Right there, cradling the only person who had ever come to matter to him—his entire world—was Benjamin, kneeling in a pool of her blood.
It made no sense.
He tried, and tried, and tried again, but he could not believe it. He called it a prank. An act. He begged her to wake up, to just stop it already.
But it was no use.
The only person he had ever loved was dead, and perhaps... he was the reason.
"ARGHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
Something broke that day. Perhaps it was the last sliver of sanity he had left; perhaps it was what remained of his heart. But there in that dark alley, a young man sat, clutching the corpse of the girl he loved in a pool of her own blood.
He was arrested.
Accused.
Sentenced to death.
What an end...? It truly was.
Guilt-ridden and broken, he awaited the day he could finally draw his last breath. However, it was then, right within the confines of that cell, that it happened.
An inmate.
A man with a face Benjamin could only describe as unfeeling. Benjamin had studied human psychology, expressions, and dynamics long enough to know there was something abnormal about the man standing before him.
The man said only one thing, but that thing was enough to seize his entire attention.
"You don't really believe she's dead, do you?"
Those were the man's only words to him.
Just as their paths had crossed, the man vanished completely. For months, Benjamin couldn't find him, but one day he woke up to find a book. A novel.
[Advent of the Fifth Calamity]
A single, torn piece of paper rested on the cover.
"If you wish to see her again, you must know the end."
Of course.
He read and he read, but then the day of his execution arrived. He had no choice but to skip ahead to see the conclusion.
But then...
It was blank.
In that final chapter, there was only a single sentence:
"...and then occurred the Fifth Calamity. The end of the world."
He was taken.
Just before he entered that dreaded room, a man passed by, dressed exactly as he had been the first time. As their eyes met, the world seemed to freeze in place.
"She's been taken captive," the man said.
"What do you mean?"
"...You know her death was not normal. You saw how she died."
"I... I didn't... Who are you? Why do you keep saying she's alive?"
"Because she is. Who I am is not important. What is important is where you are going after this."
"Huh?"
"That book you read—it will be your compass. Tell no one of its knowledge. Find her before the Fourth Calamity. Find her, or you will lose her forever."
Before the young man could say a word, time resumed. He was dragged into the room.
Death by hanging.
It was painful. He cried through every second of the rope biting into his neck. He never thrashed or fought back, but through the haze of agony, he saw a figure in the corner.
Just watching.
"Remember," it mouthed, the word echoing a billion times over in his head.
And then...
He remembered.
He remembered everything.
All those lives. All those deaths. Countless cycles of never-ending pain.
He had lived through those lives, carrying nothing out of each but an overwhelming weight of anguish and anger. The memories blurred into one another, but the pain never faded; it only accumulated.
At some point, his original memories began to slip away. He began to forget who he was supposed to be.
The last memory before he woke up—the last death—was a sword through the abdomen. The cold sting of betrayal. A shadowed face.
When he finally woke, he was in another world. But unlike his numerous visions, he really was there.
He was a child again—the son of a prestigious family.
But he was the son of a maid, an illegitimate child.
Just as in his first life, no one cared for him. But this time, unlike before, he was too dead inside to care.
He was a machine now, driven by a single command.
FIND HER.
"Good day to you all. I am Gilred Elford, and I will be in charge of Class A: Tactical Combat."
The man spoke with his hands behind his back, walking forward with a measured pace.
"Today, however, will be a general class. You will all be left to familiarize yourselves with the facilities and those around you. But before that..."
He adjusted his glasses. He was a lean, middle-aged man with long black hair tied back with a string, his dull amber eyes peering through his spectacles.
"We will be getting to know each other, at least by name. Bear in mind, this is a tradition of sorts and holds no real meaning whatsoever," he added. "Now, without further ado, you will stand up one after the other, stating your name and whatever little remark you have been waiting your whole life to give. Make it brief. We will start from the first row, moving right to left, until everyone is finished. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," the class echoed, though not everyone spoke. Some were too lazy to reply; others had their own reasons.
"Good. Now..."
He looked down at the first student in the corner of the front row. "Go on."
"Um... Y-yes sir. Emiliana Raven. Um... Pleasure to meet you all. I hope we can be friends."
And thus began another dreaded odyssey of young Benjamin Wythe.