After saying farewell to his family, he went to sleep on carriage.
The carriage rocked gently as it rolled through the forest path, the sun hanging low above the tree canopy. Rays of light filtered between the branches, painting the interior of the carriage in warm, broken fragments of gold.
Inside, he slept soundly—his first real sleep in over a week.
He had spent seven relentless days erasing every trace of his research. The cave hidden an hour behind his family's estate had once been his laboratory, soaked in blood, silent screams, and unspoken ambition. Now, it was just rock and darkness.
But within him, something still burned.
Not regret.
Not guilt.
Only hunger.
---
Before this world… before mana, before noble blood, and false smiles—
He had once lived on Earth.
He was born in a poor household. Not starving, not hopeless. Just… insignificant.
Still, he had been happy. He loved by his family and he also loved them---
As a child, he was athletic and spirited. He played with friends in the streets, shared jokes, got into harmless fights, and dreamed like all children do.
He wasn't a prodigy. He wasn't special.
He was just normal.
And that had been enough.
Until it wasn't.
At 14, he found a local library—and then, soon after, the internet. He began reading fantasy stories, gradually wandering into darker, more twisted tales.
By 15, his fascination had shifted.
He read about characters who thrived in chaos, who rejected the weak morals of the world and shaped their own paths through fear, cruelty, or intelligence.
He started to admire them. Then emulate them.
At 16, something inside him shattered.
He stopped asking why the world was unfair, and started studying how to survive in it.
Morality became an illusion. Power, the only truth.
He no longer wanted to be good.
He wanted to be free.
And the second…
---
The carriage wheel hit a rough patch, jostling him awake.
He opened his eyes—dark and unreadable—and stared out the window. The forest had changed since he last saw it. The light had faded.
Night had come.
He leaned forward and tapped the small panel beside the driver's seat.
"Stop the carriage," he said softly.
The old coachman tilted his head, surprised. "Young master?"
"I need to hunt," he replied calmly. "Two, maybe three days. I'll return shortly."
The driver hesitated. "At night? This forest is known for low-level monsters, but it can still be—"
"I've hunted here before." He smiled politely. "Don't worry."
With a reluctant nod, the coachman halted the carriage. The young man disembarked, his sheathed sword bouncing lightly against his hip.
---
This forest was familiar to him.
He had hunted its monsters long ago—weak, instinct-driven creatures without names, barely a threat to a trained knight, let alone him.
But this time, it was different.
He wasn't here for sport.
He was here for research.
His regeneration skill had evolved through five years of forced adaptation. Now, his internal organs could recover rapidly—a painful process, but effective.
His external body, however, remained fragile.
A sword slash or arrow could still kill him, slowly or instantly. His skill couldn't fix that.
That was why he needed more.
He needed to find something he had missed before.
A pattern. A clue. A breakthrough.
He slayed a few monsters—quick, clean, quiet. He dissected them methodically, his blade precise and his hands steady.
But the results disappointed him.
Too weak. Too simple. I've already tested these...
What he truly sought were humans—bandits, criminals, even travelers.
But this forest was unusually quiet. No bandits. No camps. Nothing.
He sighed.
It seemed even his luck refused to cooperate tonight.
---
After two days in the woods, with nothing more than torn beasts and silence behind him, he made his way back to the forest road. The carriage waited.
Or rather—had waited.
In its place, he found a small, folded parchment weighed down by a stone.
Young master,
I received an emergency summons. I could not wait. I've left you a map to your destination.
I trust your judgment. Travel safely.
—Rauen
He held the paper in his hand for a moment, then looked up at the moonlit trees.
No anger. No frustration.
Only cold calculation.
"…Fine."
He tucked the map into his coat, his eyes scanning the path ahead.
The journey would continue.
And so would the hunt.