ruler among the five races.
His presence here was not fate… just a coincidence that granted him a new chance.
But this relief didn't last long.
He raised his eyes to the crying little girl who had just lost her mother…
and wondered inwardly:
What am I supposed to do now?
Arian stood silent for a few seconds.
The girl was still crying, screaming as she clutched her mother's cold dress:
– "Mom! Mom, wake up… please, help her…!"
Her voice was sharp, piercing the stillness of the place, yet it didn't touch his heart as she had hoped.
On the contrary…
the sound was irritating, harsh, opening something inside him that he had tried to shut since he had incarnated in this world.
When he absorbed the mother's soul…
some of her memories flowed into his mind like a faint light:
the image of the girl, her smile… her small hand holding her mother's hand.
Warm moments that had been part of her past life.
Arian froze for a moment.
That feeling… pity…
It was trying to emerge from within him like a poisoned arrow.
And he knew very well—both from his first life and this new one—
that pity was weakness,
and weakness here would get its owner killed.
He had no need for a soft heart.
Nor for human scars that would obstruct the path of his power.
He looked at the guard standing behind him,
one of the elite who always accompanied him,
and said in a low, cold voice, free of any hesitation:
— "Kill the girl."
The guard didn't hesitate for a second.
He bowed his head respectfully, his hand already reaching for his dagger.
The child turned, tears covering her face, lost, not understanding.
— "S‑sir? Please… don't leave me here…"
But Arian had already closed his heart,
and the thought settled firmly inside him:
Mercy is a luxury that the world he stands in does not allow.
A few seconds…
and the sound of the small body falling on the hard ground echoed—
a faint sound… yet sharp enough to carve itself into the memory of the place.
Arian didn't blink.
He didn't inhale deeply.
He didn't feel anything.
He looked at the two corpses:
the mother whose soul he had absorbed… and the child he had ordered killed.
No attachments… no coincidence… no pity.
This is how it must be.
He turned toward the merchant who was trembling in terror,
and said with deadly coldness:
— "I told you to show me the weakest slaves, not ones already half‑dead."
The Merchant's Perspective:
The merchant stood outside the cell, watching the scene with wide eyes.
He didn't truly understand what the hero was doing…
Why had he entered the cell?
Why had he placed his hand on the dying woman's head?
And why was he standing silently, showing no emotion at all?
The merchant had seen many masters choose slaves,
but he had never seen anyone enter a cell like this,
or stare at a dying woman with such coldness.
He remained standing, lost in thought, trying to guess what the hero was thinking.
As minutes passed, unease began creeping in…
This young man was the son of the island's ruler,
and his anger could mean the immediate end of any merchant.
And suddenly…
When the unexpected command came—"Kill the girl"—
the entire place seemed to freeze around him.
The merchant couldn't respond… he didn't even know what to say.
He stood completely silent, until he heard Arian's voice emerging from the shadows toward him.
Arian approached, looking at the merchant with a gaze as cold as a knife, and said:
— "I told you to show me the weakest slaves… not ones already dead."
The merchant felt as if he had fallen from a great height.
He shook his head quickly, trying to salvage the situation, his voice trembling:
— "Y‑yes, sir! I… I will show you… I'll show you immediately! The weakest slaves, and the best among them, as you requested!"
The merchant knew very well that the wrath of this young man…
could mean the end of his career, and perhaps even his life.
Back to the Hero's Perspective:
The hero stood silently after leaving the mother and child's cell, his eyes scanning everything around him with precision.
His face showed no expression, but his mind was weighing everything he had witnessed in the cell.
He wanted to test his inner abilities, the limits of his power, without anyone knowing what was going through his mind.
He looked at the merchant in a long, silent stare, then said in a controlled, calm voice:
— "Show me your weakest slaves… from different races."
The merchant shivered at his words.
He didn't fully understand the meaning of the request,
but he sensed the danger of this young man's anger.
He began gathering some information in a low voice, trying to act with extreme caution,
aware that this was not an ordinary choice of slaves, and that there was something mysterious in the hero's behavior.
The hero remained standing, silent, observing every movement around him, every detail of the place, and every reaction from the merchant or the guards.
Inside him, curiosity was growing—he wanted to know whether his power was limited to humans alone, or if it could extend beyond that.
All of this happened in silence, without anyone knowing the true reason behind his actions, and no one suspecting the danger they were in, that he could devour their souls.
The merchant, confused and terrified, began guiding Arian to the cells containing slaves of various ages and races, while watching the hero with extreme caution, careful not to make any move that might provoke his wrath.