Chapter Two: Who Am I

Legend has it that in the countless eons before the birth of all things, in the endless ages before any plane of existence came into being, at the very beginning of time and space, the world was empty—nothing but darkness.

Everything began with darkness. Darkness is the source of all existence, the origin of every transformation. From its womb emerged the omniscient and omnipotent creator god, Darimos. With a single blow, this great god shattered the chaos, casting his immense power across the endless void, forging “being” from the hollow and boundless “nothing.”

The first to appear was light. Light pierced the darkness, illuminating the emptiness. Then, as the creator god grasped the radiance and swung it through the chaos, everything began to flow, never ceasing, and so time was born.

Afterward, he created many, many other things—including myself and the world I inhabit.

I do not know whether this legend is true, but there is one thing of which I am certain: that sudden, unexpected darkness truly changed many things.

I do not know how long it took me to awaken from that darkness. In that world of perfect silence and utter absence of light, it felt as though everything had ceased and vanished, the once sacred and powerful concept of “time” itself frozen in terrifying emptiness, stripped of all meaning.

When I awoke, everything seemed unchanged. The sky was clear, the breeze gentle, slender shadows stretched across the grass, and the rough city walls formed a gray-white ribbon, encircling the city of Campnavia in the morning light.

Yet there was one difference: the streets had grown desolate. The cobblestone roads, usually so choked with the ceaseless traffic of plane-walkers, were now deserted. Only the natives who eked out a living through small trades remained by their shops, quietly awaiting customers.

My partner—the man known as “Gate Guard Fred Guderian”—was still there, as always. He stood with perfect seriousness, gripping the scabbard of his beloved longsword and staring ahead with bright, vigilant eyes.

Opposite him stood another guard, clad in standard armor, a regulation sword at his waist, his features kindly. His eyes were large and, though still bright, lacked a certain spark. Yet when he smiled, he seemed warm and welcoming, as if always ready to greet travelers entering the city.

He was, by all appearances, an utterly ordinary gate guard—no different from the eight guards stationed at the four gates of Campnavia. Yet it was precisely this most ordinary of men who filled me with unprecedented shock.

Suddenly, I felt an urgent need to find a mirror, desperate to discover what distinguished me from this gate guard before me. I even reached out to touch his nose, to ensure it was real.

The guard suddenly spoke to me, “Don’t wander too close to the forest outside the city, traveler. It’s not as safe as it looks. About two months ago, a pack of wild dogs appeared there. They often attack passersby, spreading fear throughout the city. Sheriff Gerard is troubled by this—if you feel strong enough, you could hunt three of the wild dogs and bring their pelts to the sheriff’s office. Mr. Gerard will reward you.”

I was so astonished my jaw nearly unhinged. That was me! My voice! My lines! He spoke them flawlessly, even the emphasis and pauses were exactly as I would say them. Afterward, he ignored me entirely, as if unaware of our uncanny resemblance, in manner and expression alike.

What was happening? Had another me appeared in this world, standing in my place, fulfilling my duties, and speaking the words I was meant to say?

Somewhat panicked, I turned my gaze elsewhere, and only then did I notice that the world looked different to me. Every house and street was now bathed in clear, vivid color, filling my eyes with brightness. I knew every corner of this city as intimately as the lines on my palm, and I was certain nothing had changed—yet somehow, everything seemed new, wondrous, even the sound of the water gurgling in the roadside trough seemed melodious.

I realized then that profound changes were quietly taking place within me, revealing things about this world I had never seen before.

First, above every person’s head, I saw a line of grass-green script. Wherever they went, these words followed them. They were names: for example, the patrolling guard over there bore the words “Patrolman Porter” above his head, and the hunting dog beside him was labeled “Hound Fatal.” I glanced at my partner: sure enough, above him was written “Gate Guard Fred Guderian.”

I soon concluded that these must be marks of the soul, signs of identity. I had never been able to see them before, but now, for reasons unknown, I had gained this new ability.

With this in mind, I hurriedly looked at the head of the gate guard who had replaced me. Above him, a line of emerald green text chilled me to the core.

It read, “Gate Guard Jefritz Kidd”—until recently, that had been my name.

It was absurd—why was the label of my soul now affixed to his head?

Could it be that he was the real me?

If he was me, then who was I?

Desperately, I lifted my head, searching for my own soul’s name.

There, written above me, was: “Jefritz Kidd!”

The truth was clear—I was no longer—or perhaps never had been—Gate Guard Jefritz Kidd, though we were nearly identical. I was someone entirely different, my life unbound to the foot of any city wall, my soul untethered from that heavy, rough gate.

I was a new person!

For the first time in my life, I realized: I was free! I no longer needed to endure endless questions and demands, to repeat, over and over, the lines I had spoken a thousand times before.

“Leave here, go somewhere else!” The thought sprang from deep within me, startling me. Leave? I had never left the foot of this city wall, not once since memory began. The idea had never even occurred to me. But now this urge swelled within, unstoppable.

“Leave, leave, leave… Go elsewhere, go elsewhere, go elsewhere…” The seductive refrain filled my mind, making me both excited and anxious. Driven by it, I tentatively took my first step away from my post.

The moment my foot touched new ground, my heart nearly burst with happiness.

Can you imagine it? To have been confined your entire remembered life to a space scarcely three steps wide, able only to view a world less than two hundred paces across from a fixed angle—then, suddenly, to be free to choose where to go, what to do, to see the world from infinitely varied perspectives. Your world expands—vast beyond measure!

Words cannot express such happiness.

I almost burst into an unrestrained cheer—if not for others nearby, I surely would have. As I was just coming to terms with my newly recognized soul, part of the air around me suddenly shimmered and distorted. Faint, translucent figures began to emerge from the warping air, gradually coalescing into solid forms.

These were the plane-walkers. Whenever they appeared, such strange phenomena accompanied them. During that dreadful darkness, none knew to which distant realm they had fled, but now they were returning, one after another.

Standing beside someone so exactly like myself felt awkward. Before the travelers had fully arrived, I took a careful look around, then strode toward the woods outside the city…

Before delving into this unfamiliar world, I thought I should first learn more about myself. I rummaged through my belongings, curious what might aid me on my journey.

I had a backpack—not very large, and light to carry. Yet when I opened it, I found it already held quite a few things. I guessed it was enchanted, capable of holding up to two hundred pounds of items without adding weight.

Inside, I found a map. I knew it well—it was an overhead view of Campnavia. As a gate guard, I’d marked it countless times to guide lost plane-walkers. In the center of the map was a blue dot. At first, I didn’t know what it meant, but as I walked and watched, I saw the dot moving in the direction I was headed. It soon became clear: the dot marked my own location. Evidently, this map had useful magical properties—I was sure it would be invaluable.

Also in the backpack was a mirror. When I looked into it, my reflection did not appear; instead, a long list of data and descriptions was displayed:

Jefritz Kidd, Level 1, Human, Warrior. Strength 15, Intelligence 9–2, Agility 12–2, Health 180/180, Battle Energy 90/90.

Attack Power 15+2, Defense 15+4.

Racial Traits: Endurance—when health drops to 5%, defense automatically increases by 100%.

Shrewd—earn 5% more and spend 5% less gold in trades and rewards.

Versatile—can learn skills from three other professions.

Combat Skills: Thrust, Slash, Block

Life Skills: None

I surmised this was a mirror that reflected the soul itself. Stripping away the image of the living body, it distilled the essence of a person into concrete numbers, allowing for a clearer understanding of oneself.

In addition, I had a journal. Opening it, I found a line already written: “Kill three wild dogs and bring their pelts to Sheriff Gerard’s office.”

I recalled that when the “real me” at the gate mentioned the bandits, I had vaguely agreed. Evidently, the journal automatically recorded any tasks I accepted—a magical feature, no doubt, and a truly remarkable creation.

Backpack, map, mirror, journal—these four items seemed universal, as I often saw the plane-walkers fiddling with theirs. Besides these, I found a small bundle of Moon Soul Grass in my pack. It had just been picked, its leaves tender and soft, with tiny blue blossoms.

It took me a moment to remember where it came from. Before the darkness fell, a hurried merchant had thrust it into my hands during a transaction. It was a common herb, easily refined into potions, but useless to me, as I knew nothing of alchemy. Tossing it back into my pack, I gave it no further thought.

The rest was just the clothes on my back. Through the soul mirror, I saw that my iron helmet added one point to my defense but deducted two from my intelligence—quite understandable, as the helmet was small and tight, squeezing my head painfully, making it impossible to think clearly. My copper-inlaid leather armor added two defense but reduced agility by one—it was heavy. My boots were the same: one more defense, but one less agility for their weight.

My most valuable possession was probably the regulation longsword issued to gate guards. It looked unremarkable but was practical and sharp, adding two points to attack, with no drawbacks.

These, along with fifty copper coins in my purse, made up all my worldly goods. The exhilaration of newfound freedom was slowly ebbing, replaced by confusion and uncertainty. I had grown accustomed to my cramped post at the gate, and had once been content with the monotony of my prescribed life. Now, faced with the power to choose my own path, to change my fate—what was I to do?

I realized then that my freedom had come too swiftly, too intensely, and I was not yet ready to embrace it.

The once vivid and beautiful world now seemed terrifyingly vast and empty. Ironically, I had stepped boldly into my new life without hesitation, yet it was the second step I now feared to take. Before me stretched countless roads, countless destinies, but I had no idea which to choose.

As I stood there, paralyzed by the uncertainty of the road ahead, a sudden, desperate scream pierced the air:

“…Help!”