As he gazed down at his scribbled words etched into the dirt, a whirlwind of thoughts stormed through his mind. How was it possible for him to write in English? Before, he couldn't even recall the name of this language, and now he found himself effortlessly stringing together coherent sentences. It defied all reason and veered into the realm of incredulity.

'Are my forgotten memories resurfacing now that the system is gone?' he pondered, his uncertainty casting a shadow over his thoughts.

He attempted to summon other lost fragments from the recesses of his mind—the memory of his own name, among other fundamental details. Yet, to his dismay, nothing emerged from the depths of oblivion. And even if a flicker of remembrance occurred, distinguishing whether it was a newfound recollection or a long-held knowledge proved an insurmountable task.

But he couldn't dwell on this enigma for long, aware that he had a pressing matter at hand—the deciphering of the text upon that piece of...

"Hold on a minute! I completely forgot to bring that wooden piece. How could I overlook something so incredibly important?" he exclaimed, a sense of urgency gripping him as he sprinted towards the spot where he had concealed the piece of wood.

In his journey towards that location, an unsettling realization washed over him. Even with the system seemingly gone, its lingering influence still managed to infiltrate his thoughts. It became evident that he could never have overlooked something as vital as that wooden plank on his own accord.

'If the system doesn't want me to read it, does that mean it was the system's doing—the destruction in Greenfield Village?' he contemplated, the truth eluding him. Uncertainty clouded his mind, for if the system had the power to sway his thoughts, it could have easily manipulated him into avoiding the village altogether, preventing the discovery of that piece of wood.

A peculiar idea started to form in his mind—an ongoing battle was taking place between two forces competing to gain control over him.

This notion wasn't entirely baseless; there was a glimmer of logic to it. Reflecting upon past events, such as the encounter with the wolf upon his arrival in this world, he couldn't help but surmise that the system orchestrated the attack, perhaps as a catalyst for the other force to intercede, to expend its power in saving him or redirecting it in some manner.

More significantly, it would also account for the countless instances where the system refrained from directly influencing him, instead opting to place him in precarious and unfavorable circumstances. A tapestry of similar occurrences began to align with this unsettling hypothesis.

Two factions waged a battle for supremacy over his besieged mind, each possessing finite resources, their motives concealed in the murky depths of uncertainty. This was the conclusion he arrived at, yet whether it held any semblance of truth remained uncertain. Moreover, he knew not what course of action to undertake in response to this revelation. Nevertheless, he clung to a modicum of satisfaction in his ability to discern the semblance of what unfolded around him.

"Regardless, I should only focus on the things that I can control and not waste my time on things that I cannot currently change," he reaffirmed his determination.

As he arrived at the designated spot, his eyes darted around, searching for the hidden wooden piece. With a swift motion, he retrieved it from its concealed spot and held it in his hands. His gaze fell upon the inscription, urging him to decipher its message.

"Human," the first word was crystal clear, but the second word posed a challenge, shrouded in obscurity.

"Emp...."

"Emperor?"

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The utterance of the word "Human Emperor" stirred a wave of nostalgia within him, enveloping his senses. It felt eerily familiar, surpassing any other knowledge he possessed. Yet, the reason behind this profound familiarity eluded him.

Suddenly, the wooden piece emanated a radiant golden glow. Startled, he hesitated but didn't release his grip, sensing no malicious intent. Instead, the light emitted a warmth akin to that of a loyal friend, a cherished family member, or a battle-hardened comrade who had shared countless trials and triumphs.

However, the brightness intensified, surpassing the illumination of day, forcing Lucifer to shield his eyes. Eventually, overwhelmed by the radiance, he closed his eyes, unable to withstand it any longer.

When he reopened his eyes, he felt a profound loss as the wooden piece slipped from his grasp. It seemed as if something deeply cherished had been ripped away, leaving an emptiness in its wake. Urgently, he scanned his surroundings.

To his astonishment, floating directly before him was a katana—a seemingly ordinary sword with visible signs of rust and fragility. Had it not been for the blinding light and its current mid-air suspension, Lucifer would have dismissed it as a subpar weapon.

As he reached out to take hold of the katana, it abruptly moved, positioning itself above his head. In one swift motion, it cleaved through an object suspended just above him, causing him to startle and glance upward. There, he noticed four strings tied to his head, one of which had been severed by the katana, while the others stretched towards the heavens.

Shock coursed through his veins as he comprehended the significance of those strings. But before he could react, the sword struck again, cleanly severing another string. The power behind these objects surpassed his current comprehension, leaving him in awe.

Once more, the sword swung, eliminating yet another string until only one remained. Without hesitation, the blade made its final strike toward the last remaining thread. Unexpectedly, cracks spiderwebbed across the sword upon contact, yet it relentlessly pursued its target, disregarding its own deterioration.

Witnessing this spectacle, a maelstrom of sadness and anger swirled within Lucifer, a tempest of emotions he couldn't rationalize. And from the depths of his being, a single word escaped his trembling lips. "Stop."

In defiance of his expectations, the sword obediently halted, its reluctance palpable. It descended and fell before his feet, while the remaining string faded from sight. Gazing upon the motionless weapon, Lucifer's emotions became a muddled mess, comprehension eluding him entirely.

He had anticipated a message from his fellow transmigrators inscribed on the wooden piece, yet the unfolding events had exceeded all expectations. Perplexed, he tried to make sense of the inexplicable occurrence.

Just then, the distant sounds of approaching people reached his ears. Reacting swiftly, he retrieved the sword and stealthily made his way toward the Dragon Crest Sect, utilizing his Ghost Transformation Skill.

However, just after covering some distance, the world around him started to blur. A throbbing pain surged through his temples, threatening to split his skull in two. Desperate for relief, he staggered towards the comforting shelter of a nearby tree, its branches reaching out like protective arms. Collapsing beneath its leafy canopy, he sought solace from the torment assaulting his senses.

Amidst his agony, a torrent of fragmented memories flooded his mind, washing away the boundaries of his present existence. They surged forward, revealing glimpses of his former life—his name, his identity, the faces of loved ones, and the echoes of his past endeavors. Although his head throbbed relentlessly, a faint smile graced his lips as these recollections resurfaced.

With each passing moment, the deluge of memories intensified, carrying him back to the moment of his arrival in this world. However, to his astonishment, he witnessed himself being struck by a colossal truck, his consciousness abruptly vanishing into an inky abyss.

Above him, a taut string materialized, ascending towards the heavens, as if barring any further influx of memories. His grip tightened on the sword in his hand, attempting to command it into motion once more. However, it remained motionless, anchored to the ground, its power elusive and out of reach. A flicker of defiance sparked within him—Lucifer contemplated wielding the sword to sever the restraining string. But before he could act upon the thought, the string dissolved into nothingness, impeding any fresh memories from entering his overwhelmed mind.

Gasping for breath, he struggled to regain his composure, endeavoring to sift through the maelstrom of thoughts now residing within him. Desperately, he sought any remnant of memory following the truck's impact, but it was an empty void. His search led him to the perplexing realization that there were two disparate recollections preceding his transmigration—a version where he simply slept and awakened in this world, and another where the truck had collided with him.

The anguish in his head intensified, driving him to his feet with a renewed urgency. He stumbled upon a concealed spot, a secret refuge, where he promptly succumbed to the unyielding pull of unconsciousness.