My former life was a tapestry of pain, woven with threads of betrayal, suffering, and despair. At times, I wished I had never asked the system to infuse my memories back into me at the age of thirteen. But I needed to remember. I needed to know why I was reincarnated, why I was given a second chance. The memories were a burden, but they were also my compass, guiding me toward the vengeance I so desperately craved.
When I turned thirteen, the floodgates of my past life burst open, and the memories rushed in like a torrential storm. I remembered everything, every scream, every tear, every moment of helplessness. Most of all, I remembered how I died.
---
I was once a young healer, naive and full of hope. I had joined the renowned Heroes' Guild, believing it to be a place where I could make a difference. The guild was supposed to be a sanctuary for the weak, a bastion of justice where heroes protected the innocent. But for me, it became a prison of unimaginable horrors.
The contract I signed with them was simple: I would provide healing services, and in return, I would receive training, protection, and a share of the rewards from their missions. I thought I was entering a world of camaraderie and purpose. I was wrong.
The heroes I admired, those so-called paragons of virtue, were nothing but monsters in disguise. They were S-rank heroes, the elite of the guild, revered by the masses and feared by their enemies. But behind closed doors, they were predators, and I was their prey.
It started subtly. A lingering touch here, a suggestive comment there. I brushed it off, telling myself it was just their way of bonding. But soon, the facade crumbled, revealing the ugliness beneath. They took turns raping me, their laughter echoing in my ears as I begged for mercy. Even the female heroes participated, their cruelty no less than that of the men. The rest watched, their indifference as painful as the physical violations.
After each assault, they would order me to heal myself so the next person could take their turn. I complied, not out of obedience, but out of fear. I was trapped, my healing magic the very thing that prolonged my suffering. I lied to my parents, telling them I was thriving in the guild, too ashamed to admit the truth.
But one day, I reached my breaking point. As they gathered around me for yet another round of torment, I mustered the courage to speak up. "If you don't stop, I'll report you to the higher-ups," I threatened, my voice trembling but resolute.
The room fell silent, and for a moment, I thought I had gotten through to them. But then, the Sword Hero stepped forward, his eyes cold and merciless. "You think anyone will believe you?" he sneered. "You're just a low-rank healer. No one cares about you."
Before I could respond, they descended upon me with a fury I had never seen before. This time, they denied me the chance to heal myself. The pain was excruciating, each blow a reminder of my powerlessness. As I lay there, broken and bleeding, I felt my consciousness slipping away. The last thing I heard was the Sword Hero's voice, dripping with disdain.
"Pathetic. I thought I'd have fun this time around."
The Death Scythe Hero, a woman I once admired, chimed in. "As expected of a low-rank healer."
Their laughter followed me into the darkness, a cruel symphony that haunted my final moments.
---
As I teetered on the edge of death, a voice echoed in my mind, a voice that was neither human nor divine. It was the voice of the system, a mysterious entity that existed beyond the confines of my world.
[Ding!: Congratulations! You have awakened the Pleasure System.]
"W-what?" I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.
[For enduring so much torture and persevering until death, you have been granted the opportunity to reincarnate.]
I was too weak to process the system's words. My mind was a fog of pain and confusion, but one thought pierced through the haze: I didn't want to die like this. I didn't want my story to end in suffering and despair.
[Would you like to make any requests before initiation?] the system asked.
With the last of my strength, I whispered my wish. "I want to reincarnate with the memories of this past infused in me at the age of thirteen."
[Noted! Good luck with your reincarnation, host.]
The system's voice faded, and I was enveloped by a dark void. For a moment, there was nothing, no pain, no fear, no memories. Just silence.
---
I was reborn in a distant, small town called Townsville, far removed from the grandeur and corruption of the Heroes' Guild. This time, I was a boy, born into a humble family with no ties to the world of heroes or magic. For the first thirteen years of my life, I was blissfully unaware of my past. I had no memories of the horrors I had endured, no recollection of the system or its promises.
But everything changed on my thirteenth birthday.
The memories came crashing back, vivid and unrelenting. I remembered the pain, the betrayal, the helplessness. But I also remembered the system's promise: I had been given a second chance, and with it, the power to exact my revenge.
Along with my memories, I was gifted a rare and powerful cultivation, Time Cultivation. In a world where magic and cultivation were the keys to power, Time Cultivation was a treasure beyond compare. Even the S-rank heroes, with all their strength and influence, would bow before someone who wielded such power.
---
With my memories restored and my newfound power, I vowed to make those who wronged me pay. The Sword Hero, the Death Scythe Hero, and all the others who had tormented me, they would regret the day they crossed me. But my revenge would not be swift or simple. I would bide my time, honing my skills and building my strength until I was ready to strike.
In the meantime, I would carve out a new life for myself, one of wealth, power, and influence. I would surround myself with loyal allies and build a harem of those who truly cared for me. No longer would I be the helpless victim. I would be the master of my own destiny.
---
The journey ahead would not be easy. The Heroes' Guild was a formidable enemy, and the S-rank heroes were not to be underestimated. But I was no longer the weak, naive healer I once was. I was a warrior, armed with the power of time and the fire of vengeance.
As I stood on the precipice of my new life, I felt a surge of determination. The past had shaped me, but it would not define me. I would rise above the pain and suffering, and I would make my mark on the world.
The system had given me a second chance, and I would not waste it. This time, I would craft my own story.