The sun barely pierced the grimy windowpane as I sat on the edge of my worn-out bed.
Ten years. Ten years to undo a lifetime of pain, betrayal, and failure.
The memories of my past life burned like a brand — a constant reminder of everything I'd lost… and everything I had to reclaim.
My body was weak. F− rank weak. The lowest of the low.
But my resolve? Ironclad.
No one could know who I really was.
If Aric—or worse, the others—caught wind of my return, I'd be hunted down and killed before I even had a chance to breathe.
So I moved like a shadow slipping through the cracks of the world.
Dressed in plain, worn clothes, I slipped into the noisy streets of Valenport.
Merchants shouted over one another, hawking wares; the smell of fresh bread mingled with the sharp tang of molten metal from the forges.
I kept my head low, eyes sharp, searching for my first step back to power.
A simple wooden sign caught my eye:
"Quests Available — See Merchant Loran."
I approached the stall. The merchant was a stocky man, sharp-eyed, his gaze piercing and shrewd.
"You look new," Loran said, sizing me up. "What can you do?"
"Anything you need," I said quietly, steady.
He smiled thinly. "Good. Goblins have been raiding the eastern farmlands — stealing crops, attacking farmers. Quietly clear them out, and you'll get paid."
I nodded and accepted the crudely drawn map. "Consider it done."
Loran's gaze lingered. "Be quick. I don't want anyone poking around longer than necessary."
The road to the farmlands stretched long and empty.
Each step was a reminder — my body ached, weak and battered.
At the forest's edge, I crouched, listening.
The goblins were loud, careless — perfect for a silent strike.
I moved through the underbrush like a ghost, muscles coiled, senses sharp.
The first goblin, scruffy and matted, turned just as I lunged.
My blade flashed — a clean slash across its throat.
It dropped silently, unaware of its death.
Two more charged, screaming war cries.
I dodged their crude spears, rolled under a wild swing, and drove my dagger deep into the second's side.
The third barely screamed before my blade cut across its chest.
One tried to flee — desperate and terrified.
A throwing knife between the eyes ended its plea before it even started.
The last two regrouped by a hollow tree, rusty axes raised in desperation.
I planted my feet, feeling every scar, every memory of power surging beneath my skin.
Lightning crackled faintly from my fingertips as I parried with precision.
With a sudden burst, I spun — knocking one off balance — and sliced through his arm.
The other fell with a swift strike to the throat.
Silence.
I stood alone, breathing hard, heart pounding.
The fight was over in less than five minutes.
Back in Valenport, I handed Loran a severed goblin ear.
He inspected it carefully, then looked at me, eyes narrowing.
"Well," he said slowly, "I didn't expect you to be that fast. Most hunters take twice as long and come back with half the proof."
I shrugged, masking the fire beneath. "I get the job done."
Loran's gaze sharpened. "What rank are you? I don't remember seeing you before."
I hesitated, weighing my words. "New. Just started taking quests."
He gave me a long look, skeptical but silent.
"You're good. Real good."
Respect was a dangerous thing. Attention, even more so.
But the coin he handed me was real — enough for food, potions, maybe a few supplies.
Back in my cramped apartment, I spread the map on the table.
This was only the beginning.
I'd have to move carefully, build strength slowly, and keep my true identity buried deep.
If I rushed, if I showed off — I'd die again.
But this time, I'd make sure no one betrayed me.