Chapter 9 — Unexpected moments

Part 1

Dressed in a rather unusual outfit—sturdy leather boots, simple dark trousers covered by a layer of light armor made from the same material, a white shirt beneath a leather chest piece, and additional guards over both hands that gave me a strange sense of weight and seriousness—I walked beside Siena through the mansion’s corridors.

Every step echoed differently beneath my new boots.

This was the special outfit my father had brought specifically for the occasion. It looked less like ceremonial clothing and more like something meant for a person about to enter an actual battlefield, rather than a child preparing to perform a magical ritual before his family and a handful of guests.

I quietly asked Siena why I needed something so elaborate merely to hold a chest and recite a few words.

She only smiled and offered no clear answer.

We stepped into the rear garden, where a small stone circle had already been arranged at its center. Several torches burned around it for reasons of ceremony that I did not entirely understand.

Sebastian stood waiting beside the circle, holding a large chest in both hands. Ancient symbols had been carved across its surface, too distant for me to make out clearly, and several of them glowed faintly even beneath the sunlight.

The reason was simple: the chest contained the instruments required to perform the ritual.

Sebastian had explained the process to me in broad terms several days earlier, though he had never gone into much detail.

From what I had understood during my lessons, the ritual created a direct connection between the individual and the very essence of the world—an ancient, almost divine force that some people simply called “the Earth,” while older texts described it as a conscious entity capable of judging every person’s soul.

Blood established a temporary bond, allowing that force to “read” who you were—not only in the present, but also, apparently, fragments of your future potential.

In response, it granted the class most closely aligned with your destiny.

No one knew exactly how the process worked. All anyone truly understood were its results, repeated without failure from one generation to the next.

When I reached him, Sebastian gave me a look filled with genuine, almost paternal joy. It was completely different from the stern expression he usually wore during our lessons.

Everyone had gathered behind me, encouraging me with scattered words and smiles. I could hear the maids whispering among themselves, playfully placing bets on which class I would receive.

My father behaved almost like a child on his own birthday, cheering me on with comments that sounded more like those of a close friend than a legendary warrior.

—Come on, son! You can do it! —he exclaimed, holding both fists in front of his chest as though he were about to watch some grand competition.

For a moment, I considered asking him to calm down and lower his voice, especially since two rulers were observing the ceremony with perfect formality.

Then my mother joined him with the same overflowing enthusiasm, applauding softly from where she stood beside him.

Once the two of them join forces, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

I surrendered to their obvious excitement, unable to stop a small smile from escaping despite my nerves.

I accepted the chest and examined it carefully. The cold weight of wood and metal pressed against my fingers as I prepared to begin, following every step I had mentally rehearsed dozens of times over the past several days.

Siena approached and handed me a small ceremonial dagger. Its short blade and decorated handle carried the same style of engravings as the chest.

—Good luck, Ren —she said with a smile that tried to conceal her own nervousness.

She squeezed my shoulder lightly before stepping back to give me room.

Holding the dagger firmly, I made a small cut in the tip of one finger.

The sharp sting came and went. I held my hand over the chest and allowed a single drop of blood to fall onto the carved surface of its lid.

Then I recited the words I had memorized over entire weeks—words I had repeated so often that I had even spoken them in my dreams.

—O great Earth, mother of all living things, wellspring of life and keeper of knowledge. Guide your child throughout his life. Grant him your divine protection, guarding him in health and against the constant dangers of existence. Bless me with your knowledge. World Link.

The chest burst into light.

A golden radiance flowed through each engraving like veins igniting from within, and everyone around me reacted with visible surprise.

My father and even King Aldric wore expressions of genuine satisfaction after hearing me pronounce every word of the ritual without a single mistake or moment of hesitation—something Sebastian had told me not every child managed on the first attempt.

Once the drop of blood had fallen, exactly as the procedure required, I opened the chest.

My hands trembled slightly with anticipation.

Inside were seven spheres, each a different color: red, blue, green, white, black, gold, and one final sphere of deep violet.

They shone with their own light and hovered above the bottom of the chest without touching it.

The spheres began circling one another, forming a pattern that grew faster and faster until they moved directly toward me.

They stopped only inches from my face, close enough for me to feel a faint warmth radiating from each one.

According to everything I had studied during the months of preparation, only one final step remained.

—CLASS! —I shouted with all the strength I could gather.

My voice resonated strangely through the air, as though its echo lasted longer than it should have.

The spheres reacted immediately.

Ghostly representations of the weapons associated with each class formed in the air before me: a shining sword rotating slowly on its axis, a staff carved with ancient runes, a drawn bow holding an invisible arrow, a floating book whose pages turned by themselves, a pair of curved daggers, a heavy war hammer, and something resembling a rolled scroll.

All that remained was to wait and see which of them would manifest in my hands.

An intense light engulfed me completely.

The entire rear garden was flooded with a radiance so bright that everyone present had to shield their eyes. Even I could barely keep mine open.

When the light finally faded, I was still standing in the center of the circle, holding something between my hands.

At least, I thought I was.

White spots still clouded my vision, preventing me from seeing clearly.

From what I knew of the ritual, I should now have been holding an object representing my class—a sword, a ring, a book, or anything else symbolizing the path the world had chosen for me as a warrior, mage, or whatever I was meant to become.

But when I opened my hands, struggling to contain my excitement, I found absolutely nothing.

Only my empty palms, trembling faintly.

What…?

Before the thought could fully form, a sharp pain spread through my head.

It intensified with every passing second, as though something were trying to force its way out from inside my skull.

I tried to speak and explain what I was feeling, but the words caught in my throat, refusing to form properly.

—Ren? —my mother called, still excited and not yet realizing that something was wrong.

The voices of my parents reached me like distant, distorted echoes. They asked me to show them what I had received, to raise my hands and share the result of the ritual with everyone.

—Show us, son! —my father called, his voice still filled with expectant pride.

But the pain had already become unbearable.

Pressure threatened to split my skull from within, spreading into my eyes until my vision blurred completely.

My legs weakened beneath me. The ground seemed to move both closer and farther away at the same time.

—There’s nothing in his hands! —someone shouted, perhaps Sebastian.

The alarm in his voice shattered the festive atmosphere that had filled the garden only seconds earlier.

Then, as though those words had broken through some collective denial, everything around me descended into chaos.

—Ren! —my father cried.

There was no pride left in his voice now—only pure panic.

Heavy boots struck the stone circle as he rushed toward me.

—Hold on, son! Hold on!

I tried to cling to something—anything.

My father’s voice drew closer. His arms nearly brushed mine just before my knees gave way completely.

I collapsed to the ground, already losing consciousness as darkness slowly closed over my vision, swallowing every sound, every voice, and every trace of light.

But just before I disappeared completely into that darkness, I saw something waiting in its deepest reaches.

A smile.

Part 2

I awoke—if “awoke” was even the correct word for what was happening—to a voice I recognized immediately.

There was no mistaking it.

It was mine.

Or rather, it was the voice that had once been mine.

—Satoru?

I turned and saw myself.

Not Ren, the person I had been for the past five years, but Satoru Hatsuki.

He wore the exact same clothes I had been wearing on the day I died: the worn jacket, the trousers torn by the impact of the truck, and even the bag containing the deluxe edition still hanging intact from one hand, as though no time whatsoever had passed for that version of me.

Another figure stood before me, watching calmly.

His clothing vaguely resembled that of a knight, or perhaps a hero from some ancient legend—a suit of light armor, a short cloak, and a posture that radiated a confidence I had never possessed during my life as Satoru.

—Are you… Ren? —I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

He nodded.

A smile crossed his face, but something about it felt strange. It was not entirely warm.

—Watching you from here all this time has been rather entertaining, I must admit.

—What is this place? —I asked, looking around for any point of reference in the endless white emptiness.

—Exactly what it looks like —Ren replied with a shrug—. There is nothing here. I decided to call it “the Void.” Well, actually, he was the one who named it.

He pointed to one side.

A white-haired man sat directly upon the nonexistent ground. He wore an elegant suit that strangely reminded me of Sebastian’s style, though his clothing was far more ornate—almost excessively so—with elaborate golden details covering it.

The man greeted us with a casual wave, stood, and spoke in a voice far too calm for the situation.

—Now that the three of us are finally gathered, perhaps it is time for a conversation. After all, there is quite a lot that needs to be clarified.

A table appeared before us from nothing, accompanied by three perfectly arranged chairs.

We sat almost by instinct, as though such an ordinary gesture could lend some sense of normality to the situation.

—Very well —Ren said, folding his arms on the table—. Since we are all here, I will be direct. Satoru, now that we finally occupy the same place, it is time for me to reclaim what belongs to me. This is my real body, after all.

It felt as though the ground—assuming such a thing even existed there—had opened beneath my feet.

—Wait. Wait a second. What exactly do you mean by that? —I asked, placing both hands against the table—. I don’t understand anything that is happening here. I don’t even know what you truly are.

—Then allow me to clarify that point —the white-haired man interjected.

He leaned forward slightly, interlacing his fingers before him.

—When you died in your world, Satoru, something dragged you into this one. It is rather unusual for such a thing to happen. Whoever is responsible for managing souls in your original world must be doing an exceptionally poor job. A considerable oversight, if you ask me.

—And what does that have to do with me? —I asked, my impatience growing.

—Everything —Ren answered before the other man could continue—. To put it simply, you indirectly stole my soul. And because of that, you have occupied my body all this time.

Something inside me broke.

—So now —he continued, wearing that same unsettling smile—, I want my body back. That is only fair, don’t you think?

—Wait a moment —I said, seizing on any question that might give me more time to understand what I had heard—. Then what happened during the ritual? Why didn’t anything appear in my hands?

—Ah, that —the white-haired man replied, as though he had just remembered some trivial detail—. Because the body is shared by two souls, the system could not determine which of you should receive a class. The most predictable result was a complete failure, leaving the body in a suspended state. Until it is decided which soul will rule over it, the body cannot fully awaken.

—By right —Ren said, rising from his chair with an infuriating calm—, I am the one who should return to my parents. To my family.

I grabbed his clothes before he could move any farther away.

—And what happens to me, then? If I stay here with him?

I pointed toward the white-haired man.

Ren merely shrugged, as though the question did not deserve a detailed answer.

—I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t care.

—Isn’t it obvious? —the man interjected with a smile that revealed more teeth than necessary—. You would remain here with me for however long Ren’s body continued to live. We could call it eternal companionship.

Denial surged inside me, mingling with a fury I could not remember ever feeling—not even in my previous life.

—That isn’t fair —I said, rising as my voice trembled—. I deserve to remain in this body too. This life only reached this point because of me. The intelligence, the discipline, everything I learned in my previous life—I brought all of it here.

—That is a lie —Ren replied, his expression closer to pity than anger—. Everything that happened—the intelligence, the endurance, the growth—came from my body, my blood, and my lineage. You were merely there, taking advantage of what already existed before you arrived.

Something fractured inside me.

Without another thought, I clenched my fist and swung directly at him.

Before the blow could connect, the white-haired man rose from his chair and burst into laughter.

The sound echoed strangely through the white void, rebounding from every direction at once.

—You two are hilarious! —he exclaimed, applauding slowly—. The idea that this body belongs to either one of you is quite a joke. A rather poor joke, I should add.

While I was distracted by his words, Ren drove a fist into my chest.

The impact sent me flying several yards across the nonexistent white surface.

Before I could fully rise, he materialized a sword between his hands and turned its point directly toward the white-haired man.

—What exactly do you mean by that? —Ren asked with a coldness I had not seen in him before—. Speak clearly.

—Isn’t it obvious? —the man answered, still smiling and entirely unconcerned by the sword aimed at him—. I want this body as well. In fact, I am the reason you are still standing. Or rather, the reason you are still alive, little Ren.

He continued in the tone of a teacher explaining a tedious lesson to a particularly slow student.

—When you were about to be born, your soul was not strong enough to sustain the body on its own, Ren. You would have died during childbirth, to be precise. So, in my endless generosity, I anchored a random soul to you to compensate for your… inadequacy. That soul was you, Satoru. You should really be grateful.

Ren remained in an attacking stance and tightened his grip on the sword until his knuckles turned white.

—Are you a Demon Lord? No other creature would have the arrogance to speak that way.

The man spread his arms in an almost theatrical, mocking invitation.

—Why don’t you come and find out for yourself?

Ren did not hesitate.

He charged with astonishing speed, his sword sweeping in a direct arc toward the man’s side.

The white-haired man merely tilted his torso by a few inches and allowed the blade to pass through the air beside his skin. He did not even bother raising a hand to defend himself.

Ren did not stop.

He chained one attack into another, then a third, each strike faster than the last as he searched for an angle or opening.

The man avoided every blow with bewildering ease, moving only as much as necessary—a turn of the hips here, a step backward there—as though he were performing a dull dance he had already memorized.

—Come now. Is that all? —he mocked, avoiding another slash with a simple twist of his wrist—. I expected more from the “true heir.”

Ren gritted his teeth and changed tactics.

He feinted high. When the man leaned aside to avoid it, Ren twisted the sword at the final instant and swept for his leg.

For the first time, the white-haired man was forced to make a genuine leap backward.

For the briefest fraction of a second, something resembling surprise crossed his face.

—Oh. Interesting.

That was all he said before his expression returned to its usual infuriating calm.

Ren used that instant of distraction to advance with everything he had.

Something gathered along the blade—a golden light forming at the hilt and spreading toward the tip, growing brighter with every step he took.

I remember that technique. Sacred Sword Style: Blade of Light.

The strike descended with enough force to seemingly split the air itself.

This time, it connected.

The sword passed cleanly through the man from one side to the other, releasing a flash that illuminated the entire white void.

When the radiance faded, he stood visibly wounded.

His breathing was ragged. One hand pressed against the injury in his side as he tried to retreat—to escape somehow.

Ren approached without haste, cold words leaving his lips.

—I will not allow a Demon Lord to enter this world. Nor will I allow one near my family.

Without hesitation, he drove the sword directly into the man’s body, burying it to the hilt.

I watched from the ground, unable to stop a thought filled with an admiration I did not want to feel.

The real Ren is incredibly powerful.

Then a sharp snapping sound echoed throughout the Void.

I froze completely, as though the air itself had fractured into a thousand invisible pieces.

The entire scene changed in an instant.

Ren, who only seconds earlier had been standing over his defeated enemy, suddenly vomited blood.

His knees buckled beneath his weight.

Something twisted his body violently toward me like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.

Then I saw it.

His own sword had been driven into his body in the exact same place where he had stabbed the white-haired man only moments earlier.

The man walked calmly behind Ren.

He was completely unharmed—not a single wound, not a single drop of blood staining his clothes.

He stopped directly before Ren’s trembling body.

—Did you truly believe —he said as his voice began to change, deepening and growing heavier, as though a thousand voices were speaking through his mouth at once— that I am refuse like those Demon Lords?

He extended one hand and seized Ren by the hair without the slightest care, forcing him to lift his face.

He examined him like a broken object in which he held no genuine interest.

—Demon Lords are creatures. In a sense, they too were born. I was not.

He leaned closer to Ren’s pale face.

His calm smile was far more terrifying than any scream could have been.

—I am not merely one god among the countless others of this world or any other. I am not a name on a list, a member of some pantheon, or one equal among many.

He threw back his head and began to laugh.

It was not ordinary laughter.

It was excessive and prolonged, stretching far beyond any reasonable length of time.

The sound came from every direction at once and multiplied into echoes that did not align, as though a thousand different versions of the same laugh had been layered over one another—each one slightly sharper and more deranged than the last.

—I am God —he finally declared between bursts of laughter, still holding Ren firmly by the hair—. The only one. The first. The creator of absolutely everything that exists, everything that has ever existed, and everything that ever will.

His laughter stopped without warning.

Only a heavy, unbearable silence remained.

The eyes that had seemed almost human moments earlier turned completely black, without the slightest trace of white or color.

—Including, of course, both of you.