The World is Absurd
Do you know the saying "The world is absurd"?
No matter how hard you try, nothing comes of it. No matter how desperately you struggle, hope remains out of reach. No matter how fervently you pray to the gods, your life never improves.
Some live in abundance simply because they were born into a wealthy family. Others are discarded like trash in back-alley dumpsters by whores who give birth to them and forced to scrape by as beggars. Some meet a painless end, while others suffer a wretched, agonizing death.
Life and death alike are utterly absurd. That's the world for you—absurd beyond belief.
In that absurd world, I was reborn with memories of my past life.
Past-life memories, they call it. Life on Earth. Those memories resurfaced purely by chance.
At the very bottom, scraping by day after day, us slum rats had to do anything to eat even one more meal. To survive. In this filthy back alley full of every vile act imaginable, even the dirtiest deeds were necessary.
That day, to avoid getting beaten by the Beggar King and fulfill my quota, I was scavenging along the roadside. If my hands were quick enough, I'd have picked pockets for my share, but I was barely six years old. How fast could a six-year-old kid be?
All I could do was put on the most pitiful face and beg, "Please, just a penny~"
There were temples near the village where others begged, but those were outside our Beggar King's territory—other gangs' turf. Even us bottom-feeders had our territories, and crossing into someone else's meant brawls at best. Even kids under ten had to fight for their lives in this brutal world.
After half a day of begging, I'd scraped together eight copper coins. Five could buy a single loaf of bread, so it was better than my usual haul.
But when I brought my earnings back, the Beggar King didn't give me even a crumb. The reason? Simple. Nothing for a worthless maggot who'd only begged eight coins.
Starving to death, I begged for just one piece through tears, but all I got was his merciless fists and kicks.
That day, like so many others, I was beaten by the Beggar King who ruled our turf.
He was maybe ten years older than me, high-school age vibe, lording over us hidden beggar kids in the back alleys, extorting our begged scraps to play king in this filthy world.
Life's a goddamn cesspool of absurdity.
Maybe the violence hit my weakened, starving body too hard—cracked my skull or something. That day, as I blacked out, fragments of my past life flickered back.
My first thought when they surfaced? 'Ah, fuck this life! It's hardcore as hell!-'
"Hey! Just eight coppers? You kidding me?!"
Thwack!
"Agh!"
"You little shit! Pretty face for pity money, huh? Can't even scrape ten? Fucking useless!"
"Cough! Cough! Cough!"
"Eh, whatever. We barely hit the quota today, so I'll let it slide. Get lost!"
"Cough... H-hey, Beggar King. C-can I... have some b-bread today?"
"Bread?"
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
"Aaaagh!"
"This fucker! Didn't even hit ten, and you're whining for food? I got nothing to eat myself!"
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
"Aaaagh! P-please! I-I'm sorry! Waaah! Beggar King! I'm sorryyy!"
"Shut up! Be grateful I let you crash here! Don't push your luck for food, you worthless brat!"
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
I have no idea how long the beating lasted that day. Kids who pickpocketed decent hauls got to eat with the Beggar King, but weak little beggars like me? Nothing.
The other beggar kids hid in corners, averting their eyes as I got pummeled. No one dared cross the Beggar King who ruled this alley turf.
His name was Ian.
He didn't just exploit us kid beggars—he spewed vile curses at the drop of a hat, beat us for bad hauls, stole our stuff, and tossed out anyone sick without mercy.
To him, we were disposable pawns. Long-term chess pieces, maybe.
Sure, some kids had banded together to challenge him once. All ended up dead.
Was he that strong? Nah, just ten years older than us. Beggars are beggars.
His backing was the issue. The crime syndicate ruling the city's underworld: Dekilaz, a liquor-smuggling outfit.
In this port city of Colorado, they colluded with the lord to brew and distribute bootleg wine and booze through merchant guilds tied to him. Moonshine, I think they called it. They distilled and sold their own too.
Trace the Beggar King's backing, and it led to the city's back-alley thugs—and ultimately the lord himself.
Even the town guards knew it. They pretended to nab pickpockets, but everyone knew they were in on it with the lord and syndicate. Unless they needed to pad stats, the captain down to the patrols ignored beggars and crooks.
Beggars and thieves targeted travelers and merchants passing through anyway—no need to stir up trouble.
After the Beggar King beat me senseless, I passed out.
That night, beaten unconscious by Beggar King Ian, I faintly recalled my past life in a dream.
Steel carriages rumbling along, iron birds soaring the skies, cities aglow all night with lights more wondrous than magic. Earth.
Born to an ordinary family there, I went to school, college, served in the military, stepped into society as a wage slave—lived frantically until overwork claimed me. Some salaryman named whatever.
My name? Can't recall. But at least I never starved there. A blessing compared to this hell.
Anyway. In this reborn world, gods existed, and wine was a divine gift to man. Anywhere but the Holy Kingdom, brewing or trading it was blasphemy against the sacred booze—taxed to hell to "atone" via tithes to the Holy Kingdom.
Kingdom-wide liquor taxes were brutal, so even nobles dodged them with dirty tricks like this. Probably not just my city.
The Beggar King, who treated his kid beggar underlings like trash, was untouchable.
This ugly, filthy world. Sigh~ Well, I'm born, so I gotta survive... Past-life name? Can't remember for the life of me...
Unlike Earth—prosperity, human rights, modern comforts—this felt like late medieval feudalism edging into absolute monarchy.
Gunpowder existed, but rarely used. Knights straight out of movies, nobles, royalty, god-worshipping priests.
And mages, alchemists, elves, dwarves, beastfolk—fantasy races galore.
Sounds great, right? Reality's still a shitshow of absurdity.
I'd fantasized about reincarnating into fantasy back on Earth. Pure delusion. Unless you're born noble or royal, it's a hopeless beggar grind.
Who'd choose this back-alley slum rat life?!
What I remembered: my "parents" were whores. Meaning? No clue who my dad was!
No birth control here. Whores get knocked up, pop out kids. Lucky me? Most ditch 'em in dumpsters or rivers.
My mom nursed me—barely any milk—till I was four or five. Tough going.
But she didn't last. Syphilis? Plague? Skin erupted in rashes, pus everywhere, then burst like balloons.
She rotted and popped right in front of my five-year-old eyes. Traumatic as fuck.
Before past-life memories, I collapsed wailing. Local whores wrapped her corpse in a blanket, hauled it outside the walls, and burned it.
Then they dragged me from the cramped room she shared with other whores, dumped me in the snowy winter...
And I became a beggar.