1 Transmigrated Across Worlds
'Do I regret it?' A hollow laugh buzzed from his throat.
Blood bubbled out, dying his black vest red.
A man with no name, albeit nicknamed Agent Elipsion.
A man with no freedom.
A man with no future, much less a bright one.
A tool of murder and conspiracies deployed all across the modern world to assassinate, sabotage, frame, kidnap, blackmail—and all horrendous acts betraying the codes of moral conduct.
His mastery of the craft went from decent to good and eventually… Dangerously good.
A puppet he was raised to be, nothing more and nothing less.
Terrifying he can be, that's acceptable.
Emotional however? That's intolerable.
What's more terrifying than a puppet of murder was one with emotions. A puppet introduced to empathy, love, and compassion.
Love breeds hate and hate breeds obstinance and disloyalty.
He was supposed to be the perfect puppet, perfect tool, perfect agent.
Unfortunately, she spawned in his life like a devil out of the blue— she painted his dull life with all kinds of colorful emotions...
She taught him gentleness and care, a sliver of empathy in an otherwise sinister industry.
She shouldn't have taught him; he shouldn't have learned!
The light at the end of the tunnel was no more than an illusion; a trap per se.
This is what lay at the end of the tunnel...
Bodies strewn with bullet holes...
Shattered limbs torn to pieces...
He looked around at the bodies of people he once considered his comrades.
Blood gushed out with whatever figments of warmth and life, figments which should have occupied these young and vigorous bodies.
He thought this was all a fine price to pay in exchange for saving the life of this woman who now lay in his embrace, gasping for her last.
A faint smile adored her lips as she nuzzled into his chest, crimson locks of hair swaying to his heavy intermittent breath.
"I was one bullet short…" he muttered, his trembling hand tracing her innocent contours, not daring to glance over her shoulders where he knew a bullet resided. He understood the human body far too well to grasp her fate.
"Do you regret it?"
An ephemeral voice echoed in his mind, causing him to flinch and warily look around while reflexively pulling the beautiful woman even closer to his chest.
The moment he glanced around, he noticed smoke creeping into the room, albeit slowly.
'Ah… Poison—I guess it wouldn't have made a difference who died first, huh?'
Did he regret it? He ruminated silently, looking down at the person he admitted entry into his heart as a friend.
First, one, and only.
Even though he knew this was a trap to lure him in—even though she knew she was a trap to lure him in—they both showed up.
If he was as emotionless as should be, this whole mess could have been avoided. He knew it, but he could not afford to be emotionless this once.
Perhaps they were curious whether or not the other party would show up, fully aware this might be their last meeting in this life.
Thus, did he regret it? It was hard to tell.
As the poisonous fog increased in volume, he felt his eyelids grow heavier, the darkness encroaching all around.
Suddenly, everything crawled to a halt in a dull gray world, shocking him into snapping his eyes open.
As he descended into 'death' and the poisonous fog cleared up, the woman in his embrace quivered ever so slightly.
Warmth returned to her body.
Eyelashes fluttered—a pair of devious eyes slowly emerged in the silence and gloom…
Only a dark orb witnessed this change, slowly fading away.
…
Kevin blinked—the world resumed as it should.
In fact, everything seemed the same—excluding the world around him and a rush of memories that stung him awake on a soft white bed, fragrant medical aromas filtered through his nostrils.
He seamlessly and naturally blended into the identity presented in his mind— Kevin Rögger, the second son to the Rögger family's baron.
On the eve of the winter grace period, his father the baron encountered an unfortunate assassination. Within a fortnight from that event, his progeny of three sons fell to a soul curse one after the next.
Now he was sent to occupy the body of this Kevin, just like the typical otherworldly transmigration fantasies he was mildly familiar with…
Lexia wept by the bedside and held Kevin's hand. "B-big brother, w-what do we do now?" she stuttered out.
Weak fingers reverse-gripped her quivering hand.
Lexia looked up at her big brother who was struggling to sit up against the headboard.
"Don't cry, Lexia," he murmured, pale lips barely parting. "Help me up— I need to meet the head steward of the house."
She cried out in weak protest, "But your body—"
"I know my body best, Lexia!" groaned Kevin, a waft of medicinal odor in his breath. "The world must know that at least one of us three sons is still alive lest the whole family ends up on the streets."
Lexia shuddered, her brewing protests simmering from her throat down to her heart. Nodding, she swept away the white bedsheets and aided her big brother to stand.
"Look at your frail body, and yet, you have the mind to chastise about mine?" Kevin playfully berated with a chuckle, gloom hidden in the depths of his serene black eyes as they reflected this adolescent girl.
"I'm a little girl anyway …" murmured Lexia with a pout. She thought to herself that it was to be expected from a thirteen-year-old to look frail and weak, unlike a certain sixteen-year-old young man who didn't look any better than she did.
…
The pair of siblings silently supported one another through the cold corridors of the now-empty castle. No servants, butlers, or even maids could be seen on their way to the meeting room.
With Lexia as a guide and support, Kevin had the spare time of closing his eyes to briefly review the recollections of the former Kevin's soul— the soul that had been sacrificed to the higher existence governing the plane of magic.
It was a soul dense with darkness and gloom, to the point where it had provided Kevin the talent to awaken as a dark mage in the most unorthodox means.
With closed eyes, the darkness all around him seemed to ripple and twist— formless yet scarce mana in the ambiance drawing close to his feeble body, centered around the point between his brows.
Lexia who was pacing next to her big brother suddenly shuddered, feeling the cold corridors growing even colder.
Bewilderment flashed across her dark eyes, and a formless wind rustled her long and black hair. Then, the cold dissipated and what greeted her confused glance was a faint smile etched on Kevin's pale countenance.
"We've arrived— Let me walk on my own for now."
Kevin took a deep breath as he faced a pair of wooden doors, various incomprehensible voices penetrated the doors. Kevin assumed that a fierce argument was in full swing, especially with the encroaching deadline for the winter grace period.
These are the times preluding a holy war of two kingdoms, not to mention that the late baron of this territory fell to the last battle— unknown whether it was a conspiracy or not.
"B-but…" little hands clenched tightly on Kevin's arm, almost persuading him to let it be and walk back to the comfortable bed and the cozy aroma of peace and quiet.
'She must be feeling traumatized from losing a father and two siblings in the matter of a fortnight," Kevin concluded.
Conclusions aside, some things must be seen through to the end by any means necessary.
The feelings of a distressed little sister—what are they in the grand scheme of things? Kevin didn't mind catering to her destabilized state of mind for a while, but he wouldn't let it distract him from thwarting the noble count's attempts on his new life and supposed territory— especially since the winter drew to an end day by day.
"Don't worry I said," reprimanded Kevin—sternly. "Go now, play in your room or something."
Lexia could only sniff her feelings away and clutch the hem of her skirt as she ran away, feeling grumpy and worried.
As for Kevin, he took a deep breath as his eyes flashed darkly, a gloomy alignment between his brows fading away and assimilating into his body.
The once weak body slowly reinvigorated as rosiness returned to his face— this was the basics of drawing mana from the world.
With a heavy thud, he swung open the doors to the meeting room, stunning the people seated within.
The head steward stood respectfully next to the lord's seat, three people seated below the high chair, their faces red from excitement—apparently they'd been engaged in a heated argument.
"Second young master!"
Cried out the steward in shock, not having expected anyone from the three brothers—definitely not the second one at that, to suddenly spring into the meeting hall.
Kevin nodded to the steward silently. Then, his indifferent eyes swept over the count's messenger, the physician, and an old man in the official robes of a mage.
Under the stunned eyes of the four, Kevin's light footfalls guided him to the high chair of the baron before he sat down, one leg tossed over the other as his chin rested on the knuckles of his right hand.
"You may continue," he waved them to continue their discussion as though his presence was of no consequence in the room.
