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Ryosuke blinked, the weight of death still lingering in his chest. Or was it? His last memory was a fading room, the sterile white of hospital walls, the faint sound of a heart monitor beeping slower and slower. He could recall every detail—the coldness of the IV needle in his arm, the distant hum of machinery, and the low voices of nurses who spoke about him like he was already gone. 

But now, as his eyes opened, there was no hospital bed. No sterile walls. No heart monitor. Instead, his vision swam, filled with the dim light of evening and the heavy, oppressive scent of coal smoke. For a moment, he thought it was just another dream—his mind playing tricks on him, perhaps the final moments before his soul drifted away into nothingness. But the cold bite of the air on his skin, the rough texture of cobblestones beneath him, told him otherwise.

He blinked again, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The fog was thick, swirling around narrow streets that seemed far too old, far too grimy to be anything modern. He pushed himself up slowly, his limbs shaking as if they had forgotten how to support him. The sensation of strength in his body was foreign. How long had it been since he'd felt like this? Since he'd felt anything beyond the constant ache of illness?

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't some feverish hallucination in his final moments.

*I'm... alive?*

His heart pounded, sending a rush of adrenaline through him. His hand clenched reflexively against the cold, rough stone beneath him, his fingers curling into the dirt and grime of the street. The sensation was vivid, too vivid to be a trick of his mind. His breath came in slow, measured gulps as he tried to calm the storm of emotions brewing inside him. 

The world around him came into sharper focus. The tall, narrow buildings that crowded the street loomed overhead, casting long shadows in the fading twilight. Gas lamps flickered weakly through the fog, their light barely cutting through the haze. The street was empty, save for the occasional sound of distant footsteps echoing through the alleys.

And then it hit him. The details, the atmosphere, the heavy, soot-filled air. He had read about this place countless times, imagined it in his mind as he devoured chapter after chapter of *Lord of the Mysteries*. But now it wasn't just words on a page. It was real. Too real.

*Backlund.*

His breath caught in his throat. He knew it with absolute certainty, and that knowledge filled him with equal parts wonder and dread. His heart raced as he stood there, taking it all in, trying to process the impossible truth of it. He had been *reincarnated*—not just into any world, but into *this* world, the world of Beyonders, where secrets and mysteries lurked behind every shadow.

*No way...* he thought, his mind racing as he tried to piece it all together. *How? Why?*

It wasn't that he believed in reincarnation; it was just that it seemed so... absurd. And yet, here he was, standing in the fog-choked streets of Backlund, a place he had only known from a novel, a fictional universe with its own intricate rules and dangers. But it was real now. The chill in the air, the grime under his fingers, the distant clatter of horse-drawn carriages on cobblestones—none of it could be a dream.

A slow, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. The absurdity of it all was almost too much to process. Just hours ago—or had it been days?—he had been lying in a hospital bed, his body too frail to even move. And now, here he was, standing in a foreign world, feeling stronger than he had in years. Maybe ever.

His hands clenched into fists, feeling the muscle and sinew that had wasted away in his previous life now restored. His body felt solid, whole. He could breathe without pain. He could move without the stiffness of decay creeping through his bones.

But as the excitement of his newfound vitality settled, a different emotion began to creep in—fear. This world, as thrilling as it was, wasn't a place of comfort. It wasn't a fantasy to be enjoyed from the safety of his hospital bed. Backlund was dangerous, and he knew it. He knew the horrors that lurked in the shadows, the secret organizations vying for control, the unspeakable dangers that could end a life with just a wrong step.

His eyes flicked around the street again, more cautious this time. The fog seemed to press in from all sides, hiding things in its depths. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He wasn't a Beyonder yet. He wasn't even close to becoming one. All he had was the knowledge from his previous life—a head start, sure, but it wasn't enough to guarantee his survival. Knowledge could only take him so far in a world where power ruled, and he had none.

Not yet, anyway.

Ryosuke took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm the anxious churn in his gut. He wasn't the type to panic, even in situations like this. No, he preferred to take things one step at a time, analyze his options, and move when the time was right. He'd always been laid-back, more content to watch from the sidelines than jump into the fray. That wasn't going to change just because he'd been reborn in a dangerous world. If anything, it made him even more cautious.

He ran a hand through his unruly black hair, which fell messily over his eyes as always, and straightened up, taking stock of himself. His clothes were simple—a worn-out jacket, a shirt that looked like it had seen better days, and trousers that were a bit too loose on him. Nothing about him screamed wealth or power, which was probably for the best. He didn't want to stand out here, not yet.

*Okay,* he thought, his mind whirling with plans. *First things first—I need to figure out what I'm working with here.*

He glanced down at his hands, flexing them experimentally. No signs of extraordinary abilities, no flicker of fire or strange power awakening within him. That was fine. He hadn't expected to wake up with supernatural powers just handed to him. This wasn't a video game where you started off with everything you needed. No, in this world, you had to *earn* power, and often at great risk.

And Ryosuke knew exactly what kind of power he wanted.

*The Red Priest pathway.*

His heart skipped a beat as he thought about it. Fire, emotion, war—it was the perfect fit for someone like him. The abilities of a Pyromancer, and later the higher Sequences of the Red Priest pathway, had always fascinated him. Control over flames, the manipulation of people's hearts and minds—it was subtle, but devastating in the right hands. And Ryosuke had always preferred a more laid-back approach, using his mind to guide the flames rather than brute force.

But it wasn't as simple as wanting it. He needed to find the potion formula, acquire the necessary ingredients, and—most importantly—survive the process. The transformation into a Beyonder wasn't a joke. One wrong step, and you could lose your mind, become a monster, or worse. 

Ryosuke sighed, the familiar feeling of laziness tugging at the edges of his mind. He could picture himself lounging in some back alley, letting the world pass him by. But no—he knew better. This wasn't a world where you could afford to be lazy. If he wanted to live comfortably, to avoid the constant struggle of survival, he needed power. And power didn't come to those who sat around doing nothing.

His eyes scanned the street again, this time with more purpose. He needed information—anything to give him a foothold in this world. A place to start. And luckily for him, Backlund was a city full of secrets. Secrets that could be uncovered if you knew where to look.

He wasn't in a rush, though. That was the beauty of his personality—he could be patient when it mattered. Rushing in, making rash decisions, that was how you got killed in a world like this. No, he would take his time, gather what he needed, and only act when he was sure it would benefit him.

For now, his first step was simple: find shelter, blend in, and start learning the lay of the land. He needed to know who held the power in Backlund, where the factions were strongest, and who might have the connections he needed to acquire a Beyonder formula. The Red Priest pathway wasn't exactly common, but it wasn't unattainable either.

As he turned down a narrow alley, his hands slipped into his pockets, and a lazy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. This world was dangerous, yes, but it was also full of opportunity. Opportunity for someone like him, someone who didn't mind taking it slow, who could bide his time until the perfect moment to strike.

He felt the excitement bubbling beneath his calm exterior, the thrill of being alive again in a world so full of possibilities. And though he had no grand ambitions, no desire to be

 a hero or change the world, one thing was certain: he wasn't going to let this second chance go to waste.

Not by a long shot.

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