Chapter 1
Prologue
Aaaaagh. AAAAARRRRGHHH!
The man was crying out in despair in the desolate and scorched wasteland.
All around, as far as the eye could see, there was a sea of blood.
Hundreds and even thousands of what used to be people had stained the wasteland crimson red.
The man had fallen to his knees in the middle of the sea of blood, and was cradling the lifeless body of a woman in his arms.
Irene . . . I'm sorry! I couldn't protect you . . .
By the time the man had reached the battlefield and killed dozens, if not hundreds, of people to finally reach the woman, it had already been too late.
I swore I would protect you. I promised I wouldn't lose you this time . . .
The woman was beautiful.
Her waist-length, jet-black hair flowed across the red ground.
The vivid splatter of blood stood out starkly against her skin, which was so pale it seemed almost translucent in contrast to her jet-black hair.
Her closed eyes would never open again.
Irene, Irene!
The man held the woman, who was still warm, to his chest, crying as he called her name over and over.
Forgive me. I'm sorry.
He continued to call her name as if pleading for forgiveness.
How many minutes, how many hours, had the man remained like this?
His tears had dried up and wouldn't flow any more; he could only gaze at her face in a daze.
I've lost everything.
The man's heart was consumed by that thought.
When he was young, his village had been destroyed, and he had lost his parents as well as a childhood friend who he had thought of as an older sister.
After that, there had been a close friend who supported him when he was crushed by despair.
That close friend, too, had died because of the man's own error in judgment.
If only he had made a different choice at the time, then that friend would still be alive.
And then the only thing left for him to live for had been her, Irene.
She had always been there for him after he lost his parents, his childhood friend, and his close friend.
He had loved her, and she had loved him in return.
But now she was dead.
Right before his eyes.
That's enough, isn't it?
For me, who has lost everything, there's no longer any reason to keep living in this world.
The man was holding his dagger in a reverse grip.
I'm sorry, Irene. We swore to live together.
I'm on my way to you now. Wait for me.
And then the man slit his own throat.
He collapsed backward, feeling his blood rapidly drain from his body.
The taste of blood flooded his mouth as he violently coughed it up from his throat.
The already crimson ground became darker with fresh blood.
When the man looked up, the sky was blue, and beautiful white clouds were drifting across it.
The clear, blue sky was heavenly in contrast to the scarlet sea of blood.
Irene . . . the sky was also this blue on the day we met . . .
The man's life flashed before his eyes as death got closer.
All his memories, both happy and painful, flitted through his mind, disappearing as quickly as they came.
When the man looked to his side, he saw the woman he loved, whom he had been embracing just moments before.
I wanted you to be there to see me off when I died, but I'm content with just having you here beside me.
As he thought this, his pain and all other sensations quickly began fading away.
His consciousness was slipping away, and in his final moment, he felt everything dissolve into nothingness.
The man—Eric—breathed his last.
1: Returned from Death, and So It Begins
Consciousness rose to the surface from the darkness.
Why am I alive?
My mind was foggy, but I tried to make sense of my current situation.
I should be dead, I was sure of it. I had slit my throat with a dagger beside Irene and I should have met my end.
Why am I waking up now?
I tried to open my eyes to see what was going on, yet for some reason, I couldn't sit up.
I attempted to look around, but my head was heavy, making it difficult to turn my face to the side.
Summoning all my strength, I managed to tilt my head sideways and saw a wooden railing. Beyond the railing, I couldn't see the outdoors but rather a wall—it seemed I was inside someone's house.
Huh? A railing and a wall? This makes no sense at all.
The surface against my back didn't feel like hard ground either. If anything, it was soft, like feathers.
As I turned my head, I caught sight of a hand—which I instinctively felt to be my own—but it was impossibly tiny.
What? These are my hands? They're an infant's hands!
Then, I tried to lift my legs and pat my body with my tiny hands, and I realized that I was in a baby's body.
Awoo, aaah . . .
Though I tried to speak, my current body's vocal cords weren't developed enough, so I could only make unintelligible noises.
Finally having recognized my situation, or rather, my body's transformation, I attempted to somehow make sense of this change.
It seemed I had undergone what's known as a reincarnation cycle.
I had heard somewhere that a reincarnation cycle meant the rebirth of a dead soul into the world of the living once more.
Wait, I remember everything from my previous life. Isn't reincarnation supposed to erase your memories so you can walk a new path?
Why do I remember everything from my previous life, my entire existence as Eric?
