Rachel Wolchin once said, "If we were meant to stay in one place, we'd have roots instead of feet."*
_______________________________________
Hours had passed since the last murder by the riverside within the great walls of Avaloria. Ryehounds had caught the scent of blood, tracked it to the river, and dragged the corpse to the shore for all to see. Over ten minutes had passed now, and the body remained lifeless. It then became official—he was dead.
Minutes turned to hours as the body lay on the riverbank. The rising sun bathed the scene in a golden glow, and that's when it happened—what most would call a miracle. The fingertips twitched. If anyone could touch him, they'd notice he now had the warmth of a living human. He coughed, water sputtering from his mouth, until his lungs were clear. Gasping, he took his first breath and opened his eyes.
"FUCK," he groaned, struggling to sit up. "How the hell did I come back to life and in the body of a what?" He glanced down at his attire—a cadet's uniform, slightly damp and dirt-streaked. "A cadet in training? How?"
He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together his fragmented memories. "Let's see... I remember dying, that part's clear as day. And before that... yes," his mood darkened, "the coup."
**Jericho's P.O.V**
Just when I thought things were getting better, reality decides to kick me in the gut and make me wonder what the hell I did wrong this time. Is it a crime to simply enjoy life? Sometimes, life feels like one big obstacle course; every time you overcome one hurdle, two more appear. It's frustrating to think about.
I mean, I survived my first life as a seventeen-year-old boy from a broken home who got scouted to fight in a war I had no part in. In my second life, I grew up as a prince—still in a broken home, but at least I lived a good life. I was called Prince Charming because I literally was one, and I was rich enough to not care about the economy. Life was good, life was fine, and I knew it would end someday, but why so soon? Why did such an amazing life have to come to an end?
And now, what do I have to work with? I sniff my body. "Ew, even after a dip in the river, I reek of poverty. Fuck." I laugh at the irony. Once, I was part of the privileged minority that neglected others simply because we were so rich we couldn't give a damn. Now, I'm part of the suffering majority. I wonder if this is life telling me to suck it. Anyway, that aside, I wonder what I should do now that I have nothing. "(Sigh) What will I be doing?"
Out of nowhere, a figure from my first life appears. I know it's a figment of my imagination, and I instantly recognize the figure. The figure says to me, "I don't know, maybe something that actually matters for once."
"Fuck, out of literally everyone, why'd it have to be you?"
"You know, I think that's a question you have to ask yourself, don't you think?"
The gigantic asshole you don't see in front of me is my uncle. He raised me when my father left my mum and me. My mum didn't have enough money to take care of me at the time, so he took me in because he felt bad for what his brother (my a-hole dad) did to my mum. He was a very strict man with no wife or kids, so he wasn't just strict; he was lonely. Growing up with him wasn't exactly easy, as he wasn't really in the best condition to take care of a child, but he still took me in. He was a very good man at heart, and though he never liked to show it, he was very caring. Instead, he showed me tough love, being an asshole in the process. He made me realize how sad life could truly be, whether I wanted to or not. I grew up not liking him very much. It wasn't until after he died that I truly realized how good of a man he was.
"You know, 600 years have passed, and you now choose to torment me. A bit dickish, don't you think?"
"It is a bit dickish, I admit. That's why I was the only one you knew who could pull it off."
"Okay, so now answer the big question: why are you here?"
"That's your big question? To advise you, of course. The big question here is what's got you so bummed up?"
"It's nothing. I just feel like I keep messing up in everything I do. I mean, I've died twice now. What greater fuck-up could there be than that?"
"I see. You know, I think the problem here is that you're scared, and because you're scared, you're now down here thinking about what won't help you in the slightest bit. Remember what I told you at your maternal grandma's funeral when you were nine and crying like a baby?"
"What?"
"People die; there is no changing that. What you can change is your next course of action. Move without fear; just move while saying fuck to the rest that wish to hold you behind. Crying quite literally changes nothing. The secret has always been to move."
"Move? You want me to move? Like, didn't you hear what I just said? How do you expect me to do that?"
"Well, as I like to say, you either do or don't. As Rachel Wolchin once said, 'If we were meant to stay in one place, we'd have roots instead of feet.' And looking at you, I see no roots, so it's now or never."
"What do you mean by—oh fuck," I say, realizing that some of the guards who most likely killed the previous owner of this body were still camped uphill somewhere. One of them was heading down, maybe to scout the area or something—I don't know. I only know he was coming here, and I either had to hide or die trying to fight the guy who was literally 6'9" and two times wider than me. Without much thought, I hid behind the nearest trees I could find and hoped he wouldn't see me.
**Jericho's P.O.V**
It was just my luck. The soldier came down from his tent to take a piss, and he just so happened to do it near the trees I was hiding behind. While hiding, my uncle started to show why I truly hated him when I was younger. Out of nowhere, he yelled, "Coward!" at me.
"I'm not a coward," I whispered back.
"You sure are. I thought you fought in the military. Shouldn't you have at least the slightest bit of bravery within you?"
"Bravery is when you don't have enough fear. If you're looking for a brave idiot who's willing to die all over again, then you came to the wrong place. Got that?"
"Not like I have anywhere else to go to, but okay."
Just when I calmed down, thinking he was done talking his shit, he whispered in my ear, "Coward." I lost it. "Will you leave me the fuck alone?" I wasn't loud, but my voice was loud enough for the soldier to hear me. He stopped doing his business and ran toward my direction. I tried running away too, but it was futile. He caught up to me in no time, and proving my thoughts about how a lot of soldiers value brawn over brains, he punched me in the face without a second thought.
Not gonna lie, that punch was the hardest I've ever felt in my three lives. My vision blurred, and I tasted blood. Before I could recover and react, he showered me with more punches. Each blow felt like a hammer, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. He stopped when I fell face-flat to the ground after the thirtieth punch. My face was already a bloody mess at this point. He grabbed me by my hair, slightly raising me up as he whispered into my ear, "You're supposed to be dead."
"I think I don't know that," I replied.
My response only seemed to piss him off more. When he was about to punch me again, I found myself begging with my blood-stained face that couldn't be recognized and with my teeth, some of which were surely missing. "Please don't kill me. I don't want to die."
He smirked and said, "Think I don't know that?" Just when he was about to punch me, I could have sworn I was already unconscious, most likely due to the fear of the next punch rather than the previous ones. Then, I heard my uncle saying to me, "So what's it gonna be, the do or don't?"
I don't know how I did it, but suddenly I used my hands to block his punch. Pain shot through my arms, but adrenaline kept me moving. I mustered up all the energy I had left, pulled away from his grasp, and began running away faster than I ever thought I could. The forest blurred around me as I sprinted, the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I went deeper into the nearby forest, thinking about what to actually do. Then, I had an idea.
Writer's P.O.V**
The soldier chased Jericho deep into the forest but lost him somehow. It wasn't until he discovered footprints and a bloody trail in the sand that he resumed his pursuit. Following the trail, he saw it abruptly stop, leaving him wondering if Jericho had somehow evaded him. Sniffing the air, he caught the distinct scent of eryndor mixed with blood, leading him to a concealed spot.
"He must have doubled back to throw me off," the soldier muttered grimly. Determined, he followed the lingering scent until he found Jericho's discarded clothes and a severed finger emitting the unmistakable odor of eryndor. "Shit," the soldier cursed, realizing the trap too late.
A shot to the spinal cord brought the soldier down, leaving him paralyzed but alive. Jericho descended calmly from the treetops to the ground, circling the fallen soldier. The soldier managed to choke out, "How?"
"A shot to the spinal cord to cripple you," Jericho replied evenly. "The bow and arrow were makeshift, and I laced the arrow with paralysis poison I found nearby. It was insurance." The soldier attempted to speak again, but his words slurred into unintelligible gibberish as the poison took hold.
Jericho glanced around, picked up a rock, and approached the soldier. "Alright, since im not a liar I'll tell you one thing, this is going to hurt, alot," he warned. With trembling arms, he began smashing the rock repeatedly into the soldier's head. Blood sprayed across Jericho's face as he persisted, his strength wavering but resolve unwavering. Finally, he dropped the rock and collapsed beside the motionless soldier.
Jericho lay on the ground, his body battered and bruised. After about 30 minutes, his exhaustion gave way to a dream. In this dream, a mysterious figure appeared, someone unfamiliar from any of his past lives.
"You passed," the figure announced with a cryptic smile.
"Passed what? I don't get what's going on," Jericho replied, confusion etched on his face.
"You will soon. You've died twice already, right? This time, you've been given a gift to help you in future battles. Stay safe and don't, in quote, 'fuck up like last time.'" The figure's voice echoed as it faded into the mist.
Jericho woke up with a start. His eyes widened as he saw a seven-foot-long sword lying next to him.He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing the hilt. As soon as he grasped it, the sword began to glow, and a strange warmth spread through his body. He stood, feeling an unfamiliar strength coursing through him. The glow subsided, and a floating notification appeared before his eyes:

---
**Quest: Courage of the Weak Completed**
**Name:** Jericho Ackerman
**Level:** 1
**Class:** None
**Title:** None
**HP:** 100
**MP:** 10
**Stats:**
- Strength: 10
- Speed: 10
- Agility: 10
- Senses: 10
- Resistance: 10
- Intelligence: 10
**Skills:**
- **Passive Skills:**
- Analysis: Level 1
- Accuracy: Level 1
- **Active Skills:**
- Rush: Level 1
**Available points to distribute if the player levels up: 7. Does the player wish to level up? YES/NO**
---
Jericho hesitated, unsure of what to choose. The reality of the situation weighed on him. Suddenly, he heard the thundering hooves of a horse. A soldier, with a sword gleaming menacingly, charged toward him. Jericho's heart pounded in his chest. He had to decide now.
"YES," he confirmed mentally, and a surge of energy coursed through him, healing him completely.

The soldier's sword swung down, but Jericho felt an uncanny awareness. He dodged the attack with a speed he hadn't known he possessed. The soldier's confusion was evident as Jericho stood his ground, the glowing sword now steady in his grip.
Time seemed to stop as a surge of power coursed through Jericho, healing his injuries and cleansing his blood-stained face. The sensation was fleeting, but it left him feeling more powerful than ever before. As reality snapped back, he acted on instinct, slashing at the horse's legs. The horse tumbled, but the soldier leaped off, swinging his sword at Jericho.

Jericho parried the attack and took a few steps back, calculating his next move. The soldier charged again, and Jericho, without hesitation, made a decisive swing. Everything seemed to slow down as he arched to avoid the soldier's strike and slashed at his neck. The soldier didn't even register the attack before it was over. Jericho had won.
He couldn't believe it. As he stood there, the gravity of his victory sinking in, a notification appeared before him:
---
**Player: Jericho Ackerman**
**Level: 2**
**Class:** None
**Title:** None
**HP:** 350
**MP:** 30
**Stats:**
- Strength: 17
- Speed: 17
- Agility: 17
- Senses: 17
- Resistance: 17
- Intelligence: 17
**Skills:**
- **Passive Skills:**
- Analysis: Level 2
- Accuracy: Level 2
- **Active Skills:**
- Rush: Level 2
---
A sudden warning flashed:
---
**Warning ⚠️: High level of evil intent detected on the other side of the forest.**
---
Jericho's elation faded, replaced by a sense of impending danger. He knew his next challenge was already on its way.
**Jericho's P.O.V**
I peek through the branches and spot the source of the evil intent: the soldiers camped uphill. A plan forms in my mind. A few minutes later, with a crossbow from the soldier I killed earlier, I lace the arrows with poison and climb a nearby tree, getting ready to test my accuracy skill.
**Writer's P.O.V**
The soldiers uphill chat, growing concerned about their missing comrades.
"Yeah, it is odd they haven't come back yet. Think something happened?"
"Who knows, I'll go check to see if—"
Before he finishes, an arrow pierces his skull. He drops dead instantly. Another soldier starts to shout, but he too is silenced by a swift arrow. The body count rises until only six remain. When one of the soldiers throws a dagger at the source of the arrows, it strikes Jericho in the right arm. His cover blown, Jericho fires one last arrow, killing another soldier, and leaps down, using his Rush skill.
With a dagger from his previous kill, he beheads one soldier, stabs two more, and slits the throat of a fourth. The two stabbed soldiers collapse, the poison doing its work.
Only one man remains, the largest of the bunch. Jericho's dagger strikes fail to penetrate deeply, and he is repeatedly punched. The man grabs Jericho by the neck, but just as Jericho begins to suffocate, Jericho manages ti bite the mans arm and immediately the man drops him jerivho says with a smirk "it's over".

It is then that almost immediately his sword flies through the air, stabbing the soldier through the back. The last thing the soldier sees is Jericho holding his seven-foot sword and then swing it at his head.
Jericho heaves a sigh of relief and leans against a tree. He pulls the dagger from his arm, and the wound begins to heal, emitting a small plume of smoke.

**Jericho's P.O.V**
As I walk towards the next village, the weight of my uncle's words echoes in my mind. His specter appears, a wisp of memory and guidance amidst the uncertainty.
"Well done, Jerry. So now, what'll it be, the 'do' or 'don't'?" His voice carries wisdom and urgency.
"The 'do,' but where should I start? There's so much to unravel," I reply, my thoughts swirling with doubts about the kingdom and its despotic ruler.
"How about you do something about it and make things better?" His tone is firm, pushing me beyond my doubts.
"About the kingdom? No way, I can't. It's been oppressive for so long," I lament, feeling the weight of history and despair.
"That's why you're here. Not many can do what you do. Remember why you were scouted for the war?" His reminder strikes a chord of determination within me.
"But one man against an entire nation?" I question, doubting the possibility of change.
"Who says it's just one man, Jerry? From childhood, you've preferred working alone. Change that. Find allies, not necessarily friends, but those who share your vision. That's how you start," his advice cuts through my uncertainty.
"You're not doing too bad as an advisor," I concede, realizing the wisdom in his words. "Alright, I'll take your advice. But how do I begin?"
"Move to the nearest town, ask around, be social. You'll find someone who shares your disdain for the king," he suggests, fading away into the ephemeral mist of memory.
"Alright, I get it now. Thanks a lot for guiding me when I needed it the most," I acknowledge, watching him disappear into the ether.
"And Jericho, be safe," his parting words linger in the air.
With a sigh of relief, I turn towards the path ahead. "Okay, next stop, the village."
As I walk towards the next village, thoughts swirl through my mind about life's complexities and the absolute nature of death. It's a stark reality that bad things often happen to good people, and none of us are born equal. Some live cautiously, fearing risks, while others embrace life's limitations and dare to take chances. I choose the latter path, refusing to be shackled by fear.
We do not live in a fair world; my uncle once told me that if I mourned every injustice, I would spend my life in tears. Yet, amidst this unfairness, there are good people who strive to defeat evil. But evil rarely plays fair; it strikes at the innocent without remorse. I will fight for good, but I won't adhere to conventional rules. If I must spill blood to bring down tyrants who once lived privileged lives, so be it. I've realized my duty to right the wrongs, even if it means resorting to unconventional methods.
Someone once asked me the definition of a conqueror, and I had no answer. They told me: a conqueror is someone who desires more than they have and takes it. That is who I will become. I am prepared to make sacrifices because I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Whether I emerge victorious or fail, only time will reveal. But forward or backward, I must move, driven by my convictions. I'm going forward and only forward.