Prologue
This is not the dramatic reversal of a female magician’s life, who claims to have the secret of her birth and is a character transported into a romance fantasy.
Nor is it the fierce adventure of the youngest son of the Northern Grand Duke who has returned after reincarnation.
And it definitely isn’t the dimension-hopping incident where the crazy second prince suddenly starts shouting about a status window.
It’s just a daily life story of a knight, who got a little banged up and regained the memories of his past life as a vice commander.
Like any office worker, he carries a resignation letter in his heart at all times.
It’s a story about striving for retirement.
EP. 1
I was a Magic Slave.
When I was born, before I even turned three, my parents sold me to a slave trader.
I don’t bear any resentment.
…No, let me correct that: I don’t even remember what my parents looked like.
I was sold shortly after I learned to speak, so how could I possibly remember their faces?
The only scene that remains vividly in my mind is following the slave trader, sucking on my fingers.
Young slaves sold quite well.
I was popular among Spellcasters; they said I was a good candidate for human experimentation. Or perhaps it was that the greedy pigs at the temple found children to be preferable for their tastes?
Either way, I was in high demand.
I was sold to a Spellcaster.
The slave trader commented that I was “unlucky,” but I argue that being sold to a magician is certainly better than being sold to some old man’s depraved desires.
Ten years had passed since I became a slave to the Spellcaster.
Out of a hundred slaves that were sold, I was one of the three remaining, or rather, one of the three surviving test subjects.
The magician’s experiments involved extracting monster cells and implanting them into human bodies, aiming for body enhancement.
It was taken for granted in the lab that children who couldn’t adapt to the cells would burst apart or become something neither human nor monster, ending up in the incinerator.
At that time, I was weak but possessed a strong will.
The will to survive.
That was something I had.
Even though I was too young to fully grasp what death was, I longed for survival. I endured the experiments desperately and gradually began yielding results that the magician desired.
I showcased adaptability to the genes of a Humanoid Dog and a Man-Eater, much to the magician’s delight.
…And then, the Spellcaster tried to dissect me.
Gulp!
“…Huh?”
Is it really that easy for a human’s head to burst like that?
It was my first murder.
Slaves are not supposed to kill their masters, but I realized then that if it was determined I had no will to attack, the slave brand wouldn’t respond. I reflexively flailed about without any murderous intent, and the magician ended up dead.
It was truly a miraculous outcome, a product of coincidence and luck.
…Well, I suppose it could also be attributed to the magician’s own mistake?
After all, I was a child blessed with the genetics of a Man-Eater, or in this case, a Troll.
What kind of sane person would take a child who had gained the strength of a monster and try to dissect him?
It’s only natural the magician would be looked down upon as a Spellcaster.
All of them are a bunch of loony folks.
In any case, my master’s death automatically granted me freedom, and I intended to escape the lab.
“Look at that, something fun is here?”
“…Ah.”
Unfortunately, I couldn’t escape.
I should have been a bit quicker, but on the day a certain organization that sponsored the magician came to visit, he ended up dead, and I was caught in the act.
“Hey, choose: Do you want to follow me, or do you want to die here?”
“…I’ll follow you.”
“Smart choice.”
The organization that supported the magician.
They were none other than an assassination group known as [Black Moon].
At the age of thirteen.
I became an Assassin.
* * *
The assassination organization wanted powerful soldiers.
Soldiers who possessed monster abilities and outstanding assassination skills.
I heard they were planning to overthrow a certain kingdom.
For mere assassins to attempt to overthrow a kingdom; looking back, it truly felt like the end times.
However, because I had some use, I managed to survive, and I was trained to be an assassin, living my first real human life.
Although every day involved consuming poisons or undergoing torture to build my resistance to toxins in an inhumane manner.
Just the fact that I got to eat real meals for the first time and sleep comfortably was enough for me to understand what it meant to be “human.”
Thus, I bore no resentment toward the assassination organization.
*
It had been about five years, the dedicated time spent training me to become a professional Assassin.
“Prepare for the mission.”
“Understood.”
“No. 9 and No. 10 will be moving with you. You take care of No. 8.”
“…Yes.”
At that time, my name was No. 8.
That meant there were seven more above me, which was quite obvious. Assassination groups weren’t foolish enough to trust just one magician for a coup against a kingdom.
Apparently, there were quite a few sponsoring Spellcasters, as the organization had several individuals with unique physical capabilities or mysterious skills like mine.
For reference, No. 9 and No. 10 were the ones who survived the experiments along with me.
Our relationship? Not great.
Given the nature of the organization, it was difficult for us to get along; the fact that I had a higher number than them—despite being younger—didn’t sit well with them at all.
…What a bunch of childish brats.
Maybe because they were immature, they attacked me with visible jealousy.
“Die, No. 8!”
“If you were gone…!”
The exceedingly insecure No. 9 and No. 10 lunged at me, and I fought back to survive.
It was a pretty bloody battle, but I had the upper hand.
They needed to understand.
“If you want to raise your number, you should have put in more effort than me.”
Wham!
“Gah!”
“How did…?”
“Do you really wonder why my number is higher? I hope you’ll be smarter in your next life!”
Of course, my higher number was simply because I was clearly stronger than them. They were too dull to grasp that fact.
“Huff, but what do I do now?”
I had successfully killed them all, but I wasn’t particularly happy about it.
In fact, murder felt so hollow and bitter that if I had been overjoyed by it, that would have been proof I was batshit crazy from that moment on.
Yet, the emotion I felt amid my bitterness was worry.
These were talented individuals I was raised with in the organization; if I killed them like this…
I was seriously concerned they would come after me.
But fortunately.
“What the…?”
Upon returning to the organization, I found that it had utterly crumbled.
The plan to overthrow the kingdom had been exposed, and the royal army had begun to march, systematically wiping out all assassination organizations.
At first, I couldn’t believe it.
I knew the organization was powerful.
So, I scoured all the places I knew, including the hideouts, but everything looked like it had been incinerated, burnt to a crisp.
And most shockingly.
“…Wow, those guys really did a thorough job.”
As I gazed upon the sight of the organization’s instructors and executives displayed on stakes—heads severed—I finally felt certain.
Ah, the organization truly is finished.
At the age of 18, I finally became a truly free person.
* * *
Two years passed.
Having relocated to a foreign country for my second life, I worked hard to start over. However, one thing I definitely learned during this time was that the world is merciless, far harsher than when I was with the organization.
Is this how the world works?
“It’s a damn mess.”
I was so accustomed to swearing and complaining like this that life outside wasn’t easy.
From earning money to maintaining relationships, finding a job, and more.
In the end, after trying various jobs, I concluded that all I really knew how to do was wield a knife. I had no choice but to choose the profession I excelled at the most.
“Hey! You’re too slow!”
“Yes, I’m coming!”
I became a Mercenary.
To be precise, I was the rookie of a relatively small mercenary corps.
“Where’ve you been?”
“I was just hanging around back alleys.”
“Oh? Your footsteps have the vibe of an assassin.”
“Me?”
“…Hmm, maybe not? Sorry, I must be mistaken.”
“Hey, why apologize for that? Haha.”
…What sharp-witted guys.
I thought mercenaries only lived a day-to-day life, but they were surprisingly observant and insightful.
Well, I guess this is why I’ve been living off a knife’s edge.
From then on, I tried to shed my assassin’s posture—letting go of my walking style and habits.
Of course, some skills I kept. Techniques and necessary habits had to be useful at any moment.
And so, I spent four years living the mercenary life, shedding the rookie image, and wandering through several battlefields, eating off my blade.
“Ugh!”
“Gah!”
“What the hell, these bastards!”
Really, my life was a mess.
Getting blindsided by the employer while my mercenary group was pelted with stones was a complete disaster.
I took a solid hit to the head and collapsed, my vision turning blurry.
‘…I should play dead.’
Honestly, I wasn’t at the brink of death from this.
I mean, what body do I have!
Am I really going to die from a few stones?
‘This is unbeatable.’
Even if I revealed all my hidden abilities and skills, there was no way a small number of individuals could defeat well-trained soldiers.
So the best course was to pretend to be dead and wait for the right moment, relying on my strong regeneration and robust body to endure the pelting stones and kicks from military boots.
Don’t tell me that everyone else is dying, so I should too.
So, amidst a bit of self-justification and a throbbing headache, I thought,
‘…Ah, I want a cola.’
I recalled a forgotten memory.
It wasn’t a memory of this lifetime, but from my ‘previous life.’
At age 24, I realized I was a Regressor.
‘…Don’t I get any reincarnation perks?’
Unfortunately, after surviving, I tried various ways to summon a status window for about five hours, but nothing came up.
“…It’s such bullshit.”
If I had known this, I wouldn’t have bothered recalling my memories at all.
* * *
Once the mercenary group was annihilated and I announced the betrayal of the employer, the Great Mercenary Union moved swiftly to punish.
No matter how cold-hearted and called “butchers,” mercenaries, driven by money, had to follow through with their contracts, and if the employer betrayed them, they absolutely wouldn’t let it slide. That was the ultimate rule in the mercenary industry.
Betraying for the sake of saving a few coins only called for bloody vengeance.
The territory governed by the employer became completely devastated by the Great Mercenary Union, and everything was plundered and taken.
Especially the employer’s kin were either sold into slavery or committed suicide.
They likely felt they couldn’t endure a life of slavery.
‘…I think it’s time to retire.’
Perhaps it was awakening the memories of my previous life.
The cruel processes like plunder, which I had ignored before, started to feel a bit uncomfortable.
It was a minor discomfort, nothing I couldn’t get over, but I instinctively felt that the moment this discomfort disappeared, my humanity would wither away.
That was likely the touch of subtle sensitivity.
“Let’s just become a public servant.”
After deciding to retire, I began studying.
As long as I could read, becoming a soldier in any territory would be easy.
But seeing the territory devastated by the Great Mercenary Union, I aimed to become a soldier in a kingdom that would hopefully never fall.
“Capital public servants are definitely better than local ones!”
For the record, I’m not being discriminatory toward regions.
I hope there’s no misunderstanding.
Either way, I studied hard and prepared for the exam, and finally…!
“Oh, you’re quite impressive.”
“Yes?”
“That someone like you is joining the ranks as a soldier means everyone else must be blind. You’ll start working in the Knight Order from today.”
“…?”
I wasn’t a soldier, but rather an unexpectedly late-blooming knight.
“What the….”
At 27 years of age, the birth of Knight Lee Han had finally arrived.
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