"Hah—!"
David gasped sharply, drawing in a deep breath as fresh air rushed back into his lungs.
He opened his eyes, immediately feeling his throat dry and parched. Worse still, his mind felt as if it had withered halfway—an unbearable, suffocating discomfort.
With great effort, he shifted his gaze, scanning the dim interior of a tent.
"A tent?"
"Where is this…?"
"What happened… Who am I…?"
Countless fragmented visions clashed within his mind, preventing the memories of two lifetimes from merging.
Wait… memory fusion?
A sudden realization struck him.
His soul did not belong to this world.
He had experienced death before—his heart had stopped, his brain had fallen silent. His past life was already blurred beyond recognition.
A name surfaced in his mind—
David.
He was David. In both lives, he bore the same name.
The only difference was—
Now, he was David Frank.
The noise inside the tent snapped him out of his chaotic thoughts.
"Young master, are you certain you wish to begin?"
A guard in knight armor beside him asked in a grave tone.
Begin what?
And who are you?
David frowned.
Only then did he notice—
Inside this spacious tent stood a circle of mysterious figures in black robes. At the center, a strange formation had been drawn using a suspicious red "paint."
A metallic scent lingered in the air.
Blood.
That red substance… wasn't paint—it was fresh blood.
Two raggedly dressed women stood within the formation, their expressions numb.
They were both beautiful—not like ordinary slaves. Their flaxen hair fell loosely, and even their tattered clothes couldn't hide their graceful figures.
But in their hands—
Each held a sharp dagger.
A chilling realization dawned on David.
The black-robed figures… the guards behind him…
They were all watching him.
Waiting.
Waiting for his command.
With just a single order from him—
Those two beautiful slave women would stab each other in the chest, letting their warm blood flow into the formation.
A slave duel?
No.
This was an evil ritual.
He could see it clearly in their eyes—
Struggle. Fear. Despair.
Behind him, the guards revealed expressions of unease… even rejection.
The black-robed figures, on the other hand, were filled with fanatical anticipation.
And he—
Seemed to be the noble presiding over this entire ritual.
A heretical god… a blood sacrifice…
This was something extremely dangerous.
The guards' eyes seemed to be telling him—
Young master… stop while you still can.
"What the hell… Is this some kind of joke?!"
David's breathing quickened. He pressed a hand to his forehead, gripping his still-throbbing temple.
Calm down…
Right now, he needed time—more information to decide what to do.
"Uh…"
His voice came out hoarse, like rusted metal scraping together. Even he was startled by it.
But the black-robed figures had already lost their patience.
They had been waiting far too long for this exhilarating blood ritual.
One of them stepped forward, chanting in a strange, low whisper.
An invisible, icy shadow began spreading from beneath his feet.
The two slave women trembled as if controlled, stepping toward each other.
They raised their daggers—
And cut into each other's flesh.
The thick scent of blood burst into the air.
David shuddered violently.
Something was wrong.
The smell of blood. The ritual. The strange fluctuations—
This was absolutely not a wise choice.
Then—
A faint sound reached him from outside the tent.
In the distance… something was howling.
Beasts.
Drawn by the scent of blood.
"Stop!"
David suddenly shouted, grabbing the captain of the guards beside him.
"Stop them!"
He was not the original David Frank.
And whatever that man had planned—
It was suicide.
The guard captain's eyes sharpened.
Without hesitation, he struck.
The black-robed man chanting suddenly froze—
A blood-soaked dagger had pierced straight through his heart.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Swords were drawn. Guns were raised.
"Guns? Why are there guns in this era… No—now's not the time for that."
David lowered his head, searching for a weapon.
The ritual leader had fallen.
The remaining cultists roared in fury.
"You traitors to our lord!!! You will all become offerings to the great Blood God!!!"
They charged like madmen.
The two slave women were terrified, stumbling backward in panic.
But now—
No one cared about them anymore.
"Insane…"
David took a deep breath.
He had no weapon.
The only thing he could use—
Was the heavy black wooden box resting on his lap.
The battle exploded.
Gunshots roared, dropping nearby cultists instantly.
But the others displayed terrifying agility.
They rushed forward fearlessly, using their own bodies to block bullets and blades.
One even clawed out a guard's eyeball with his bare hands before dying.
Screams filled the tent.
David swung the wooden box, smashing a charging madman to the ground.
In the chaos, no one paid attention to the slave women anymore.
They might have already died in the melee—
Along with many guards and cultists locked in brutal close combat.
"What the hell kind of lunatic cultists are these—fighting noble guards to the death?!"
The tent was torn open.
David stumbled out, drenched in sweat.
A cold mountain wind hit him—
He shivered violently.
Looking around—
This was no camp. No noble estate.
Only a desolate, pitch-black mountain valley.
So that was it.
The original David had secretly brought these cultists here in the dead of night to conduct a ritual.
What a ridiculous decision.
David gave a bitter smile.
Because in the distance—
Several towering shadows had already appeared.
Over two meters tall.
Iron-green skin.
Long arms.
Sharp black claws glinting in the darkness.
"Monsters?"
The guard captain burst out of the tent, covered in blood.
His face changed instantly.
"Demons! Protect the young master! Form ranks—attack!"
The guards charged without hesitation.
Even facing such creatures—
None retreated.
Half followed the captain into battle.
But the gap in strength was overwhelming.
The monsters tore through their formation with ease.
Claws pierced armor.
Fanged jaws ripped through throats.
David didn't hesitate.
He turned and ran with the remaining guards.
But the formation collapsed too quickly.
Some guards turned back voluntarily—
To buy him time.
The wind howled past his ears.
He didn't know how far he ran.
One by one, the guards behind him stopped—
Charging back like loyal martyrs.
Until finally—
David collapsed to the ground, completely exhausted.
The guards had nearly killed all the monsters.
Nearly.
The last one—
A green demon—
Caught up.
It grinned as it approached him.
Like it was about to enjoy a meal.
"Am I going to die again…?"
David sat on the ground, staring blankly at the towering creature.
A chaotic, dark world.
And his beginning—
Was already this brutal.
"…I finally got a second chance… and it ends like this?"
"No… NO!"
"Whatever the cost—let me live!!!"
Any cost?
Somewhere—
Something seemed to hear his plea.
Then—
David noticed the box beside him.
The same box he had been holding from the very beginning.
It must be important.
He froze for a moment—
Then opened it.
Click.
A deep crimson severed arm fell out.
Almost instinctively—
He grabbed it.
At that instant—
A violent dizziness struck him.
A terrifying mental shock flooded his mind.
And a strange message appeared—
[Detected: Arm of a Dead God]
[Initiate Grafting Ritual?]
David's eyes widened.
The monster was closing in.
Step by step.
Gritting his teeth—
He seized this final straw, reaching out from the abyss.
"YES!"