Chapter 1
My consciousness was hazy.
‘Damn it, this hurts like hell. Siegfried, that conniving bastard… I should’ve known when he dropped the act at the very end.’
And yet, huh?
I was at least twenty years older than that brat.
What an insolent pup.
Even through the fog of my mind, the memory of my throat being cut sent a surge of anger blazing up inside me.
‘…Tch.’
But only for a moment. Lucas clicked his tongue and forced his fury down.
A shame, yes—but what could he do?
The defeated have no voice.
Whether by underhanded tricks or through sheer numbers, Siegfried had won, and he had lost.
That was the way of the Tyrant’s Path.
At its end there were no guarantees—whether one would truly reach it, or what fate awaited there.
And still…
He had walked it.
Step after silent step, he had advanced down that road, until at last he stumbled before the obstacle called Siegfried.
That was all. Nothing more, nothing less.
…Thud! Shhk! Thud! Shhk!
‘So this… this is death? Curious feeling.’
Setting aside his regret, Lucas observed his very first taste of death from within the fog of his waning mind.
…Thud! Shhk! Thud! Shhk!
‘It’s… surprisingly plain. Almost like drifting into a drugged sleep.’
Thud! Shhk! Thud! Shhk!
A true Tyrant must remain coldly lucid no matter the situation.
Even in death, Lucas sought to contemplate what would happen next—what would become of his soul—
Thud! Shhk! Thud! Shhk!
—to contemplate—
Thud! Shhk! Thud! Shhk!
—to contemplate—
Thud! Shhk! Thud! Shhk!
‘…Wait.’
He had been trying to face his end with dignity befitting a Tyrant… but what damned fool kept making that incessant noise?
Lucas abandoned his contemplation of death and dragged his awareness forcibly back up from the depths of unconsciousness.
If he was truly going to depart, then at least he wanted to see the face of the insolent bastard interrupting his end.
As his mind cleared, his senses stirred back to life—touch, hearing, smell, taste, sight.
And through them, information began to flood in.
Thud! Shhk!
Cold.
Damp. Uneven.
Unpleasant textures pressed against his body.
From them rose a dawn-stained smell that stung his nose.
Hard, gritty tastes invaded his mouth, scratching at his tongue.
Dark, brown clumps filled his narrowing vision, blocking his grasp of the situation.
And then, at last—
“…Uh, boss? What do we do?”
“Ugh, it’s freezing. What is it?”
“Uh, nothing big, really, but…”
A coarse, frivolous voice tickled his ears.
“This brat… opened his eyes.”
“…What?”
A thuggish-looking man hefted his shovel and smacked the back of the other’s head.
“You dumb bastard! That’s the first thing you should’ve said!”
“S-so what do we do, boss?”
“What do you mean what? Do you even know how much this job’s worth? Finish burying him before the drugs wear off, idiot!”
Thud! Shhk! Thud! Shhk!
The brown clumps that smothered his nose and mouth doubled.
As all of this information crashed into him, Lucas’s mind froze.
‘…What?’
No. Wait.
Was this really what he thought it was?
As if to prove this was no dream, the two men shoveled another mound of dirt straight over his face.
Squelch!
‘…Oh. It is.’
His absurd suspicion was true. And for the first time in ages, Lucas felt a rare emotion: bewilderment.
He was being buried alive.
Not dead. Not in a coffin. Not even with a funeral.
Just dumped into the dirt by a pair of lowly street thugs.
‘…The hell is this?’
He was dumbstruck.
Yes, he had his enemies. Yes, his life was soaked in grudges.
But still—he was the Tyrant who had conquered the entire Northern Continent!
And this was how they treated him?
Shoved into a hole in the hills and buried alive with a shovel?
It was beyond insulting.
Rage, shame, scorn, humiliation—all manner of bitter emotions stormed through him as—
Squelch! Crash!
—yet another filthy heap of dirt dumped over his face.
‘…Enough already, you bastards!’
Thud! Shhk!
The thugs didn’t care what he thought. They only shoveled faster, desperate to finish before the drug wore off.
Whatever they had done to his body, he could hardly move. His limbs lay useless even as the earth piled over him.
‘…Stay calm.’
Rustle, rustle.
Some primal instinct for survival jolted him. He shook his head, barely moving enough to clear the dirt clogging his nostrils.
One thug crouched down beside him, voice mocking.
“Aw, buddy, I get it—you don’t wanna die. But don’t make us work harder, huh? We’re not even beating you right now. Just lie still and let us cover you up nice and neat. If you keep this up, we’ll have to get rough.”
He chuckled nastily.
Now that Lucas’s body was buried save for his head, the thug clearly thought he was finished.
But Lucas ignored the taunting. Instead, he studied their appearance carefully.
Ragged. Filthy.
Typical gutter rats, the kind who haunted back alleys.
If they had known who he was, no matter how battered he looked, they would never be this smug.
Which meant…
‘Time to use my head.’
As long as they didn’t know his identity, he had a chance.
“Hey.”
His voice rang out—oddly youthful to his own ears—but he didn’t have the luxury to dwell on that.
“What the—? Now he’s talking? The drug must be wearing off! Hurry up and bury him!”
“If you dig me out, I’ll hand over my stash of magic scrolls.”
…Pause.
The shovel froze midair.
Scrolls.
Rare artifacts crafted by the Southern Continent’s Tower of Magic—paper enchanted with spells, allowing even commoners to unleash magic once.
Their prices varied depending on the spell, but one truth remained:
For street scum like these, even a single scroll was beyond reach.
And Lucas had said “a stash.”
‘Not one… a stash?’
Enough to flip their lives upside down.
“B-boss?”
“You idiot! He’s just saying that to save his skin! You think some brat like this has scrolls?”
The thug sneered down at Lucas, slapping his cheeks lightly.
“Pathetic excuse, kid. If you really had scrolls, why would we need to dig you out? We could just beat it out of you, then kill you after.”
A fair point.
“You really think scrolls owned by someone like me would come unguarded? The moment my life ends, they’ll turn to scraps of paper. Worthless.”
Lucas’s eyes never wavered.
The thug’s reply was a fraction too slow, and in his gaze flickered an undeniable hunger.
“What are you so afraid of? You could always check. If I lied, bury me again. Simple, isn’t it?”
Lucas smirked, taunting.
“I can’t even move a finger. Surely you’re not such cowards as to pass up a chance like this?”
“……”
The thug’s hesitation deepened.
‘Come on. Take the bait.’
Inside, Lucas swallowed dryly. He knew the odds were low.
But it was all he had.
“…Kid. If you’re lying, I’ll make sure you don’t die easy. Got it? Dig him out.”
‘…Already?’
Lucas blinked. He hadn’t expected such a quick decision.
‘Do they actually have skill? They don’t look it…’
But the answer came quickly.
Thud! Slip!
One of them slipped clumsily, dirt spilling everywhere.
‘…No. Just idiots, then.’
They weren’t skilled at all—just greedy fools blinded by the word “scroll.”
Soon his body emerged, and the thug loomed threateningly.
“All right, brat. We dug you out. Now, show us this stash.”
‘…Brat?’
Who the hell were they calling a brat?
Even without his Qi surging through him, a mere finger would be enough to crush these gutter rats.
But as he rose shakily to his feet, glaring at them—
‘…Huh?’
Why… why was he looking up at them?
“Oi, kid! Where’s the scroll, huh? Answer!”
The thug glared down at him—down.
Lucas froze.
In the thug’s wide eyes, he saw his reflection.
Not his towering, battle-scarred body.
But that of… a child.
“…What the hell?”
His own body—small, delicate, boyish.
“What, you little—!”
The thug swung a fist, annoyed by Lucas’s silence.
But—
Whoosh! Crack!
The punch missed, and instead his arm shattered against Lucas’s knee, bent at an impossible angle.
“Aaaaaaagh!”
The thug howled, thrashing in agony.
“Shut it. I’m thinking.”
WHAM!
Lucas smashed the shovel across the thug’s head. The man dropped limp, unconscious.
Even half out of his mind, Lucas’s mastery remained intact.
Child’s body or not, back-alley thugs could never best him.
Still—
‘What is this body? And where am I?’
He looked around.
Broad-leaved trees surrounded him. Impossible in the frozen North.
And there had been no hills like this on the Ceyron Plains where he had fallen.
This wasn’t the Alexandor Empire.
“Hmm…”
As he pondered, chin resting on the shovel—
“You little brat!”
The other thug, furious at his fallen comrade, lunged at him.
“Oh?”
Well. How convenient.
A thug, ready to serve as an explanation.
Lucas’s lips curled into a grin.
Why bother racking his brains?
He would do what he always did best.
Strike.
And the answers would open before him.
0 Comments