This is bad. Like really, really bad. 

If I were the main character in a movie or tv show, this would be the scene where I jump for joy because I got a redo in life. 

But unfortunately, reality is cruel.

My name is, or I guess was, Cain Roosevelt. Twenty-three at the time of death, my consciousness resides in the body of an eight-year-old boy who is currently shoveling horse poop into a small wooden wheelbarrow. 

I wish I could at least say I was a normal farmer like every “otherworld adventure” starts out, but it seems that God can’t even give me that much.

My “other” identity is that of Alphonse Wyman, eldest and only son of Duke Wyman’s late sister. Why was the legitimate heir to a dukedom doing the job of a lowly stable boy you ask? Well the answer to that is - 

I face planted into the pile of steaming manure, my tiny body jerking forward from the sudden strike on my back.

“Hey you little asswipe, who gave you permission to stand in the middle of the road, hah?!”

“The halfbreed’s havin’ thoughts above his station again. Looks like ‘e needs another beating!”

“Yeah, what they said!”

The three stooges responsible for my shit covered self were none other than the triplets Vordt, Gort, and Bort. They’re knights in the imperial guard and currently on my uncle’s first wife’s payroll to make my life as miserable as humanly possible.

Of course, any normal person would only be able to dish out so much abuse before feeling repulsed by their actions, but these three were special. Since I had a dead mother and an unknown father, they got some sort of sick satisfaction out of bullying a little boy with no one to stick up for him.

I was still recoiling from the blow when a leather bracer yanked me to my feet.

“Alright, you know the drill. Show me ‘em wrists!”

I trembled as I twisted my arms to the sky. The one named Vordt lifted his sword’s scabbard above his head before bringing it down with enough force to buckle my bones.

I wanted to scream, but I bit my tongue. Doing so would only make him hit harder. 

Wack, wack, wack, wack, wack!

I stayed stone faced through every strike. Don’t show them your pain, don’t give them what they want! Such thoughts played on repeat like a broken record in my mind. 

Vordt eventually paused after the first dozen strikes or so, perplexed as to why I wasn’t reacting like I normally would. Finally finding my chance, I glanced up so that our eyes met and smiled.

The knights collectively recoiled. 

“Tsk. Creepy little shit.”

“C’mon.” Gort grunted at his brothers, eyeing me like I was some sort of freak show, “the captain’ll be on our asses again unless we get back to work.”

And with that, I watched my abusers march down the dirt road and let out a sigh of relief after their backs disappeared over the hill.

Now, where was I?

I started remembering things about Cain Roosevelt two years ago.

The memories, like me being a military technician, only came in bits and pieces at first, so I didn’t really think much of them. It wasn’t until I glanced at my reflection for the first time this morning that I realized who I actually was.

In my past life, there was a hit video game rpg series called Symphonia of Steel that took the world by storm. It was a ginormous project created to, quote, “Tell an Epic spanning over fifteen entries recounting the continent of Xenorma's doom and the heroes who try to prevent it.”

I am more than likely in that game’s world. 

I know all of this is kinda sudden for the first chapter in the first volume of an autobiography, but there is a lot I need to tell you and not nearly enough time in the day to cover it all.

So all I ask is that you do three simple things:

Take a deep breath

Relax

And listen to my story

I hope you’ve been paying attention, because it's only going to get crazier from here.

***

I rubbed bruised wrists as I gazed into a pail of water. Inside, a small white haired boy stared back up at me. His obvious bewilderment mirrored what I was feeling.

When I blink, he blinks. When I move my head, he would too. Though we were undoubtedly the same person, the cognitive dissonance from the memories of my past life’s appearance made this reality a hard one to accept.

Was this what body dysphoria felt like?

I looked past the disheveled white hair falling over my face and into the set of ruby eyes glimmering on the water’s surface. 

Most people would kill to get irises as unique and vibrant as these. However, to me, they were more like a curse.

I said something was “really, really bad” earlier in the chapter, right? Well, that was in regards to who Alphonse Wyman was and the role he played in the story. At this rate, I was going to die as an antagonist in the name of character development and plot progression. 

How did I know? 

Well, other than one of the main protagonists, whose hair was black, Alphonse Wyman was the only character in the entire series with red eyes and white hair. Furthermore, his backstory was that of an abandoned duchess’ son who was abused regularly by the servants of his own house, which fit the memories of my current life to a T.

I dunked my head under the water, scrubbing my hair and face until the skin felt raw. 

Sometimes I wish that I didn’t, but I could still remember everything about that cursed night when my mother was murdered two years ago.

I was taking a nap - like any normal six year old would - when she burst into the room.

“Al?! Alphonse! Grab as many things as you can, we need to leave right now!”

I squinted, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Hm? Mummy? What’s going on?”

“Honey, listen to me, we’re going on a trip to a very far away place, so I need you to get changed quickly!”

I made a face. A trip? But it was the middle of the night!

I wanted to groan, but my mother gave me a stern look.

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“No buts! Grab a coat and the chest from behind the fireplace!”

My eyes widened. She told me never to touch that chest unless there was an emergency!

Hoofbeats thundered down the road in front of our mansion. There were a few angry shouts, but I wasn’t able to make anything out of them.

At that exact moment, a loud bang echoed from the first floor. Something had crashed through the front doors! 

My mother suddenly yanked me out of bed. She pulled on an out-of-reach sconce before cramming me inside a hidden passageway that had just opened behind the fireplace.

She cupped my face in her hands.

“You need to hide, Alphonse! No matter what you hear you cannot make a sound. I need to go, but I promise I’ll be back!”

There was a sick feeling in my stomach. Mom was going to leave me here by myself?

“Crawl through the passageway like we practiced. Once you’re outside, run as far away as you can!”

Tears pooled in her eyes.

“I know this is hard, but you need to be strong. Mummy loves you very much!”

She pulled away from me and tugged at the sconce a second time. A brick wall rose from the ground, sealing me in the dark.

“Alphonse, you must survive. Do whatever it takes to stay alive!”

That was the last time I would ever speak to my mother again.

Her shriek was accompanied by the sound of my bedroom door crashing in. 

“I found the bitch!” I heard a muffled yet gruff voice coming from the hallway. 

A small beam of orange light shone through a crack in the wall. I pressed an eye against it. On the other side was a scary looking man, his long hair greasy and face all black from dirt. 

“And what of the boy?” Asked a second voice from behind him.

The man raised the lantern in his hand before shaking his head. He turned his attention to my mother. 

“Where the fuck is ‘e?!”

“Leave him alone! He’s just a child-” 

I gasped. The man smacked her with the butt of his sword, causing her to stumble.

“I’ll give you one last chance! Where the ‘ell is Alphonse Wyman?!”

Then, my mother let out a warcry so fierce that it startled even me. She tackled the man with all her might, sending him crashing to the floor. The two wrestled as my mother swiped at his face with her nails. 

Yeah! Go get him mom!

In the midst of the struggle, the man’s bare hand somehow found its way near my mother’s mouth. Like a beast, she took the opportunity and bit down. Hard. He bellowed in rage and pain as he reached for something on his belt. 

My mother suddenly paused, her face tense. Like a marionette with its strings cut, she went limp as her body rolled to the side. In the man’s hand was a blade wet with blood.

A terrible thought entered my mind. Mom? 

Her head slowly turned towards the fireplace as her breathing shallowed. Though our eyes met, her gaze was faraway. 

Tears were flooding down my cheek. I stifled a sob. Who were these people? Why were they doing this?!

The smell of smoke shook me out of my grief. 

Crimson flames sprung up from the floorboards. The man’s lantern had shattered in the brawl and, as a result, caught the curtains of my bedroom on fire. 

“What the hell?! I turn my back on you for one minute and look what happened!”

“Fuck off! I didn’t think the bitch would lunge at me like a mad dog!”

The man - who was cradling his hand - and his companion were backing up towards the doorway, their eyes fixed on the hellfire. 

“The kid! Tell me you at least finished the job!”

“He wasn’t here, but don’t worry. With this fire and our boys watching the exits, no way in hell he’s getting out alive!”

“Better hope so, or Lady Margaret will ‘ave our heads!”

The sound of their footsteps retreated down the hallway, but not before I was able to catch a better glimpse of my mother’s murderer. 

On his surcoat was an orange halfsun - the coat of arms for the imperial family. 

The flames were now lapping at the wall separating me from my mother’s body. I wanted to curl up into a ball and die then and there, but her last words hung in my ear.

You must survive. Do whatever it takes!

I took one last long look at her corpse. It wouldn’t be long before she was completely incinerated. Tearing my gaze away from her, I dragged the chest from its hiding spot in the stone wall and scampered down the tunnel. 

When I found my way outside, I stood staring in both awe and disbelief at the carnage laying just a few yards away. There, in front of the blazing husk of my childhood home, was a pile of corpses. 

Lea, Jeffry, Hendrick, Mary, Edison…

There were some faces I recognized, and others I didn’t, but they were all servants hand picked by my mother to look after the mansion. 

For a while after, there was only the roar of the flames and my gentle sobs as I stood alone in the world for the first time that night, orphaned and homeless.

Two years later and I’ve been slowly piecing the clues together from my past life’s memories until it all made sense. 

Margaret von Bismarck. 

It was the full name of my step-aunt, relative to this country’s imperial family, and the mastermind behind my mother’s death all those moons ago.

Stripping down to my underwear, I threw my soiled clothes into a corner of my shack. Real luxurious place, let me tell ya. Don’t let the rotting wood or flea-infested haystack tell you otherwise.

Swiping dust bunnies from my super-secret hiding place under the floorboards, I dragged the chest out and plopped it down with a thunk. 

It was about one hand-width wide and twice my height across. A corner had been singed, but other than that it remained wholly intact.

Now listen closely, this next part is important.

I flipped open the lid to my family heirloom.

Inside lay a curved, one edged sword foreign to this land, and one I knew all too well: the Immortal Blade. 

It was the strongest weapon in the game. Originally, players loot it off Alphonse’s corpse after they defeat him in a one on one duel, but thinking about my imminent doom can really ruin a guy’s mood, so let's stop there for now. 

Apparently, this devil-forged katana housed the soul of a death god. Indestructible and impossibly sharp, they say it can cut through the very fabric of space itself. 

Kinda freaky, huh?

One small problem: I can’t unsheath it. No matter how hard I pulled, yanked, and begged, the damn thing refused to cooperate. Were my stats too low? Did I even have stats?

“Statscreen!” I shouted. 

My words hung in the air as an unbearable silence engulfed the room. 

Strange, I thought. That usually works in webnovels. Alright, then how about this?

“Character sheet!”

Zero, zip, zilch, nada. It was the same for stats, character stats, level up, and fuck-off-you-piece-of-shit-just-work-already. Defeated, I was forced to accept this wasn’t a lit-rpg.

Was the sword sealed with magic, then? If so, I didn’t have the foggiest idea how to use it. I’d need a teacher for that and, given my… personal circumstances, I doubt I would be getting one any time soon.

Great. What am I going to do now?

The “Legendary God Slayer” was little more than a stick in my hands. I doubt I could even use it to bash someone’s head in, let alone become the anime swordsman of my dreams. I tossed the useless thing to the side.

A book poking out of the wooden case caught my eye. Strange, I thought, that definitely wasn’t there the last time I checked. Must have been hidden beneath the silk cloth lining the bottom.

The book had a title, but I wasn’t able to read it. The letters were reminiscent of Chinese or Japanese calligraphy. It definitely wasn’t Korean since their characters tend to be more straight and blocky, but as for the other two, I wasn’t able to tell.

Oh, by the way, I took a course in east asian history a few years back in highschool. Since I didn’t know where half of me originated from, I thought taking a class in the general area of my heritage would help, but that’s a story for another time.

Flipping through, the inside was illustrated with a myriad of diagrams, each showcasing a handsome, long haired man drawn holding a sword in different poses. 

Is this a user’s manual?!

Great job, ancient ancestors! Now, I didn’t need a teacher: I could learn the art of the katana by myself.

This opened up a ton of new opportunities for me. Instead of worrying about my murder, could I train in the mountains like a sword hermit?

If so, I would be able to leave all this inter-family drama behind and live in peace for the rest of my days. But in return, I’d have to go without toilet paper. 

I dunno… even I, the most despised boy in the duchy, had access to an outhouse. 

Then again, “Sword Hermit” did sound pretty damn cool.

No, I reminded myself, running away from my problems was what got me killed in the first place. If I wanted to make it past twenty, I needed a plan. 

But how could I, an adult who failed to accomplish anything in his short life, change fate all by myself? Hell, I was just a child with the mind of a child up until yesterday. 

What if I think up a plan and it fails? This isn’t a video game anymore: failure means death. And it's not just that. I have a time limit too. 

In nine years, I am to die by one of the many main protagonist’s hands. And who's to say someone else won’t finish the job before then?

Anxiety curled in my stomach. Maybe if I wasn’t so useless, I would have found a way out of this mess by now. 

I wasn’t smart, and I wasn’t athletic. I couldn’t even apply to a vocational school to save my life. Working out? Studying? Memorization? I tried it all, yet I still ended up at the bottom of the pile. What was the point in trying now?

Countless uncertainties swirled in my head like a storm. 

Then, I thought about my mother.

I probably shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I felt helpless, fragile. 

I was an orphan in my past life, so I used to wonder what having a family felt like. But now that I was alone again, with my past memories no less, I just wish I could forget her.

A myriad of different emotions rose at the memory of her smile, one that I would never get to see again. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest. I tried to suppress it, but the more I pushed the more it dragged me down.

Were these the feelings of a fictional character, one I was forced to experience as an actor in the theater of fate?

No.

My heart was like an active volcano, its raging magma threatening to boil over. The regret, the pain, the anger - they were all very real, and very mine. 

Margaret.

The woman responsible for it all. If it wasn’t for her, my mother would still be alive. 

You, who took everything from me, I swear I will kill you, if it's the last thing I do.