The world is rotten. It was in my previous life. Still is in this one.
Suits change. Titles too. But the monsters are the same: men with power, rehearsed smiles, and bloodstained hands no one sees. I made sure they saw it.
Never missed a throw. Never left a name. Just a white ceramic knife.
Then I died. In the most ridiculous way possible.
And woke up in a new world. Of magic. Swords. Knights.
Also rotten.
I knew when I saw a child with a rope around his neck for stealing bread. I was sure when the nobles applauded executions like fireworks.
This world doesn't need a hero. Doesn't need a chosen one in a cape or a mage with a divine mission.
It needs someone who knows where it hurts. And whose hands doesn't tremble.
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All characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Thank you, genuinely, for reading and enjoying my work. Your support means the world to me.
Publishing this novel won't follow a perfectly steady rhythm. Around Chapter 4, you may notice a delay—I won’t continue releasing chapters until the story’s middle arc is complete and truly satisfying. The middle is critical; sometimes it needs to be redone entirely. Hopefully just once.
Your encouragement and feedback push me forward. Knowing you're out there enjoying the journey motivates me to finish this story with care and without too much wait. Thanks again—for reading, for sharing, and for believing in this strange little world I’m building.
Thank you, genuinely, for reading and enjoying my work. Your support means the world to me.
Publishing this novel won't follow a perfectly steady rhythm. Around Chapter 4, you may notice a delay—I won’t continue releasing chapters until the story’s middle arc is c...
