In the Eastern region, nestled amidst lush forests and clear rivers, lay a small, ordinary village. Golden rays of sunlight reflected off its simple homes, and the air buzzed with the sounds of chirping birds and insects.

Ryoma opened his eyes to find himself in a different world, feeling lost and confused. This wasn’t his body, and his wandering eyes searched for an answer that didn’t exist. He didn’t know how he got there or even who he was now. He lay in a small room with a window facing outside, but his memory was completely blank.

He rose slowly and walked toward the house’s door. When he stepped outside, he saw children playing in the alleys and people strolling peacefully. Suddenly, new memories flooded his mind—not his memories, but those of the body he now inhabited. A sharp pain shot through his head until blood poured from his eye and he screamed.

His name was Carter, and he had three siblings: an older brother named Adam, twenty-one years old; a younger brother named Sylvas, sixteen; and a younger sister named Clara, fifteen. Carter himself was eighteen—the original owner of the body.

Carter had been poisoned by a deadly toxin after entering a strange place like a cave—mysterious and filled with fog, though visibility wasn’t difficult. Carter’s memories were unclear; he didn’t know where the place was or how he got there.

In Carter’s last memories, he found ancient strange carvings in the cave. Ryoma couldn’t fully recall the secrets Carter discovered. His memory of the markings was hazy. The place contained a fiery tiger—huge, with massive fangs and sword-like claws. Carter froze in fear, his eyes wide with terror as he watched the fire tiger approach. His heartbeat raced like it was trying to escape his chest.

The closer the tiger got, the more the image of the beast overwhelmed him. Death called him from the shadows. The tiger slashed at his left wrist with its venomous claw. The pain was unbearable; blood gushed from the wound and his hand trembled. Carter's body refused to respond. Trapped in a corner, he looked around for an escape route, but there were only rocks—though the cave was wide, he couldn’t flee.

Just before the tiger finished him off, someone pulled Carter back and took him to another dimension. Ryoma couldn’t see this person in Carter’s memories, nor was there any recollection of what happened next.

Carter awoke at home, but he didn’t survive. He remained bedridden for two months before dying—and this was all Ryoma could remember. There were no memories of the person who saved Carter or any conversation between them.

Now, Ryoma inhabited Carter’s body.

Those were the memories stored in his new body. As he finished recalling them, memories of his past life began to return.

---

Ryoma’s Memories from His Previous World

Ryoma received a royal summons from the king for an urgent mission. He rushed to the palace. Standing before the king—whose face showed fear and trembling hands—the king said:

“I want you to go to the abandoned Sky Castle.”

Ryoma responded in surprise, “But I visited the Sky Castle years ago. There were no creatures there. Are you sure about this report?”

The king began sweating and replied hesitantly, trying to hide the fear in his expression:

“Yes... I know you’ve been there, but things have changed. There’s a new threat.”

Ryoma grew suspicious. Normally, the Empire of Arsel would send requests directly to him—not through the king. He pretended not to notice the lie:

“Why would the Arsel Empire send a message through you?”

The king stammered, clearly shaken:

“The... the Emperor said he sent a group of researchers... but they were attacked... by a giant Minotaur beast…”

Ryoma said calmly but with suspicion:

“But when I visited before, there were no such creatures.”

The king fumbled for words:

“I don’t know how, but... as allies with the Empire, we must honor their request.”

Ryoma gave the king a sharp look but said:

“Fine, I’ll go.”

He pretended to obey but returned home first to inform his family:

“I have an important task in the Arsel Empire. I’ll be gone for a while.”

His wife, Emilia, smiled supportively:

“Take care of yourself. Don’t worry about us.”

Ryoma then flew swiftly toward the Arsel Empire—one of the most powerful empires in the southern region. His unique ability, the "String of Copying," had made him a legend. In this world, each person is born with a unique string. Ryoma’s string allowed him to copy others.

He arrived quickly, flying above the vast empire. The majestic buildings and grand residences reflected its greatness. Upon reaching the imperial palace, guards welcomed him with respect.

Inside the palace, the red carpet stretched from the entrance to the throne. The Emperor sat regally with a white robe, a crown on his head, brown eyes, black hair, and his beautiful wife beside him.

Ryoma approached and spoke in a soft voice:

“Good evening, Emperor. May I ask you a question?”

The Emperor looked surprised but replied kindly:

“Thank you for coming, Ryoma. What’s your question?”

Ryoma asked:

“Did you send a message to the king asking me to go to the Sky Castle?”

The Emperor was visibly confused and answered:

“No. I didn’t send any message.”

Ryoma clenched his fists in anger, thanked the Emperor for his time, and stormed out—his aura flaring.

He rushed back home, but something was wrong. The house was quiet. The light was still on, as if someone left in a hurry. He called out:

“Emilia? Kids?”

No response.

He slowly approached the table. A broken cup lay on the ground. Beneath the table, a torn piece of cloth—clearly from Emilia’s dress—was all he found.

A heavy weight crushed his chest. His heart pounded wildly. He instinctively gripped his sword, his fury rising. Holding the torn fabric, he looked up, his eyes burning with rage.

He headed straight for the royal palace.

Night fell over the city... and the scent of betrayal lingered in the air.

It was a dark night, with heavy clouds hiding the stars. The faint moonlight reflected off the great walls of Eartha Kingdom. The capital looked like a painting of dancing shadows under the dim torches, but something was off...

The streets, once lively by day, were now deserted. No voices, no movement—only the whispering wind stirring dust, carrying with it a sense of unease, as if the whole city held its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Ryoma walked slowly through the empty streets, alert for any movement. But the city was like a ghost town. Something was definitely wrong.

**The Royal Palace... Fortress of Betrayal**  

In the heart of the capital, Eiltreion, the royal palace stood towering over everything like an impenetrable fortress. Its gleaming black walls reflected the torchlight, and its golden-engraved spires told tales of ancient kings' battles.  

At the main gate, the royal guards stood in rigid formation. They wore heavy dark silver armor adorned with ominous black engravings. Their ornate helmets concealed their faces entirely, revealing only their eyes—cold and merciless.  

When Ryoma approached the gate, none of them moved, yet the air grew thick with tension, as if they were waiting for something... or someone.  

The guards gripped two-meter-long spears, their other hands resting on the hilts of long, double-edged swords sheathed in red scabbards inscribed with ancient runes symbolizing the kingdom’s might.  

Behind them, the palace’s massive doors—crafted from black wood and inlaid with gold—were tightly shut, like a barrier between the outside world and the schemes brewing within.  

Ryoma strode toward the palace with steady, silent steps that carried the force of a gathering storm.  

He wore a long black cloak that fluttered in the wind, concealing lightweight black steel armor etched with ancient incantations. His sturdy leather boots muffled his footsteps against the stone pavement.  

On his back, his great sword weighed heavily, its presence almost palpable in the air.  

His eyes narrowed sharply as he observed the guards, but what puzzled him more were the city’s inhabitants gathered around the palace, glaring at him with hatred.  

He felt the sting of betrayal.  

Stopping before the gate, he locked eyes with the guards, who instantly drew their weapons. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.  

**"He’s here!"** one guard shouted before a shadow like a storm descended upon him.  

**"Move. I want to see the king,"** Ryoma growled with seething fury.  

The guards trembled, sensing his wrath. His aura was like a beast barely holding back. One guard, hesitating, tried to do his duty:  

**"The king is busy. He’s not receiving anyone."**  

But they made a fatal mistake...  

They dared stand in Ryoma’s way.  

In the blink of an eye, Ryoma moved at an inhuman speed.  

He didn’t even need his sword.  

With a single grip, he seized the guard’s head and slammed him into the gate’s wall, embedding his metal helmet deep into the stone with a sickening crack.  

The others...  

Had no chance to escape.  

**"Storm the palace!"** a commander screamed before his body was hurled aside like a shattered doll.  

Ryoma pushed the colossal gate open with one hand, its eerie creak echoing as it swung wide. Inside, the grand hall greeted him—illuminated by hundreds of torches hanging from golden pillars, their flickering light dancing across the white marble floor carved with intricate geometric patterns. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, adorned with murals depicting the kingdom’s victories—none of which meant anything to Ryoma now.  

Every step he took brought him closer to the truth... and the hell awaiting him.  

He marched between towering marble pillars toward the royal chamber, where the king, Artel, and their conspirators waited. He didn’t need directions—their anxious whispers echoed through the halls.  

In every corner, soldiers clad in dark purple uniforms bearing the scorpion insignia—the mark of the elite royal guard—stood armed with enchanted weapons. Yet none dared strike first.  

As he reached the chamber doors, drums pounded in the depths of his heart. Not from fear... but from the silent fury fermenting inside him.  

He shoved the heavy doors open and stepped into the hall, where the golden throne shimmered under candlelight. The king sat there, Artel at his side, clad in black armor draped with a crimson sash and wearing the royal ring of authority. Nobles and commanders surrounded them, while on the sides, three guards held Ryoma’s wife and three children in chains, blades pressed to their throats. Terror filled their eyes.  

Ryoma’s rage threatened to explode, but he restrained himself. Then, in a voice so low it silenced the entire hall, he spoke—furious yet steady:  

"Why? Did I betray you? Did I disobey your orders? Why do this to me... to my family?!"For the first time, Ryoma felt the sting of betrayal from those whose lives he had saved.  

Silence lingered before a soldier shrieked in fear:  

**"Yes, you protected us—but one day, you’ll destroy us! What if you wiped out an entire city by accident? Your power is monstrous, and we’re just weak humans!"**  

Murmurs of agreement spread, but Ryoma let out a bitter, regretful laugh.  

**"So... you fear me? Hahaha... I forgot how self-serving you humans are. I defended you, and now I’m your enemy? What a fool I was... As a child, I trained to protect you. I journeyed with my friends to rid you of evil and bring peace... I lost every last one of them. And this is my reward? Do I deserve this?!"*

Artel commanded the guards, “Attack him!”

Ryoma knew he was going to die, yet he didn’t move — afraid to hurt his family. The soldiers rushed toward him, wielding spears coated in a special magic capable of piercing his body.

In a flash, the spears drove into Ryoma's flesh. With every strike, the pain intensified, and he screamed in agony. The spears tore through his muscles and bones as if slicing through water. He felt a fiery current ignite inside him, like thousands of burning needles stabbing deep into his muscles.

The spears were cold at first, but then the heat of pain spread like flames, seeping into every nerve, making his body tremble uncontrollably. He heard a faint creaking — not just the spears, but the echo of his body resisting… bones cracking, warm blood spilling to the ground, leaving a trail of red behind him. He tried to breathe, but each inhale felt like a blade slashing through his lungs. He realized then that his body no longer responded like it used to.

One by one, the spears embedded deeper into his body — seven in total — each one absorbing a portion of his immense power. He couldn’t move or use his abilities; the spears had sealed his body completely.

Most of the capital’s citizens began to regret what they had done to Ryoma, but when they remembered the king’s words about his betrayal, their guilt vanished.

Artel stood with a sly grin, his hands clasped behind his back. Seizing Ryoma's helplessness, he spoke in a calm tone that reached every corner of the hall:

“Not just you… but your children too. I’ve seen with my own eyes how a father’s power is passed to his offspring… If we let them live, they’ll come back one day seeking revenge.”

Silence fell for a moment. The king’s gaze shifted to Ryoma’s trembling children, then back to Ryoma, who realized things were about to get far worse.

With difficulty and repressed anger, Ryoma tried to keep his voice steady:

“You're a fool, Your Majesty… Killing my children won’t bring peace — it will curse this kingdom forever!”

But the king’s reply was colder than ever, final and merciless:

“It will bring peace that no future power can threaten.”

At that moment, Ryoma no longer saw the king as a wise ruler, but as a frightened man — afraid for himself and his people — walking a path of no return. In the shadows, Artel smiled in triumph, savoring the scene.

The palace echoed with the children's terrified screams, breaking through its stone walls. Their cries for mercy filled the air as they clung to their mother, whose eyes were filled with tears and terror.

“Mom! Dad! Save us!”

The eldest son cried out, trying to cling to his father, but the soldiers pulled him away violently. His small hands reached out in the air, desperately seeking the safety he’d never feel again.

Ryoma burned with rage, trying to use his powers — but in vain. Pinned by the spears that bound him, his body shook, blood boiling in his veins. Yet he was utterly helpless — like stone. He tried to move, to scream — but no voice came out. It was as if fear had seized his throat and crushed it.

With a cold voice, the king turned to the guards and gave his cruel order:

“When I leave this throne room, kill them all… Leave no chance for revenge.”

With steady steps, he left the hall, leaving behind the looming shadow of death. Then Artel took over, hands behind his back, his cold eyes fixed on Ryoma. He signaled to the guards with a merciless tone: