Chapter 1: As If Separated by a Lifetime
He felt himself lying on the cold ground.
As soon as his consciousness returned, a sharp headache immediately began to torment Leon's nerves.
In a daze, the brief life of the boy named "Leon" flashed through his mind.
The lingering joy of being taught by his father how to draw the hunting bow.
Above, the gentleness of his mother stroking his hair remained for a long time.
The evening twilight walking along the country roads in his childhood, as if it were yesterday.
Red, the color of blood, the gleam of cold steel raised by mercenaries, the sword blade reflecting the boy's weak and fearful, pitiful face, his mother's pleading and deathly screams, igniting a fire within the boy's heart.
Anger and hatred finally overcame fear, but the small, powerless anger was meaningless. The boy was knocked to the ground, and before losing the last bit of consciousness, he could only hear the mercenaries' mocking, violent laughter.
He suddenly opened his eyes, the vicious bloodshot veins in the boy's red eyes had not faded.
His memory gradually became clearer, Leon frowned, trying to disperse the resentment that did not belong to him.
He breathed deeply to relax his tense body, attempting to push himself up but realizing his hands were shackled by rough manacles.
Struggling, he adjusted his position and leaned against a thick wooden fence, slowly propping himself up to look around.
A cage that held many prisoners, surrounded by similar cages.
The people inside the cage were in similar circumstances as him. There were men, women, but no older individuals.
The prisoners were mostly youths, adolescents, and even children around seven or eight years old. Some wore torn, dust-covered clothes stained with blood, while others had no clothes to cover their bodies at all. Many bore bruises from having been abused.
The faint sound of sobbing echoed, and the mercenaries cursed and mocked in a foreign language, their words harsh. The prisoners' expressions ranged from numbness to fear to intense hatred, and the air was thick with a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere.
Somewhere within the camp, Leon realized that he had become a captive, a slave.
He took a deep breath, trying to accept this harsh reality, then exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to calm as he attempted to sort through his chaotic thoughts.
Who am I? Leon?
No.
I am Leon.
The memories of this body's original owner could not overwhelm Leon's self-awareness. His consciousness easily passed through the fragmented soul of this sixteen-year-old boy, finding the true information that belonged to him.
Leon, twenty-six years old, single, with living parents, no bad habits, healthy, an ordinary office worker, just like many others on Earth.
As the memory reached this point, the headache returned. Those familiar memories felt distant and blurry, and Leon frowned as he rubbed his forehead.
Putting his memories aside for now, he glanced up at the mercenaries guarding the cage.
Spears, swords, chainmail, plate armor, crossbows—these medieval-style soldiers could never be found in Leon's time, no matter how backward a country was on Earth.
The bloody and brutal scenes from the dead boy's memories also made it clear that this was definitely not a movie set.
So, have I crossed over? Or am I in a different soul? Did I travel to ancient Europe or to a strange other world?
One question after another popped into his mind.
Leon couldn't make sense of it. He didn't remember any close encounters with a truck, and he couldn't even recall what had happened before his consciousness entered this body.
Looking down at the iron shackles firmly bound around his wrists, Leon felt lost.
As a clear-headed modern person, he didn't want to be reduced to a slave, someone whose freedom and life were controlled by others.
For now, he pushed aside the reason for the crossover. What mattered most now was how to escape.
He focused his mind, searching through the memories of the boy named Leon for any useful information about his current situation.
The Seryan Kingdom, the Saint Sol Church, the Holy City, the Rolanar Kantadar Kingdom's invading army, the siege, the plundering, the massacre.
As he gathered the memories of this body's original owner, he learned that the boy named Leon came from a simple hunter family on the outskirts of the Holy City. Before the war broke out, he and his family had lived a relatively peaceful life in a forest settlement until the army of Kantadar invaded from the west.
"You're still alive? I thought you were dead yesterday."
A calm voice seemed to speak to him.
Leon stopped thinking and looked over. It was a young boy, probably around fifteen or sixteen, with brown hair. Though his situation was also grim, his skin appeared cleaner than most people in the cage.
Leon guessed that the boy might have come from a wealthier family, or at least someone who wasn't a poor peasant, since most people of lower status didn't maintain such pale skin under the sun.
"Cough. Who are you?" Leon asked, suppressing a cough in his dry throat.
"Who I am doesn't matter. You should thank that lady. If she hadn't insisted on feeding you water these past couple of days, you might not have made it," the pale boy said flatly, raising his chin to indicate another direction.
Leon turned his gaze and saw a woman, probably in her twenties, who looked like she had been through hardships. Though she was in rags and appeared worn out, her beauty was still evident.
"Thank you," Leon said in a hoarse voice, sincerely thanking the woman who had cared for him while he was unconscious.
In such a grim environment, someone still willing to care for a half-dead injured person showed commendable virtue.
The woman forced a difficult smile and gave a slight nod in response.
Leon noticed a well-built boy standing next to her, watching him with the wary eyes of a wounded animal.
The boy resembled the kind woman quite a bit, likely her relative. From their ages, they seemed to be siblings. The boy was muscular, showing signs of physical training, and his skin was darker, sun-kissed from exposure, though he too had clear signs of being beaten by the mercenaries.
Leon shifted his gaze away to avoid provoking the boy. He understood that the boy's intense gaze wasn't hostile but merely a desire to protect the only family he had left in this brutal and chaotic situation.
Looking around the cage at the other prisoners, they were all in similar conditions—faces ashen, looking like walking corpses, most bearing injuries. Even the woman who had cared for him had visible bruises and marks from abuse. Leon didn't want to think about what tragic experiences she had endured.
Shifting his gaze away from the fellow captives, Leon observed the sturdy cage behind him. It was clearly impossible to break it from the inside. Even if he could somehow escape, an unarmed and weakened prisoner wouldn't be able to defeat the heavily armed mercenaries guarding outside.
After thinking for a while, he finally sighed helplessly. At the moment, it seemed that there was no other choice but to wait.
Time passed slowly and painfully, as if several hours were as long as several centuries. Leon had never experienced such torturous anguish before. The dull and monotonous life of a corporate slave from his past now seemed like heaven compared to this, as at least he had freedom back then.
After a long time, the sky grew dim.
(Uriah language) "You Serian pigs! Get up and eat!"
The shouts from the mercenaries outside, in a language Leon couldn't understand, interrupted his thoughts.
He looked out, seeing several Kantadal mercenaries holding burlap sacks as they approached each cage. They shouted curses in a foreign language and threw what appeared to be dried, suspicious food from the sacks into the cages, treating the prisoners like livestock.
A few blocks of dry food were thrown into Leon's cage, followed by two large leather water bags.
Leon looked at the dusty, gray-black food that had fallen to the ground, and counted silently. The amount the mercenaries gave didn't even match the number of prisoners in the cage; there wasn't enough for everyone.
Just as Leon was observing the reactions of others, the dark-skinned boy was the first to rush toward the food. He quickly grabbed two blocks of dry food, picked up a water bag, and ran back to his sister's side.
Next, the others also stepped forward to pick up the dry food nearest to them.
There was no fighting during the process. One reason was that no one was starving to death yet, and another was that the prisoners had little strength or energy to argue.
Leon didn't get a chance to grab any food as it had already been taken. He simply sat back in the corner. Although hungry, it was still within his tolerance.
At least there was enough water. The two large water bags were passed around among the prisoners, and everyone had their fill, with some left over.
When the water bag was passed to him, Leon suppressed his discomfort from drinking from a bag that had been used by everyone else. He slightly raised the opening and drank the water, finally relieving the dryness in his throat.
In such times, he couldn't afford to be picky.
After drinking his fill, Leon passed the water bag to the next person. His gaze inadvertently landed on the pair of siblings, just in time to see the lady who had taken care of him while he was unconscious looking at him.
She gave a slight, apologetic smile, holding onto the dry food her brother had brought her but hesitating to eat, having noticed that Leon, who had just woken up, had not received any food.
Her expression seemed to struggle for a moment before she stood up, intending to share the food with Leon, but was immediately stopped by her brother, who pulled her hand.
"Sis, you didn't eat enough yesterday!" The strong boy didn't lower his voice. His tone was both firm and full of concern, clearly disapproving of his sister's overly caring attitude toward others. This was also why he had been the first to grab two portions of dry food.
Leon could naturally hear the boy's loud voice, and it was clearly meant for him, so he waved his hand in acknowledgment.
"Thank you for your kindness, but I'm not hungry."
Leon politely declined. Even without the brother's interference, he felt uncomfortable always accepting the care of this poor woman.
"I'll share half with you. I'm not that hungry either." A voice suddenly interrupted.
Leon looked over and saw the fair-skinned boy who had spoken to him earlier. His unexpected kindness surprised Leon.
The boy walked over, sat beside him, and tore off half of the dry food, handing it over.
"Uh, thank you." Leon didn't refuse and readily accepted the offered food.
"As for the earlier question, my name is Azerion Flarelle, from the Flarelle family. What's yours?" The fair-skinned, brown-haired boy took a bite of the tough dry food and casually asked Leon.
Leon hesitated slightly, but considering that his real name was quite similar in pronunciation to the original name of this body, he let go of his worries.
"My name is Leon, I don't have a surname." Leon chose to go with the original name of this body, in keeping with the local customs.
Azerion, the boy, was slightly stunned inside.
He had noticed that Leon had shown clear reluctance when using the communal water bag earlier, thinking he might be a noble child who hadn't yet adjusted to the situation.
But now, it didn't matter. Azerion thought to himself with a bitter smile. Whether you were a noble or a commoner, they were all just slaves to be butchered by the Kantadals now.
After exchanging names, there wasn't much more to say, and the atmosphere fell back into a silence of resignation.
(End of chapter)