I was a slave.
When I was barely three years old, my parents sold me to a slave merchant.
I hold no resentment.
...No, to correct myself, I don't even remember my parents' faces.
I was sold right around the time I was just learning to speak; how could I possibly remember their faces?
The only scene I vividly remember is sucking on my fingers as I toddled after the slave merchant.
Child slaves sold remarkably well.
They were highly sought after by spellcasters—was it because they sold well for human experimentation?
Or was it because the greedy pigs in the temples had a taste for children, making them easy to sell?
Regardless, they were quite the hot commodity.
I was sold to one such spellcaster.
The slave merchant seemed to say I was 'one with no luck,' but no matter how I think about it, being sold to a mage is better than suiting the filthy desires of old men—or so I make my petty rebuttal.
Ten years as the slave of a spellcaster, a mage.
Out of a hundred slaves sold, I became one of the three survivors—no, one of the three surviving test subjects.
The mage's experiment involved extracting cells from demonic beasts and implanting them into the human body, with the goal of bodily enhancement.
And for the children who couldn't adapt to or endure the cells, their bodies simply burst, or they became something neither human nor demonic beast before being thrown into the incinerator. This was considered entirely normal in the laboratory.
My body was weak back then, but my will was indomitable.
The will to live.
I had that.
Even at an age where I barely understood what death meant, I desperately craved survival. I endured the experiments frantically, eventually beginning to yield the results the mage desired.
Among the demonic beasts, I displayed an adaptability to the genes of the Human-Hound and the Man-Eating Fiend, overjoying the mage.
...And then the mage tried to dissect me.
*Splat!*
"...Huh?"
*Crunch.* Can a human head really burst that easily?
It was my first kill.
Slaves originally cannot kill their masters. However, I realized then that if no intent to attack was detected, the slave brand would not activate. Without any killing intent, I had merely struggled reflexively and struck him, yet that alone killed the mage.
It was truly a miraculous outcome born of overlapping coincidence and luck.
...Or perhaps I should say it was an outcome compounded by the mage's own mistake?
After all, I now possessed the genes of a Man-Eating Fiend—or rather, a Troll.
Was it normal to shove a knife into a child who no longer possessed the strength of a mere kid, but the strength of a demonic beast, all for the sake of dissection?
It is only natural that mages are despised as mere spellcasters.
Every last one of them is a mad breed.
In any case, with the master dead, I was automatically freed, and I attempted to slip out of the laboratory right then.
"Well, look here. Something interesting."
"...Ah."
Unfortunately, I couldn't get out.
I should have been a bit quicker. Sadly, the mage died on the exact day an organization sponsoring him came to visit, and I was caught red-handed in the act.
"Kid, pick an option. Will you come with me? Or will you die right here?"
"...I'll follow you."
"Smart kid."
The organization sponsoring the mage.
They were none other than the assassination syndicate known as [Black Moon].
Age thirteen.
I became an assassin.
* * *
The assassination syndicate wanted powerful soldiers.
Powerful soldiers equipped with the abilities of demonic beasts and exceptional assassination skills.
Rumors said it was to overthrow a certain kingdom.
Mere assassins trying to overthrow a kingdom—thinking back on it now, it felt like the world was truly coming to an end.
Well, I survived because I was useful. I was raised as an assassin, and for the first time, I lived like a human being.
Even if I had to endure inhumane acts like consuming poison daily to build poison resistance, or being tortured to build torture resistance.
Just being able to eat a proper meal for the first time and having a proper bed to sleep in was enough for me to understand what it meant to live 'like a human.'
Because of that, I held no resentment toward the syndicate.
About five years. That was the time devoted to molding me into a professional assassin.
"Prepare for your mission."
"Understood."
"Number 9 and Number 10 will be moving with you. Number 8, look after them."
"...Sure."
My name at the time was Number 8.
In other words, it meant there were seven others above me, which was only natural.
Assassination syndicates aren't stupid; they wouldn't rely on just a single mage to overthrow a kingdom.
Perhaps because they had sponsored quite a few spellcasters, the syndicate housed a considerable number of individuals with peculiar physical or mystical abilities like mine.
For the record, Number 9 and Number 10 were survivors of the same experiments I had undergone.
Our relationship was absolutely terrible.
Part of it was the syndicate's structure, which practically forbade close camaraderie, but they also seemed to detest the fact that someone younger than them held a higher rank.
...Childish fools.
However, perhaps because they were such childish fools.
"Die, Number 8!"
"If only you were gone...!"
Number 9 and Number 10, who harbored severe inferiority complexes, attacked me, and I lunged at them to survive.
It was a fierce bloodbath, but I held the upper hand.
These fools needed to understand.
"If you wanted a higher rank, you should have worked harder than me."
*Squelch!*
"Urk!"
"H-How..."
"What other reason could there be for my higher rank? I pray you're smarter in your next life."
Naturally, the reason I held a higher rank was simply because I was undeniably stronger than them.
They were clearly blockheads who couldn't even grasp that much.
"Sigh, but what do I do now?"
I succeeded in killing them all, but I wasn't exactly happy about it.
If anything, murder was this hollow and bitter; rejoicing in it would be proof that I had become a madman from that point on.
However, the emotion that followed the bitterness was worry.
They were talents the syndicate had painstakingly raised, and I had just killed them...
I was deeply worried that the syndicate would try to kill me in retaliation.
Fortunately, however.
"Huh?"
Upon returning to the syndicate, I found it completely annihilated.
The plot to overthrow the kingdom had been discovered, and the kingdom's military had marched out, beginning to sweep away the assassination syndicate entirely.
At first, it was hard to believe.
I knew just how powerful the syndicate was.
Thus, I scoured and investigated every location I knew, including the syndicate's safe houses. Yet, every single one of them was incinerated as if burned to the ground. And, crucially...
"...They really cleaned house before they left."
Seeing the sight of the syndicate's instructors and executives all beheaded and hung from spear poles, I was finally convinced.
Ah, the syndicate is truly destroyed.
At the age of eighteen, I was finally, truly free.
* * *
Two years passed after that.
I relocated to another country for a second chance at life and worked hard for a fresh start. However, if there was one thing I definitely learned during that time, it was that the world was ruthless—and far harsher than when I was in the syndicate.
Was this just the way of the world?
"Dogshit."
Life was so rough that I always had that vulgar curse—the first one I ever learned—on my lips.
From making money to maintaining relationships and finding work.
I tried my hand at various things, but at the end of the day, the only skill I knew was how to use a blade. I had no choice but to choose the profession I excelled at the most.
"Rookie, you're too slow."
"Yes, I'm coming right now!"
I became a mercenary.
To be exact, the rookie of a small-to-medium-sized mercenary company.
"Where the hell did you come from, kid?"
"Just wandered the back alleys."
"Is that so? Your footsteps scream 'assassin'."
"Me?"
"...Hmm, no? My bad. Must've been my imagination."
"Aw, no need to apologize for that, haha."
...Scarily sharp bastards.
I thought these mercenary folks just lived day-to-day with no cares, but their instincts and intuition were quite sharp.
Then again, that's how they made their living with the blade.
From then on, I made an effort to shed my assassin's posture.
I discarded my gait, my habits, and the like.
Of course, I kept the necessities.
Skills and vital habits were things I had to utilize whenever necessary.
I continued my mercenary life, shedding my rookie status, and wandered a few battlefields to make a living with the blade. Four years passed.
*Smash!*
"Urk!"
"These son-of-a-bitch bastards!!"
This life of mine, seriously.
Backstabbed by our client, the mercenary company was thoroughly pelted with stones.
I took a rock straight to the head and collapsed, my vision going hazy.
'...I should play dead.'
In truth, this wasn't enough to kill me.
As if a body like mine would die from this!
Would I die just from taking a few rocks?
'I can't win this.'
Even if I revealed all my hidden strength and tricks, it was impossible for a small group to win against well-trained soldiers.
Thus, playing dead and waiting for the right moment was the best course of action. Trusting my potent regeneration and sturdy physique, I endured the stoning and the kicks from military boots.
Don't ask me how I could do that while everyone else was dying around me.
I had endured all those strange looks they gave me whenever I picked up the soap; the fact that I didn't kill them myself was already me being generous.
As I was justifying my actions to myself, the back of my head throbbing—
'...Ah, I want some cola.'
I recalled a memory I had forgotten.
It wasn't a memory from this life, but a memory from my 'past life'.
At the age of twenty-four, I realized I was a reincarnator.
'...No reincarnation perks?'
Unfortunately, after I survived, I spent about five hours trying to summon a status window through various methods, but nothing appeared.
"...Dogshit."
If this was all there was to it, I shouldn't have even bothered remembering.
* * *
The mercenary company was wiped out. When I, the sole survivor, reported the client's betrayal, the Mercenary Union immediately moved to exact retribution.
No matter how ruthless they were, no matter how they were called butchers who would do anything for money, a commission had to be seen through to the end. If a client backstabbed them, they would never let it slide—this was the absolute rule of the mercenary industry.
Since the client had betrayed us just to save a few pennies, only bloody retribution awaited.
At the hands of the Mercenary Union, the territory ruled by the client was utterly reduced to ashes. Everything was plundered and stripped away.
In particular, the client's blood relatives were either sold into slavery or took their own lives.
They must have decided they couldn't endure a life as slaves.
'...I need to retire.'
Perhaps it was because I had awakened the memories of my past life.
I found myself feeling a sense of repulsion toward the cruel processes—like the plundering—that I had previously forced myself to ignore.
It was a trivial repulsion, not so severe that I couldn't overcome it, but I had a premonition that the moment this disgust vanished, my humanity would be worn away.
It must be that thing called delicate sensibility.
"I'll just become a civil servant."
Upon deciding to retire, I began to study.
Just being able to read was enough to easily become a soldier in any territory.
However, perhaps it was because I had witnessed that territory getting trampled by the Mercenary Union.
I decided to aim for a position as a soldier of the kingdom, which wouldn't easily collapse.
"Better than a local civil servant is a civil servant in the capital!"
For the record, I'm not engaging in regional discrimination.
I hope there are no misunderstandings.
In any case, I prepared for the exam as diligently and with all my might, and finally...!
"Oh ho, you're quite impressive."
"Excuse me?"
"For a talent like you to be a mere soldier, the other fellows must be blind. You'll be reporting to the knight order starting today."
"...?"
I didn't become a soldier; I became a late-blooming knight.
"Well, I'll be..."
Age twenty-seven. It was the birth of the knight, Lee Han.