Chapter 4

Chapter 4
## Chapter 4: Innocent Prisoner (3)

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Kadim commenced a slaughter among the captives, mirroring the violence he had visited upon the guardsmen.

Though they were greater in number, executing them required little additional exertion. Their limbs were heavy with iron shackles, rendering them virtually immobile and defenseless.

“Pant… pant… Why? What reason do you have for this? We haven’t done anyth— Agh!”

“Noooo!!”

“Please… have… mercy…”

*Splatter!*

As his temporary enhancements began to fail, Kadim found he could no longer pulverize bone with just his knuckles. He resorted to driving his spear through their chests or crushing their temples with heavy stones. Soon, the grassy expanse was littered with remains that looked like fractured statuary.

Kadim did not murder them because they were wicked men. Indeed, by the measure of blood spilled, he—the slayer of over a dozen imperial troops—was the greater monster. The concept of a criminal passing judgment on fellow sinners was a farce by any standard.

His motivation was identical to his reason for killing the soldiers: he refused to leave witnesses.

*If I permit these men to live… they will spread the tale of what happened here to every corner of the land.*

Coercion and intimidation were useless tools. A drunkard’s discretion was as porous as a sieve. Give any of these men a few mugs of ale at an inn, and they would be loudly regaling the room with the legend of the savage who drank the blood of a demon to butcher a holy paladin.

Kadim was still a stranger to this era. However, in a land where people were shackled simply for holding the wrong faith, it wasn’t difficult to guess the price of such notoriety.

At best, his face would be plastered on every bounty board. At worst, an elite unit of high-ranking paladins would be hunting his head.

*…I am not prepared for that level of scrutiny.*

The observers had to be erased. Kadim went about the task with the detached efficiency of a clerk filing ledgers or a butcher processing cattle.

He finished the rest until only one remained: a man huddled and shivering deep within some shrubs. Kadim gripped his weapon and closed the distance with measured steps.

“M-Me? I’ve committed no crime, I swear! Please, I beg of you, show mercy— Urgh, *blegh*!”

Paralyzed by sheer dread, the captive’s stomach turned. He vomited uncontrollably, his face slick with tears and bile, while his trousers were visibly ruined by his own terror.

Kadim hesitated to strike, feeling a flash of pity for the pathetic wretch. He also recalled that this particular individual had provided some useful context earlier.

Whether the man died now or after giving up more information mattered little. Kadim lowered his spear for the moment. The merchant broke into desperate sobs, pressing his forehead into the dirt repeatedly.

“Th-Thank you… I am eternally grateful for your mercy, great lord. *Sniff*…”

“I require answers. Give me your name.”

“Duncan. Duncan Wheeled, sir. I hail from Moltena within the Free City Alliance—a humble merchant who travels for trade. *Sniff*. I was simply passing near the border when I was falsely accused and dragged into this. If you release me, I promise I’ll vanish and never return—”

“Quiet. I don’t care about your misfortunes. Speak only when I ask a question.”

“Guh… Understood, sir!”

Kadim began his interrogation.

“Expand on what you mentioned before.”

“Which… which part, sir?”

“Regarding Lucaonia being an empire. In my recollection, Lucaonia was a kingdom. Has it been an empire since its inception? If not, when did that change occur?”

Despite his fear, Duncan couldn’t mask his bewilderment. He stared at the barbarian, momentarily forgetting his peril. How could anyone not know that Lucaonia had been an empire for centuries?

Then, a realization struck him.

*He’s a barbarian.* This man likely came from the forbidden lands beyond the great peaks. Unlike the tribes integrated into the continent, those from the deep wilds might have been isolated from history for generations.

Remembering his orders to stay on point, Duncan answered humbly.

“The current date is Imperial Year 248… roughly two hundred and forty-eight years since the first Emperor founded the Lucaonia Empire. Prior to that era, it was indeed known as a kingdom.”

“…Imperial Year? What is that according to the Continental Calendar?”

“Oh, well… I’m not entirely certain. People don’t use the old system anymore… perhaps the year 1130?”

The warrior’s gaze turned icy.

The standard calendar of the world had become a relic of the past? Kadim struggled to maintain his stoic mask. He tightened his grip and bombarded the merchant with queries.

“What is the state of the world today? Why has the Elga Church lost its influence? What has become of the Magic Realm?”

Had Duncan been a common thug, he would have been useless. Luckily, as a well-traveled merchant, he possessed a broader perspective.

He explained that three centuries ago, the Lucaonia Empire had unified the known world, but today it was fractured into three competing powers. The Elga Church had seen a surge in power during the demon invasions but had since withered. As for the Magic Realm, it had become a place of no return; those who crossed its borders were never seen again.

Kadim’s brow furrowed.

No survivors from the Magic Realm? He could understand his own disappearance through the rift, but what of his companions? The ones who had stood by his side to slay the archdemon?

“Gale, Melissa, Gordon, Cyril. Do those names mean anything to you?”

“…No, my lord. I’ve never heard them. Wait… Melissa sounds familiar… Wasn’t the first Archmage of the Magic Tower named Melissa…?”

Kadim shut his eyes, rubbing his temples in frustration.

The legends who saved the world and conquered the Magic Realm were forgotten? It seemed impossible. He began to question if this was truly a sequel to his previous life.

But there was one final, vital question.

“Then why, for the love of everything, did the demons invade the continent?”

As he asked, his posture relaxed slightly. Duncan gave the most honest answer he had.

“No one can say for sure, sir. Some priests claim it was Elga’s wrath for our sins. Others say a scholar of the forbidden arts tore open a hole in reality. There are even whispers that it’s just the beginning of a greater darkness. But truth? Truth is something only the gods know.”

“…”

Kadim fell silent. He had processed the information. All the evidence led to a singular, inescapable conclusion.

*This world… is the continent roughly 300 years after I left it.*

There was no other logical explanation.

Kadim stared at the dirt, his face twitching with a mixture of grief and disbelief.

He hadn’t just been exiled from his home world; he had been robbed of the era he had bled to protect. Everything he knew was three centuries out of date. Everyone he had ever cared for—people who felt like they were beside him only hours ago—were now nothing but dust and forgotten history.

He was a ghost in the present, a relic of the past, a stranger to all.

Kadim looked up, feeling as though he were carrying the weight of a mountain. He looked at the bodies he had so meticulously slain. A deep, existential doubt began to gnaw at him.

Was there a point to this cycle? Killing, consuming the foul blood of demons, and fighting off the creeping insanity of the mind?

All with no promise of ever returning to his true home?

Perhaps if he finished this “game,” he would just wake up in a “New Game Plus Plus.” An infinite loop of struggle and futility.

The Atalan people, his own tribe, believed in a specific afterlife. They believed that warriors who spent their lives in battle earned the right to challenge Atala, the god of struggle, after death. If they could draw even a drop of blood from the god, they were welcomed into an eternal paradise of combat.

Kadim didn’t know which god was responsible for his predicament, but if he ever met them, he didn’t want a drop of blood—he wanted to tear them apart piece by piece.

It was a hollow wish.

Kadim ground his teeth together. He suddenly turned the tip of his spear toward his own throat. Duncan let out a terrified shriek.

“Wh— My lord! Stop! What are you doing?”

Starting over would mean carrying a lifetime of ghosts. There was no better moment to end it than now.

Exhausted by the endless, wandering path, the barbarian closed his eyes. He prayed that whatever lay beyond wasn’t just another room marked with “Game Over.”

But as he prepared to thrust the blade home…

*What comes after we win? Hmm… Maybe I’ll build a tower to teach the next generation of mages.*

A memory of a friend’s voice from his first life echoed in his mind.

Kadim’s eyes flew open. He turned back to Duncan.

“You said you recognized the name Melissa?”

“Uh… Y-yes. I think… the first leader of the Magic Tower was named Mel… Meliza? Melissa? Something very similar.”

“Where is this Magic Tower located?”

“It sits in Vesta, the easternmost city of the Free City Alliance. We are currently in imperial lands in the center of the continent… Without a mount, even a fast traveler would need two months to get there, sir…”

Duncan felt a cold sweat break out. Two months was a best-case scenario; it could easily take four. He watched the barbarian, praying he wouldn’t be forced into the role of a guide.

Kadim let out a dry, bitter laugh. He had wanted to leave without regrets, but the past had already caught him by the heel. Thinking of that small mage girl who always carried a book larger than her own torso, he whispered a soft curse.

*Foolish girl. Why did you have to say that… I can’t even die in peace.*

Melissa was obsessed with documenting everything. If she was the person he remembered, she would have left behind a record of exactly what happened after he disappeared.

He couldn’t close his eyes for good until he knew.

The warrior lowered his spear and delivered the command the merchant feared.

“You’re a merchant, so you know the paths. You will lead me to the Magic Tower. Take the quickest way possible.”

“M-Me? But sir, I have a family! I can’t just leave my life to be a guide—”

Duncan’s voice died in his throat. Kadim was looking at him with a hollow, empty expression. It wasn’t that he was heartless toward the man’s family, but he needed a guide, and he believed in fair exchange.

“I understand. In exchange for your services, I will grant you the most valuable thing I have.”

“And… what would that be, my lord?”

“Your life.”

*Hic!* Duncan’s face turned ghostly white as he let out a sharp hiccup.

He had forgotten his place. If this barbarian grew annoyed, he would be dead in a heartbeat. He had no choice.

Before setting out, they scavenged what they could. Duncan recovered his pack from the dead soldiers and breathed a sigh of relief. Kadim moved among the fallen, searching for a weapon that wouldn’t break.

The paladin’s spear was the most impressive weapon there—a blade that would be considered a rare treasure.

The catch? It was a Blessed Weapon.

Consecrated by the priesthood of Elga, it was locked to the soul of the paladin. Anyone else trying to use it would face the same violent rejection Kadim had felt earlier. He had to leave it in the dirt.

*…If only I had my old axe.*

Even if he did, it would have been stripped from him during the transition. The “game” didn’t allow him to keep his gear while resetting his stats. Kadim clicked his tongue and kept searching.

He eventually found a sturdy sword among the decurion’s kit. He used a leather cord to tie it to his waist. On a night as dark as this, he could use his unique abilities to sharpen the edge into something formidable—not quite holy, but lethal enough.

He also made sure to harvest some blood from the demon’s remains. It wasn’t as potent as a fresh kill, but it was a necessary precaution. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he wasn’t a gambler.

With preparations done, Duncan hurried over, his pack bulging. He was still covered in the filth of his earlier terror. Kadim glanced at him with a frown.

“You should change. There are plenty of clothes on those bodies.”

The merchant looked at the corpses and shook his head frantically.

“N-No, sir… I’m fine as I am… I’ll find a river and wash later…”

“Suit yourself.”

The two began their journey.

The merchant led the way, occasionally stealing terrified glances at the warrior behind him. The barbarian followed with a heavy, steady gait. The day was nearly gone; the sun, which had briefly watched the chaos, finally dipped below the horizon.

With the sunset at their backs, their long shadows stretched out toward the east.

Would you like me to paraphrase the next chapter as well?