Cain Norm had been living a normal life before being reincarnated into a different world. He was an average person—his earnings enough to cover his living expenses, nothing more.
In his free time, he spent hours reading manhuas and novels. Immersing himself in these stories brought him satisfaction, even though explaining it to others was difficult. It was as if he were transported to another world, experiencing adventures that allowed him to forget, at least temporarily, the hardships of his own life.
His parents had died early, and without any generational wealth, he had been forced to work tirelessly to finish his education. At first, he had thought that once he graduated, he could escape the cycle of poverty. But the world did not work that way.
In his society, those without connections could not climb the social ladder. People like him—Cain—who had raised himself alone, were destined to remain where they were. Wake up, eat, go to work, return home. Day after day, it felt like he was nothing more than a cog in a machine—or a slave to routine. But what could he do? To survive, he had to keep moving forward.
These were the thoughts that swirled in his mind as he headed toward Hanmar Village.
What happened to the original owner of this body?
Why was I reincarnated into this world?
What is my purpose here?
As far as he remembered, the novel he had read was Domain Monarchy. It told the story of a protagonist who expanded his influence, built a kingdom, and eliminated any enemies or monsters that stood in his way.
It had a satisfying ending, and without his intervention, the original protagonist would eventually save the people's lives.
Leaning back, he let out a deep sigh. "Hais… no matter how hard I think, I can't get any useful information." He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before adding, "I need to investigate this further and gather more details about the system."
As much as he wanted to avoid interfering with the story's flow—fearing he might alter the future—his current situation made that impossible. This was his second life, and at the same time, he had a responsibility to protect the people in the city.
To explain: within a year, Veyrathen City, governed by Viscount Cyrion, would be attacked by a group called the Red Oath. This notorious organization was composed of skilled assassins. Even though Cyrion was considered one of the strongest men alive, he would ultimately be killed by Axon, the leader of the Red Oath.
"I must get that item no matter what," he thought.
He was referring to the Soul Ring—an item that allowed him to store souls in exchange for power. More specifically, it would grant him enhanced strength, agility, and intelligence. According to the story, the Soul Ring could be found in the fortress of the monsters near Hanmar Village
Nevertheless, obtaining the Soul Ring was extremely dangerous. Kalin knew there was no guarantee the monsters wouldn't attack him.
He hummed thoughtfully, trying to devise a way to retrieve the item without getting harmed.
-
Night had already fallen. Kalin and his escort stayed at a modest inn to rest. Traveling at night was too dangerous, so he decided to wait until morning. The inn looked ordinary, but it was sufficient for recovery.
During their journey, they had encountered several monsters—goblins and slimes—but they posed no real threat. Kalin's escort quickly eliminated them without casualties.
Eventually, they reached Hanmar Village. At the entrance, a man in his mid-thirties stood guard. His worn clothes were patched and dirty, his helmet dented and scratched, and the spear in his hands looked barely capable of withstanding a single strike from a monster.
Kalin stepped down from the carriage while his escorts formed a protective line in front of him. A young man with brown hair, seemingly in his twenties, bowed slightly.
"We have completed our mission, young master. We must return," he said.
Kalin nodded. "Understood. Be careful on your way."
The young man bowed again, showing his gratitude. "We will, young master." He then signaled the soldiers to return to Veyrathen City.
Kalin had prepared everything he would need: armor, weapons, and enough food to last seven days. From this point on, survival would be entirely on his own.
Herin carried his luggage and other supplies, though her unease at being in such a dangerous place remained obvious.
Kalin approached the guard at the village entrance. "I am Kalin, son of Viscount Cyrion."
The man blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting one of the Viscount's children to visit the village personally. The thought that this young man had come to assist them seemed almost unbelievable.
"I apologize for my rudeness," the man said, kneeling and bowing his head to show respect. "I am Simon, guard of Hanmar Village."
"Stand up, Simon," Kalin said, then gestured toward the village entrance.
Simon quickly rose, understanding the situation, and opened the wooden gate. "Please, come in, Sir Kalin."
As soon as the wooden gate opened, Kalin immediately noticed the destruction. Most of the houses were in ruins, their roofs collapsed or walls splintered. The villagers, about thirty in total, looked painfully thin. Their bones protruded beneath ragged clothing, evidence of days without proper food.
Their eyes were dull, almost lifeless, reflecting exhaustion and despair. Kalin felt a pang of guilt and concern.
"Can you take me to the village head?" he asked.
Simon nodded and led him through the village.
They soon arrived at a small wooden house. Even the village chief lived modestly; the home was little more than a shelter. Simon knocked on the door.
"Sir Fan, this is Simon. We have a visitor—Kalin, Viscount Cyrion's son," he called out.
Footsteps hurried toward the door, and then it swung open with a loud bang.
An elderly man appeared, slender and lightly tanned, his face lined with years of hard work. He bowed slightly. "I am Fan, the village chief. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Kalin—"
His words caught in his throat as recognition struck. Before him stood the infamous third son of Viscount Cyrion, known not for heroics but for recklessness.
Simon and the villagers exchanged uneasy glances. News of Kalin's reputation had reached them long ago. To them, his arrival could either bring hope or disaster.
Fan wondered if Viscount Cyrion had given up on the village entirely. If he wanted to save them, surely he wouldn't have sent someone like Kalin.
Yet, Fan could not show disrespect. He owed Cyrion too much. "Please, come inside, Sir Kalin. I apologize for the modest home. It may not be what you're accustomed to."
Kalin entered silently, already anticipating their judgment. He had no desire to argue.
"Please, have a seat, Sir Kalin," Fan said, gesturing toward a chair. "Sid, prepare some tea for our guest. Next time, let us know before a Viscount's son visits so we can prepare something proper."
Kalin's gaze sharpened. "Even with your situation?"
Fan froze, worried he had offended him. "Of course! You are still the Viscount's son. We must treat you with respect," he said, offering an uneasy smile.
Kalin's tone was firm. "Enough of that. I didn't come here to visit."
He explained why he was at Hanmar Village and the circumstances that had brought him there. As Fan listened, his face darkened. It was clear Kalin intended to stay for a while.
"So, you're actually here to help us, Sir K-Kalin?" Fan stammered.
Kalin nodded. "Yes. Now that you understand, tell me what is happening in this village."
The pressure in Kalin's words made Fan hesitate. Finally, he admitted, "Right now… we are under attack by the undead."