Darkness.

  Darkness surrounded him.

  There was nothing here. Just the void. It was neither hot, nor cold. He could feel nothing. He could touch nothing. He was not floating, but he wasn’t falling either. After all, there was no ground below, and no sky above. Only bck, in every direction.

  How long had he been here?

  How long had he been... dead?

  Did it really matter? Time was irrelevant in this space. There were no clocks here to measure the passage of time. One minute or one century, what was the difference? He had been here for eternity, and he would stay here for eternity.

  But...

  Staying like this—doing nothing, being nothing—would drive him mad. He had to do something. Anything.

  He couldn’t move and he couldn’t feel, obviously. He couldn’t see, unless seeing nothing but bck counted. He tried to listen, but there was no sound. He tried to smell, but there was no scent. And it seemed there was nothing here to taste either.

  Looked like thinking was the only way for him to entertain himself in this endless emptiness.

  Wait.

  Think? How could he think if he was already dead?

  Wait.

  How could he even tell that he was dead? Was it even possible for someone to be aware of their own death?

  But he was sure that he was dead before.

  Before?

  Could that mean... I am no longer dead now?

  If that were the case, how about... trying to open my eyes, just one more time?

  He focused, if “focus” was even a concept here, on the idea of opening his eyes. He tried to force the motion. He imagined the muscles moving, the lids lifting, and the eyeshes brushing against his skin as they parted. And then, he saw—

  Bright white.

  It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the light, and as his vision cleared, the scene in front of him slowly took shape. Old wooden beams, weathered and sagging, covered in scratches, dust, and spider webs. A ceiling.

  It looks unfamiliar to me / This looks familiar to me

  What?

  Where am I / I’m in my room

  What the hell?

  My head hurts / My head hurts

  He forced himself to sit up, then realized he had been lying on a bed. He jerked his head around, his eyes frantically scanning the surroundings.

  The room was small, with only a tiny window that barely allowed any light to get in. The walls were bare and rough, functional enough to protect the occupant from the elements, but aesthetically speaking, they made this pce look more like a cave than a human’s dwelling. Furniture was almost nonexistent. Other than the bed he was sitting on, there was nothing but an old chest of drawers.

  I’ve never been here / I’ve been living here since the day I was born

  Again? Seriously, what is going on?

  The door creaked open, and a blonde-haired young woman stepped inside. “You’re awake!” she excimed, her expression shifting from concern to relief.

  Everything was irrelevant now.

  Life and death. Light and darkness. The unfamiliar but familiar room. The conflicting voices in his head. None of it mattered anymore the moment he id eyes on her.

  “You’re alive!” he cried. His body moved on its own. He jumped out of the bed and unched himself forward, his arms wrapping around her. He pressed his face against her chest, feeling the warmth of her body, hearing the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Yes, she was alive.

  The woman hesitated for a moment, then she pced her hand on his head, her fingers gently combing through his hair. Yes, his sister had always done this. This was unmistakably her.

  “I... I miss you so much... Vera...”

  Tears kept flowing from his eyes. It was no surprise. He had thought he would never see her again. So he had killed them all, every single one of them, for taking her away from him. But now, it didn’t matter anymore, since she was back, and they would live happily—

  “Quinn, who is... Vera?”

  What?

  Who is Quinn / Quinn is my name

  He loosened his embrace, lifting his head to take another look at the person he was hugging. She was a blonde-haired woman in her twenties, yes, but she looked absolutely nothing like Vera.

  I don’t know this woman / She is my older sister

  For a moment, he wanted to strangle her, the imposter who pyed with his feelings, who dared to trick him into believing that she was actually his sister. But he could barely lift his hand. He wondered how, just minutes ago, he had found the strength to lunge at her, yet now all of that energy had been drained away. His limbs felt heavy, his body weak, and he colpsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

  “Quinn!” the woman cried, scrambling to help him to his feet. He wanted to push her away, but his body did not cooperate, so he had no choice but to let her bring him back to the bed.

  “Quinn, are you alright? Quinn, answer me!”

  Why did she keep screaming at his face like this? She was so fucking annoying. He hated her. He hated her voice. He hated her face. He hated everything about her. He wanted to yell at her, telling her to shut up.

  No.

  He calmed himself. He had no idea what was going on, but making a fuss was not going to help. She needed to shut up and fuck off, yes, but he needed to keep his manners in check.

  “I... I’m fine... Just a bit... confused...” He turned to the woman and tried his best to smile. “Could you... could you leave me alone for a while? I... I need some quiet to rest.”

  She slowly nodded. “Of course, I'll head downstairs and make some porridge for you. Just call if you need anything.” Then she grinned, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll throw in a ton of bacon, just for you.”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He heard her footsteps recede, followed by the soft click of the door closing. As soon as he was certain she was gone, he immediately snapped his eyes open. He had been seeing bck for far too long. He was done with it.

  So, what is going on?

  It seemed... he was no longer haunted by the dual voices in his head. Or rather, they had merged into one.

  “I am Quinn,” he murmured. “And I am... Viktor.”

  Apparently, he had the memories of two people in his head. That was why everything was so confusing.

  Let’s address the memories one by one. Viktor first.

  Every moment of his life was clear in his mind. The childhood he shared with his older sister, Vera, and the tragedy that followed...

  No, not this. I don’t want to remember any of it.

  After the incident, he embarked on a long journey to search for an old man known as the Watcher, who would become his master and grant him the power of Thaumaturgy. Then, he became an adventurer. He conquered countless dungeons. He accumuted more and more power, and eventually, he had his revenge.

  Yet, the story did not end there.

  He took the throne of the man he killed in the name of vengeance, and he embraced the path of hegemony. He brought the entire continent to its knees, and he carved out his own empire. Ultimately, he was sin by a group who called themselves the Six Heroes.

  I wonder what happened to Celestia after my death. Could Brandt have protected her? Took her to somewhere safe?

  He shook his head. That was something he could leave for ter. Next, Quinn’s memories.

  Well, there wasn’t much to say about it. That was the memories of a freaking twelve-year-old child, after all. His parents were dead, and he had been living with his sister, Cire, the same annoying woman he had met just now. The st thing he recalled was Quinn falling from a tree and hitting his head hard. He didn’t know what happened after that, but judging by Cire’s reaction, the boy had probably been unconscious for quite some time.

  So that’s why my head hurts. He had assumed it was a side effect of returning from death, but no, he was physically experiencing a headache.

  Returning from death?

  He recalled the strange encounter he had with that mysterious traveller—a man who walked between worlds—and how, at the end of it all, he bestowed upon him the power of reincarnation.

  So, that was how it worked? Instead of actually coming back to life, he just... randomly took over the body of a boy who fell from tree?

  Wait.

  Why was he acting as if he were Viktor? He had his memories, yes, but he also had Quinn’s. And this body belonged to the boy, meaning he was, in fact, more Quinn than Viktor. How could he be so certain that he was a Viktor with the memories of a Quinn and not the other way around?

  Well, he loved Vera while he hated Cire. So the answer to that question should be obvious, right?

  No.

  Emotion was fickle. He was not going to determine his identity based on that. There was a much more reliable way to figure out who he truly was.

  His Thaumaturgy.

  If he had been Viktor, then he would have still had it.

  So, he tried to access his power, and—

  [SYSTEM WARNING]

  ACCESS DENIEDWe regret to inform you that your access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module has been denied.After your death, your privileges have been revoked and transferred to the ones who slew you, the Six Heroes.In order to regain access to the module, you must complete a critical action.

  Action Required:Each of the Six Heroes has been granted partial access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module, along with a Key. From now on, they will be referred to as Key Holders. When a Key Holder dies, their Key and privileges will be passed on to their designated successor.In order to regain access, you will need to locate the six current Key Holders and eliminate them to extract their Key. Once all six Keys have been collected, your access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module will be fully reinstated.

  Thank you for your understanding.

  [END OF MESSAGE]

  What?

  Calm down, Viktor.

  It was just the usual weird writing style that the message preferred to use, but the true meaning was quite easy to understand. After killing him, the Six Heroes had stolen his power, and after they died, it was inherited by their selected heirs. In order to regain his power, he just needed to track down the current wielders and cast them into the oblivion he had just crawled out of.

  Good.

  He could no longer use his Thaumaturgy, but it wasn’t because he was not Viktor, but because the power had been taken away from him.

  Fine, then.

  All he had to do was get it back.

  Yes, he had to.

  No matter the price, no matter the consequences, no matter the sacrifice.

  He was going to recim it, the only thing that made him Viktor.