Kwaang!
Kwagwagwang!!!
"Kehahah! How long are you gonna keep running away like a damn rat, huh?! Little brother!!!"
Sword slashes exploded and obliterated everything in their path. Even amid the chaos of the battlefield, no one dared approach the radius of those destructive strikes—because the man wielding that sword stood at the pinnacle of power, the undisputed strongest on the continent.
The Knight King, Kyle.
His long hair swept back, an opulent crown rested atop his head. His sharp, sculpted features shone brilliantly even without adornments, as if carved by a master artisan. Below, his obsidian armor—rumored to be forged by dwarves—showed not a scratch against ordinary attacks.
Sssarak.
The crimson cloak draped over his shoulders and the single sword resting there completed the image, transforming him into a mythic hero straight out of legend.
Kyle was a man who radiated light.
As if he were the very center of the world.
How many had fallen under his spell, bewitched by that protagonist-like brilliance?
Kwaaaaang—!!!
Then, Kyle’s blade finally collided with something—or rather, with someone who could no longer evade his strikes.
"Finally caught you! Little brother!!!"
Kyle’s eyes burned with exhilaration as he roared. But the sword that clashed against his was nothing more than a battered, worn-out blade.
Bbrrrr.
Gulp.
The one holding it seemed to stand in direct opposition to Kyle.
The protagonist and the extra.
Extra.
Mayer, clad in battered armor and a tattered cloak, spat out a mouthful of blood. The impact had shaken his insides.
Staring at Kyle, who was roaring with laughter at him, Mayer grinned, baring his blood-stained teeth.
“You bastard with three stars.”
Bastard with three stars.
Far more people called him that than “the continent’s greatest swordsman” or “the continent’s greatest knight."
Crack.
At that moment, the cool smile on Kyle’s face fractured. No—it twisted. Then, the radiant light surrounding Kyle flickered and dimmed. In the next instant, Kyle’s form distorted, and cracks spread across the world itself, centered around him.
It was Kyle’s aura.
GRRRRRRR—!!!
The ground around Kyle trembled and collapsed. The sheer force of his unleashed aura threatened to tear apart space itself—a power so absurd it defied reason.
“You’ve got a sharp tongue, little brother.”
But Mayer didn’t back down. His entire life had been about refusing to kneel to him. Even as the crushing pressure of that aura threatened to rip his body apart, Mayer stood his ground.
“What a waste of a star. A wretch like you doesn’t deserve one.”
[Kyle Garden: ★★★★★?]
Kyle’s lips twisted. A grotesque smile spread across his face—an expression that revealed the true nature of the man beneath.
“Now, die.”
KWAHHHHH—!!!!
Kyle’s aura bore down on Mayer, crushing him relentlessly. Mayer fought back desperately against the blade. Blood streamed from his mouth, his skin splitting under the pressure as crimson rivulets ran down his body.
But Mayer didn’t give up.
“If you tell me to die, I die? Do I still look like the Mayer I used to be to you, you bastard?”
Clang!
Mayer dropped the sword in his hand. Then, he summoned everything he had ever learned.
[Garden Standard Swordsmanship (★)]
[Ordeal Blade (★★★★)]
[White Crane Sword Art (★★★)]…
Dozens, hundreds of sword techniques—
All of them bloomed and faded in Mayer’s mind.
Instead, he gathered them all and raised his hand.
Then, Mayer reached out toward Kyle, who was closing in. No—he reached for his sword.
A faint smirk curled at the corner of Mayer’s lips.
"Finally… I’ve reached it."
******
BOOOOM!!
A violent shock sent Mayer’s body lurching into the air, lifting him nearly a hand’s breadth off the ground. His breath hitched for a moment before an unbearable pain tore through him—as if his stomach were splitting open and his organs rupturing. Yellowish drool spilled from his lips.
"Ugh… G-GAAAAAH!!"
Mayer retched, vomiting yellow bile despite having eaten nothing. Tears streamed from his eyes, and his limbs trembled uncontrollably from the overwhelming agony.
It felt like being hit by a massive truck.
In that moment, even through the pain, Mayer blinked in confusion.
‘A… truck?’
The word was unfamiliar, yet it felt strangely known. Though he hadn’t been struck in the head, Mayer realized with wide eyes that foreign knowledge was flooding into his mind.
‘Reincarnation truck?’
He had been hit by a truck.
Trucks ranged from small 1-ton vehicles to massive multi-ton machines—and Mayer had been struck by one while helping to clear scrap metal from a fallen cart on a crosswalk.
He remembered the massive truck—its sheer mass alone was enough to be a devastating weapon—plowing into him. But that was all he could recall.
And then, he became Mayer.
Mayer wiped the corner of his mouth as he remembered that it wasn’t a truck but a wooden sword that had torn his belly open and ruptured his insides, delivering the same agony as if he’d been hit by one.
Then, a mocking voice pierced his ears.
"Young master. Didn’t I tell you this was a battlefield? If you kneel over something like this, next time, it might be your head that rolls."
When he looked up, he saw a vile-looking man spinning a wooden sword in his hand—the same sword that had just struck Mayer’s abdomen.
‘Gillott.’
Mayer remembered him: Gillott, a knight of the household.
[Gillott Cant: ★☆☆☆☆]
To be precise, that name and the strange star rating were glowing blatantly above Gillott’s head.
‘What the hell is that…?’
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. A sharp pain surged from his abdomen as if his body had reached its limit.
Then, it hit him—this wasn’t the first time.
His body remembered.
The memories of relentless beatings and violence.
At the same time, Mayer’s arm, bracing against the ground, buckled. The moment that realization struck, his barely held grip on consciousness snapped.
As his face slammed into the floor, the last thing Mayer saw was Gillott’s sneering face before his vision went dark.
‘You f*cking bastard…’
******
Mayer was picking up scrap paper.
Mayer wasn’t the only one who stepped onto the road to pick up the litter scattered messily across the crosswalk.
In a world like this, it should have been a heartwarming story of kindness—but misfortune struck Mayer alone.
Screeeech!
CRASH—!!!
A dump truck came barreling down and plowed straight into him.
Just before the truck hit, the world changed. Then, instead of the truck, a wooden sword slammed into where the impact should have been, and Mayer blacked out instantly.
“Huuuurk…”
Mayer sat up, his entire body drenched in sweat. But the moment he tried, he collapsed back down.
“Ghhhk….”
His stomach burned as if it were being torn apart. No—had he actually been injured? When he lifted his shirt, he saw layers of bandages tightly wrapped around his torso.
“It… hurts so much.”
He stayed face down, waiting for the sudden movement to stop aggravating his wound. Thirty minutes later, once the pain finally faded, Mayer clenched his teeth and carefully pushed himself up.
“Ghhh…”
Tears welled up in his eyes unbidden. Only after managing to sit up did he finally have the chance to look around.
And then—
“Huh?”
Mayer tilted his head in confusion. Strictly speaking, this wasn’t the original Mayer anymore. The moment the wooden sword struck his abdomen, another person’s memories surged into his mind, merging with his own to form who he was now.
“Am I Park Yeon-ui… or Mayer?”
Park Yeon-ui.
30 years old.
A veteran civil service exam student in South Korea.
And Mayer.
19 years old.
The legitimate heir of the Garden family.
These two elements combined to create a new version of Mayer. Tilting his head, Mayer glanced around his surroundings.
“They call this nobility? It’s barely a step above a cheap boarding house.”
Mayer was the rightful heir of the Garden family, a baronial house that had governed the Auwis region for generations. The northern territory under their rule served as the gateway to Okashem, the imperial capital.
Yet despite being the heir of such a family, everything around him was worn-out beyond belief.
The building looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over 30 years.
The carpet in the room had faded to a dull, washed-out color, and the bedding was visibly worn with stains.
The bed creaked loudly with every movement, and the windows were so grimy that barely any light came through.
The cobwebs on the ceiling were almost charming in comparison.
Honestly, the only difference between this place and the 350,000-won-a-month boarding house he’d lived in back in Noryangjin was the slightly larger space. If anything, this was worse.
But the reason wasn’t hard to figure out.
“Wait… I really got reincarnated?”
He wanted to laugh it off as some ridiculous joke, but a sharp, gut-wrenching pain jolted him back to reality. As fragmented memories surfaced, Mayer frowned.
“So, I’m basically the family’s reject, huh? A half-wit who faints at the sight of blood? A coward who trembles at swords? A moron who cries if you even talk to him?”
Half-wit. Coward. Moron.
Despite being the legitimate heir, Mayer had been an outcast in his own family. The problem was his inherently timid nature. Worse, in a family like the Gardens—where swordsmanship was revered—he couldn’t even wield a blade, collapsing in fear at the mere sight of one.
Effectively, he was the family’s discarded son.
With nothing commendable about him, it was no surprise the family offered no support. And so, despite his status, Mayer had been left to rot in this ancient annex, living in what amounted to solitary confinement.
"So even though there were potions and all that, they just wrapped a bandage around me and called it a day?"
He was the legitimate heir of the family, yet despite nearly suffering internal ruptures from the shock, all he got was a single bandage as treatment.
It was beyond excessive.
Mayer gritted his teeth against the pain throbbing in his stomach.
"And why the hell was I getting beaten up with a sword in the first place?"
Suddenly, Mayer tilted his head in confusion. When he retraced his memories, he realized he had always been a timid coward who barely ever stepped outside this annex.
But that same Mayer had been knocked down while sparring with someone?
And not just once or twice. At least ten times—Mayer had been dragged out and beaten like that. Otherwise, such terror wouldn’t be seared into his mind.
Faces flashed through his head, starting with Gilot and followed by countless unfamiliar ones. And at the end of it all, the strikingly handsome face of a man loomed large.
"H-hhk."
Just remembering it made his heart race wildly and his skin break out in a cold sweat. It was the fear and trauma carved deep into his psyche. With great effort, Mayer forced his lips to part and uttered the man’s name.
"Kyle Garden."
He was Mayer’s older brother—adopted into the Garden family.
*****
"Tch. Seriously. So basically—"
After sifting through his memories, turning them over and examining them, Mayer became certain his conclusion wasn’t wrong.
"It’s a complete mess. This idiot was so happy about gaining a brother that he didn’t even realize his place was being stolen—and that’s how he ended up like this."
A complete mess.
That single word perfectly summarized Mayer’s situation.
The reason for Mayer’s timidity was simple.
He couldn’t live up to his father’s expectations. Watching his father grow more disappointed with each passing day, he began hiding away—until he became this cowardly.
Lack of Confidence.
To a noble, such a demeanor was nothing short of a sin.
When Mayer repeatedly showed such disappointing behavior, his father cut off all expectations and support for him.
And then, he adopted a new son.
That son was Kyle Garden—the very sight of whom filled Mayer with terror.
Kyle, the brilliant adopted child who replaced the disgraceful legitimate heir, quickly won their father’s favor.
That was where the problems began.
Under the pretense of "looking after his brother," Kyle would summon Mayer under the guise of sparring, only to subject him to relentless beatings and abuse. He systematically destroyed Mayer’s reputation as the rightful heir, ensuring no one would ever expect Mayer to inherit their father’s title.
Kyle manipulated public opinion and ruled over Mayer as a figure of terror, making sure any hope for Mayer was extinguished.
The pain wasn’t just in his abdomen—it wracked his entire body.
Mayer was forced to endure it silently, called out for an hour or two each day, struck precisely where it hurt most without leaving visible marks.
And no one ever looked closely enough to see Mayer’s suffering.
To the outside world, Kyle was the devoted older brother who selflessly spent his time guiding his less-talented sibling. Even their father adored Kyle, his adopted son, far more than Mayer.
"The problem is, now I’m the one who has to suffer through this."
A sharp sense of crisis flashed across Mayer’s face. Merged with the memories of Park Yeon-ui, an Earthling, the newly reborn Mayer realized that if things continued this way, only two outcomes awaited him:
Beaten to death—
Or beaten into crippled submission.
To avoid that, he had to break free from this reality.
But Mayer was still a powerless coward, while Kyle was the trusted son. He needed a justification—some means to overturn this situation.
"Status window!!!!"
Nothing happened.
"Quest window! Show me my talents. Can’t you see anything? There’s nothing?"
In novels, something always appears in situations like this. Surely, no one would send him here to just die without even a single thing like that.
"Ughhh..."
He wanted to get up and look around to see if there was anything, but his stomach hurt too much to move. Still, he couldn’t just stay like this. As Mayer gritted his teeth and struggled, something caught his eye.
"A newspaper?"
A yellowed, aged newspaper was rolling around under the bed. It was worn with fingerprints, as if someone had handled it often. Fortunately, the text was instantly readable, and Mayer stared blankly at the newspaper.
[War Correspondent’s Report: Though born on different days, three brothers who vowed to die together at the same hour...]
"Huh?"
It was a short article. Unlike other pieces with accompanying photos, this one, labeled as a report, was crammed into a tiny corner.
But something about it felt familiar.
"The same hour? Die together? Three brothers?"
The rest seemed to have faded with age or was missing. Parts of the article were torn and illegible, but an eerie sense of déjà vu kept creeping in.
Was it really a coincidence that this reminded him of Mayer—no, Park Yeon-ui’s past, of the madness he once lived through?
Grrrroowl!
While Mayer was lost in thought, time must have passed, as his stomach growled like thunder.
The fact that no one had come to check on him, even after he woke up injured, suggested his father had cut off support and even withdrawn all the servants.
"And now I’m hungry in the middle of all this?"
Even after experiencing such a life-altering moment, his stomach was growling again. The pain was sharp enough to feel like his insides were tearing, but hunger won out. Mayer let out a strained groan and forced himself up.
"Even if I’m beaten to death, I can’t starve to death."
They say a ghost who died well-fed has a better glow—or something like that. He wasn’t sure if that expression existed here. But with another groan, Mayer barely managed to get off the bed, though he hunched over in pain.
Because his stomach hurt so much he couldn’t straighten his back.
"Ugh, ughhhhh..."
Holding his stomach, Mayer barely managed to open the door while gripping the frame.
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