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Paths Of Life

šŸ‡ŗšŸ‡økira_03
21
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 21 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Can a good person become evil? Can a rich person become wealthier? Can a criminal become a hero? The answer to these questions can be summarized in one: "How brave can a person be to change their destiny?" Jackson, walking a path unknown, faces life-and-death challenges, putting forth every effort in his attempt to return home.
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Chapter 1 - I wanted to see you one last time !

Jackson lifted his head toward the sky as cold, transparent drops fell onto his face. They slowly trickled down his body, reaching the ground, but in a completely different color. Each drop that fell from his body stained the earth beneath him in crimson.

A bitter smile crossed Jackson's lips as he muttered to himself:

"In this life, death is sometimes closer than you think. It's not always the final farewell we expected, but sometimes it comes from hands you know all too well, from voices that whisper in your ear every day. You might think that on the day of your death, there will be someone standing by your grave, sorrow on their face. But deep down, you know they are the ones who brought you here in the first place."

The rain devoured the earth as sorrow devours the soul. Jackson stumbled in his steps, his right foot barely touching the ground, while his body swayed between pain and the harsh winter.

As he walked, familiar voices echoed in his ears, bringing back long-forgotten memories. Faces stood before himā€”faces he had once shared laughter, talks, and tears with. Now, they stood at a distance, unable to draw near, as though the space between them had grown vast, larger than ever before. The eyes that had once seen him were now filled with tears, and the hearts that once clung to him were torn by indecision.

But deep within, Jackson knew that all they showed him was nothing but lies and hypocrisy, a way to avoid the guilt they carried in their own hearts.

One of them, his voice choked and barely audible, said: "Jackson... please... don't go. Don't let this be the end. We still have time... we can find another way. Please, surrender now, before it's too late."

Jackson fell silent. His steps were slow, but he kept moving forward, enduring. Every step cost him a piece of his soul. His damaged arm trembled, and his half-closed eyes reflected nothing but a vast emptiness. But they continued to surround him with their words, causing his heart to waver just a little.

Another voice, full of sorrow, said: "We're with you, we've always been with you. Why are you doing this to us? Please, don't make us do something we don't want to. Can you leave us like this? Will your last moments be in our hands?"

Jackson paused for a moment, but his breath came out with difficulty, as if his very soul refused to break free. He lifted his head, and his eyes, though empty, spoke louder than all their words. Pain was visible in his gaze, but behind it was something deeper. Something invisible that kept pushing him forward.

A third voice, tears streaming down his cheeks, said: "Jackson... please, you were always the one we trusted. But we can't bear to see you die like this. I can't... I can't watch you bleed like this. Did you know how much we loved you? How I considered you a brother?"

The words scattered in the air, mixing with the whispers of the rain, just like memories scatter through time. Jackson didn't turn to them, nor did he pay attention to their pleas. His steps were slow, yet steady, just like the determination in his heart. His bones broke with every step, but something inside him forced him to keep going. In the silence, filled with nothingness, he left them behind, just like the wind leaves behind the fallen leaves of autumnā€”never to return.

Jackson's steps continued to falter, swaying first to the right, then to the left. He didn't know how long he had been walking, but the voices that had once groaned behind him had completely disappeared by now.

...

Jackson wore torn clothes, his hair disheveled, his body entirely covered in blood, to the point where even the rain couldn't wash it all away.

Fresh blood poured from the numerous wounds on his body, and within moments of standing still, a crimson pool formed beneath him.

His injuries were severe, and there was no chance for healing. It was a certain conclusion that he would die here.

Jackson understood his situation clearly, yet even in the face of death, his expression remained as calm as the depths of an ancient well. He stood with pride, his eyes fixed on the person approaching him.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the car, moving in a graceful, synchronized manner, as if savoring the moment of his transition from the vehicle to the scene before him. The man appeared striking and radiant, dressed in meticulously tailored black attire. The elegance of his outfit, a perfect blend of black and white, radiated an undeniable allure.

Surrounding him were a group of professional guards, whose serious, watchful gazes followed every move he made. The strength and protection these guards exuded reflected his importance and social standing.

As he drew closer, it seemed as though he was relishing the shift from the car to reality, calm and steady, taking no haste in his steps.

"If you survive," the man spoke, his voice devoid of emotion, as though he were staring at an injured puppy before him.

In return, the young man gazed at him with sad eyes and replied, "It was difficult."

"You make it difficult. I wanted to end it without pain for you."

The man sighed softly and continued, "Do you really want to live that badly?"

Jackson bit his lip and answered with a single word: "No."

"Then why all this resistance?"

Jackson clenched his fist tightly, his gaze rising with effort to meet the man's eyes, and said, "I just wanted to see you one last time."

...

The man fell silent for a while, as if this answer wasn't part of his expectations.

He slowly closed the distance between them until only about a meter separated them.

"Are you happy now?" the man spoke, his eyes looking down on Jackson's face with a sense of superiority and arrogance.

The boy offered a faint smile, "I'm truly happy to see you well."

"..."

Jackson lowered his head and ground his teeth instinctively. His words and feelings were scattered, just as they had been a short while ago. "But why did you do this to me?"

"Why?" The man smiled, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

"Jackson, you disappoint me again, even in your last moments!"

A shiver ran down Jackson's spine from those words. Despite their simplicity, he couldn't bear them. It was a sentence he had heard many times before, and each time, it carried the same crushing weight.

The man lifted his gaze from Jackson, turning it toward the sky and spoke calmly, "Jackson, do you know why some people fail in life?"

Jackson didn't know the answer, so he responded with confusion, "What are you talking about? What does this have to do with my question?"

"Your question is related to mine."

Jackson caught his breath, struggling to respond, "Is it because they're not competent enough toward their goals?"

"That's a factor, but not the answer."

"Is it because of their intelligence?"

"That's also a factor."

"Damn it, just tell me what you're getting at!" Jackson clenched his hands and growled angrily at the man.

"..."

"Of course, you wouldn't know. If you did, you wouldn't be in this position," the man lowered his gaze from the sky, squatted, and brought his face closer to Jackson's.

Jackson's condition continued to deteriorate like withering leaves. The blood beneath his feet had formed a pool as his body betrayed him, causing him to collapse to the ground. He gathered what little strength he had left, leaning against the wall as he gasped heavily.

"So what is the answer? Tell me," Jackson gritted his teeth fiercely, desperate to know the reason before he died. He wanted to achieve this trivial wish, at least.

Just one more minute. No. Thirty secondsā€”just thirty seconds, hold on, hold on.

He bit his tongue to prevent himself from losing consciousness and looked at the man before him with bloodshot eyes and a frenzy, like a child whose candy had been stolen, yearning for revenge.

The man thought for a moment, then spoke in a deep voice: "Jackson, there is a truth everyone overlooks in our quest for power and glory. We believed that rising meant domination, that success meant leaving others in the shadow of defeat. When I began my journey, I was weak, just a shadow moving in the darkness, climbing the crumbling steps slowly and fearfully. I felt the pain of loss and solitude with every step, but I didn't retreat. I was learning the secret of powerā€”remaining steadfast while others fall, avoiding the noise and planting your roots in silence until the time is right."

A sad smile spread across his face as he continued, "But over time, I realized that power isn't just about surpassing others. It's knowing when to stop chasing illusions. Reputation, my son, is not just a weapon; it is a mirror that reflects a false image. It can elevate a beggar to the ranks of kings, and it can cast mighty men into the abyss of oblivion."

The man thought for a moment, then leaned a little forward and spoke again with a heavy voice: "Jackson, my son, there are things that aren't taught in books, nor gained through ordinary experiences. From the moment I took my first steps in this ruthless world, I learned one thingā€”that no one saves you from yourself but yourself. I lived days surrounded by darkness, with nothing but the will to survive. Many saw me as mere ambition, but I was something more than that... I was a specter, a shadow moving between lines, learning from the whispers of the wind, charting my course in silence."

"When I was weak, I realized that silence is the strongest ally, and public combat is the last resort. I watched the world from angles no one saw, learning from others' failures, drawing strength from their weaknesses. The ascent was slow, painful, and filled with scars. Every step on that crumbling staircase was a lesson, every failure was a window through which I saw my truth and the truth of others. And when I was able to plant my feet firmly, I no longer walked between the stepsā€”I leaped. Every leap was the beginning of a storm that changed the game."

He took a few slow steps back, as though the memories weighed on him, and drew a deep breath. "Power, Jackson, is a complex equation. People think that owning authority means absolute control, but the more you have, the more you fear losing it. You become a prisoner of the decisions you've made, and the actions you've taken. Rules, laws, moralsā€”they all get replaced when the price is high enough. The strange thing is, you know it, but you keep going, because the desire to stay at the top outweighs any other consideration. And once you understand this truth, you no longer see forgiveness as strength, and cruelty as weakness."

He gazed directly into Jackson's eyes as if those glances carried an entire history with them. "I learned not to hesitate in using every means possible, not to hesitate in doing what others would deem cruelty. Cruelty, my son, is not just an act, it is a philosophy. It is the tool that allows you to live in a world that recognizes only the strong. If someone comes to me seeking revenge, I will fight them to the end. If ten stand before me, I will face them all. And if the entire world stands against me, I will stand against it without hesitation. Because I realized, at some point, that the world is nothing but a reflection of the internal battles we fight. And if I am defeated one day, I will know I've found someone worthy of my place, and I will blame no one but myself."

He raised his trembling hands, as if weighing the remainder of his days, and said: "Every battle I fought, every decision I made, had a price. It wasn't about you, my son. I believed that by building a fortress of power, I could protect you from this harsh world. But you never saw the full picture. You didn't understand that living at the top requires constant sacrifice, and those who don't understand sacrifice will never comprehend the value of survival."

He stood firmly, as though the final words carried the burden of years of suffering: "Don't blame me for what I did. I didn't do it out of hatred or revenge. I did it because I wanted you to open your eyes to the harsh truth of this world. I wanted you to understand that weakness is unforgivable in this place. And now, as I look at what's become of it all, I understand that I failed to instill this truth in you. But it's too late."

He slowly approached and embraced him in his arms. The warmth of the embrace was laced with sadness and hesitation. "Sleep, my son. You won't need to worry anymore. You won't have to fear the darkness, or losing those you love. I will bear this burden, and be the shield that protects you from what you couldn't face."

In those final moments, Jackson sank into the darkness. His tongue could no longer form a word, as if existence itself began to fade around him. But his eyes, those faint embers, spoke louder than his voice could ever reach. He wanted to say so much, to protest, to scream, but his body betrayed him, and he entered a world devoid of light and awareness. "Perhaps...perhaps I was wrong from the very beginning?"

...

In the pitch-black darkness of the night, where lights merge into deep shadows, a black figure stood, its features mysterious, contemplating the corpse leaning against the wall. The air was heavy, filled with an intangible presence. The figure smiled lightly and murmured quietly, "Another candidate, then."