No Destination, No Goals
It was a journey with no destination or goals—just drifting wherever my heart led me. Sometimes I'd help people caught in danger from bandits or magical beasts, or stop by villages to aid those in dire straits. I'd summon a water spirit to draw up underground springs for parched towns, or give money and recommendation letters to promising kids from harsh backgrounds, sending them to Yuli. I even took down a man lugging nearly a hundred resentful souls around, no idea what kind of life he'd lived. I did whatever I pleased.
Crossing several borders like that, I ended up in the imperial capital of the Propen Empire in the southeast of the Western Continent. This land had once been a patchwork of kingdoms, but war had forged the Propen Empire from their ashes. It held the second-largest territory on the Western Continent after the Ether Empire, and as the sole overland route to the Eastern Continent, trade flourished here. I'd passed through before it became an empire, but hadn't paid much attention then, so I decided to take a proper look this time.
As always, I toured the imperial palace and key facilities. With trade booming, there were plenty of merchant caravans, so I checked those out too. It was on one such day that I spotted a massive evil spirit lumbering in the distance—the biggest one I'd ever seen.
[Where the hell did that thing come from?]
I still didn't know exactly how evil spirits were born. I'd witnessed the process a few times, but they didn't always stem from injustice or evil people. Size didn't seem tied to their mortal abilities either. It had to be connected to this world's god, Juno, somehow—such a capricious bastard. Anyway, without much thought, I approached the evil spirit slowly. Better to eliminate it before it possessed someone and birthed a monstrous killer. No matter how huge, it was just a fine energy source for me.
Suddenly, the evil spirit surged forward, hurtling toward a middle-aged woman browsing goods in a shop.
[Hey, hey! Hold up!]
Even I, who'd been taking it easy, jolted into high gear. By the time I arrived, the evil spirit was already halfway into her. I'd never absorbed one mid-possession before. Looked like I was about to. I accelerated, latching onto the evil spirit from behind and starting the absorption.
The evil spirit seeping into the human like mist, and me sucking it in like a vortex—it overlapped in some eerie way, and then something bizarre happened.
[What the...?]
I'd clearly succeeded in absorbing the evil spirit. But I'd gotten possessed instead. The target wasn't the middle-aged woman—at least, not directly. It was the fetus in her womb. I'd ended up possessing that fetus.
I tried escaping several times, but no dice. Calming down to assess, it wasn't even true possession. The fetus had no soul left. No clue how that was possible. As always, trouble found me on this trip. Divine will or fate, who knows—but just like that, I'd become a fetus.
Thinking it over, though, it wasn't all bad.
Getting a body—could be a good thing, right?
Born in this state, I'd have a physical form. I spent my time in the womb eating well and sleeping soundly. A few months later, I was born.
While still in the womb, I'd summoned Clone No. 2 from my activities in the southern Western Continent to scout the surroundings. I'd been born into the family of Baron François. No lordship or administrative role—just some farmland near the capital and a few salons in the city. The salons were thriving, so their wealth was solid.
The baron and his wife, now my parents, were famous for their happy marriage. Their only child was a son twenty-two years my senior. I was the late blessing. Despite being a high-risk birth, it went surprisingly smooth and quick—thanks to me, of course. I'd used healing powers repeatedly to spare my mother, Johanna, any pain, and cast a few spells at delivery.
The couple was overjoyed at my birth, throwing a grand feast. Lucky to be born into such love. And this time, no bastard status. Naturally, barring mishaps, the twenty-two-year-older brother would inherit the family. All the better. No intention of being tied down, body or not.
But my brother Fremang's soul was murky as hell. Seemed I had rotten luck with siblings, past life or this one.
I grew up showered in affection. People called me precocious or an old soul; my frequent spacing out sparked worries about mental issues. I ignored it all. Looks fixed everything. My appearance was exceptional—even as a child, maids would stare in a daze. Not resembling either parent raised some eyebrows.
When home tutoring started as I grew, chaos ensued.
"There's nothing left to teach this child."
"A genius. Find a teacher who matches."
No tutor lasted more than days. After about ten quit, my parents gave up. Swordmaster was the exception—theory I nailed, but physical practice was another matter; plenty to learn there.
From the womb, I'd refined the Ether Heart Method into something better: the Soul Heart Method. Its effects exceeded expectations. By age ten, I hit advanced knight level—but kept it hidden. Even with genius rumors, that'd cross a line. Magic? Already grand mage tier, also secret.
Eventually, even the sword instructor quit, saying I'd surpassed him. He convinced my parents I needed to become a knight. Tutors called me a genius with nothing to teach, yet servants dubbed me the "lazy genius" for zoning out in the garden without studying.
Not really zoning—sorting experiences from Clones 1, 2, and 3, or studying Inclonius's research logs and the Prisoner preservation spell. The Prisoners' spell was nearly perfected; Inclonius's magics, centuries in the making by a genius lich, still far off after a mere decade.
Whatever they called me, I was blissfully happy. Reveling in parental love I'd never known before, and wielding greater power through a body—less free than pure soul, but more potent.
That joy didn't last. At thirteen, bad news hit.
"What?"
For the first time since rebirth, I panicked at the servant's urgent report.
"The lord and lady perished in a carriage accident."
It struck like thunder. Regret gnawed: could a clone have prevented it? The over-speeding marquis's carriage swerved to avoid theirs; wheel caught a ditch, flipped. Unlucky instant death. Sent No. 2 to investigate—no foul play. Pure accident.
After the funeral, that night I slipped from the mansion I'd lived thirteen years. Even with his murky soul, brother wouldn't act overtly—but staying meant trouble. At thirteen, I wasn't weak, but youth invited hassles. Needed a nanny figure for a bit.
At the capital's biggest mercenary office, I hired five escorts to the Ether Empire capital. High pay drew crowds; I picked the best. Mercs rarely had bright gray souls—mostly plain black. Not always villains; they prized contracts.
Among the five, Jayke stood out—rare bright gray soul, knight-sized. Why merc work? Past unspoken, per code.
Another was Gizak, nicknamed "Half-Head" among mercs—famous. Soul near pitch black, but huge. The rest, average.
With five guards, I left the capital. Half-expected brother to search; he didn't, even after my blatant merc hiring and exit. Sibling luck sucked again.
At the outer magic beast market, bought a two-beast carriage and four horses. I'd ride inside— no point flashing a kid. Mercs prepped the long haul thoughtfully for comfort.
We stayed in villages or cities sometimes, camped others; the road to the Ether Empire went smoother than expected. Even bonded a bit. Jayke was ex-knight, quit for reasons untold. Gizak boasted twenty-one merc years—dungeons, even the Great Forest. Subtly, he led; his experience-based instincts near superhuman.
Just before leaving Propen lands, I halted the carriage.
"Bad guests tailing us."
"How'd you know?" Gizak's eyes sharpened.
"Good instincts."
Actually, No. 2 patrolled. The tails? Brother's trackers. Didn't expect this.
"Can't outrun?"
"Alone, maybe. You all? Doubt it."
Gizak's face screamed bullshit. But trackers were many, skilled. Jayke and Gizak were top mercs, but outmatched.
Hoofbeats closed in; trackers appeared. Spotting me, they drew without checking others. Guards drew too—less defiance, more "won't die easy."
Then rearmost trackers toppled from horses one by one. No. 2's work. Non-masters fall easy to internals. In their chaos, a massive fireball erupted from my hand.
"Fireball!"
Boom!
It slammed their center perfectly. Far more efficient than standard, power multiplied. Half gone in seconds, survivors fled pell-mell. I drew a sword from sub-space—one of few artifacts from Drakan's lair. Looked plain arming sword; dragon bone made it near-divine by human standards.