"Hey, JD!" Charles called as soon as JD entered the inn. "I know you don't care, but I just got enough silver coins for your change from earli- JD?"

From the moment JD slammed the double doors open, sweat trickled over his face, and his mouth was agape as he caught up with his breath. Charles should've known he must've made some people mad again due to his bluntness.

"See you later, I guess," Charles whispered before turning his back to JD, who ran straight to the staircases without sparing him a glance.

As soon as JD reached his room, he carefully tapped the small plate on the doorframe with a finger. Tiny glitters encircled the plate, and then the door opened on its own.

He pushed the door behind him and aimed to pack his things immediately. If Zalden's goal had been him from the start, JD couldn't fathom why they waited three days before making a move. He shook his head, a train of thought coming to a halt. Perhaps they didn't know where he stayed and only figured it out this morning. No, it was probably last night.

JD had been traveling for the past decade since he left his longtime occupation and hometown, and he was sure he'd resolved every issue before taking off to avoid giving birth to any grudges. None of the CEO's men, including the CEO, sparked any memory from him, and none looked familiar.

If he had enough time to be in the presence of the CEO, he could've tried sensing his soul. Not one soul in this world Garnet ruled could ever remember anything of their previous lives, but with JD's strange affinity to sense, he might've picked up something. This CEO and himself might've had history decades or centuries before their souls inhabited their new bodies and lives.

But if that were the case, it'd mean they had an unfinished business, and this man's soul had remembered it all. And that was impossible.

JD smacked his suitcase shut and cupped his head. "How did you even find me?"

He didn't use a codename back in the day, only changed one part of his name at some point, but with the abundance of people named 'John,' it should've been nearly impossible for this man to have tracked him down.

"Maybe he's mistaking me for someone else?" JD mumbled, but he immediately threw that thought straight out the window.

JD grabbed the bottle of vodka he had wrapped safely and untied the rope effortlessly. He snatched a shot glass on the desk by the bay windows and immediately took a shot.

Whether that soul was right about him wasn't the problem. If that soul truly recalled their memories and aimed to capture him for something related to the past, it'd mean their soul didn't house humans but gods. Just like Garnet.

Or at least, that was what people from the city JD was from often said. It had been ingrained in his beliefs. But even so, it wasn't a matter of simply accepting that as the reality right in front of him. JD had no idea what Zalden would do to him once they recovered him, so it had to be now. He had to leave now.

The medieval-styled homes in Abarly exceeded past the exterior and had been implemented in the interior design. JD adored it: the stone and wooden furniture, the whitewashed walls with wood strips, the floorboards and beams up the thatched ceilings, the bay windows, the patterns of the bedsheets and the couch, the warm color scheme—everything.

More than anything, something about the town of Abarly since JD first arrived drew him in. Much like a lost lamb searching for its shepherd, it finally found a place that felt like it was with its shepherd—home.

It had only been less than a month, but JD had already gotten used to how boisterous and bibulous beyond saving the townspeople were. Ironically, no alcohol for a day might've killed them instead of the other way around. Lovely people, they were, but only when they were sober. Otherwise, JD learned it'd be best to stray far from them.

Standing by the door of his rented room with two suitcases in his hands, he took a deep breath. He would miss the people, but above all, the mere thought of leaving triggered two lone strings desperately clinging to his soul. A sense of morality for the people of Abarly and an unknown origin of familiarity comforting the emptiness in his soul.

His soul, like a lamb, insisted on staying as if it would find its long-lost shepherd here.

Whether he left the town alone, Zalden might not stop with their mind control. The people were the hostages here, along with his own soul and the empty seat beside it. If he left now, this might transform into a nightmare, but if he didn't, he'd have to face Zalden, then they'd overwhelm him with their numbers and inborn magic. And what comes next, no one knew.

By the time JD made his decision, it was already late afternoon, and the bottle was empty. The water in the bathroom splashed on his face and almost instantly knocked him out of a drunken state, but his head still felt light, and his steps wobbled. After a few seconds, he sighed and walked down the hallways with large, slightly unsteady steps, his fingers fidgeting at their hold on his luggage and eyes trembling to stay open.

Once he reached the final step before turning towards the main floor, the orange light from the opened bay windows and pure white lanterns around the place struck together across the room, warming the atmosphere against the rowdy cheers.

A heavy thud resounded from the bar, catching Charles' attention. When he turned to check, his eyes shot wide, gaze tracing from JD's state to the luggage he dropped near the stools back and forth.

"You're... leaving?" Charles went to grab a glass of water. "I thought you said you'll be staying for another month or so."

JD drank the water slowly, closing his eyes and feeling the dizziness and second thoughts go down the drain. Once done, he placed it on the counter and bent down to grab his luggage.

"Thanks." JD stared at the empty glass for a few seconds before glancing at Charles' confused and worried expression. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll send digital coins to Ellis. I do have their number."

"JD..."

"See you."

Charles stood still as JD turned his back and reached the main doors. With one last sigh, he tended to the newly arrived customers asking for beer. Just as he turned around to prepare them, the lively atmosphere dropped. With Charles' inborn talent to see through people's intentions when they use or were preparing to use magic, his eyes grew big, and the raw, malicious intent of someone far from him kicked into his senses.

"Where do you think you're going, Sir St. Michael?" A man in a black suit with a scar on his knuckles questioned as soon as two other men pushed the double doors open.

JD's grip on his luggage tightened as he forced a smile. "Somewhere. I'm a wanderer, after all." When JD tried to step to the side, the man with the scars sidestepped. "Do you have any business with me?"

"As a matter of fact, we do, actually." He cracked his knuckles, earning murmurs from the inn. "I'll need you to cooperate with us."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," JD said in a low voice, eyes squinting.

"Well then," the man smirked and shouted, "we're here to give everyone free elixirs to commemorate the beginning of this inn's long-term business with Zalden!"

"What?"

The man looked past JD with a big smile. "It's not just any elixir; it's the latest edition!"

"Could it be? The rumored elixir in production...!" One woman gasped, taking the attention of the rest.

Another man with a fork in hand stood up. "You don't mean...."

"That's right, fellas!" The man with the scars gestured to the other men on his sides. "The elixir mixed with liquor flavors!"

The quietened and stupefied alcoholic townspeople suddenly roared and hastily got up from their seats. The two other men on the side brought in vials with basic telekinetic magic, yelling 'first come, first serve,' that only got the people tripping and pushing the one's ahead of them away.

"What do you think?" The man's voice toned to a whisper, and his smirk deepened at JD's paled, horrified face and wide, panic-stricken eyes. "Just imagine what the boss would do once they get a taste of this new formula?"

"You..." JD's voice trembled, and so did his grip on his suitcases. His knuckles practically turned white, and blood sparked from his pupils.

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The man shrugged with a smug grin. "Sure, go ahead and leave now. After all, it's not like a traveler who's seen almost everything would care about a pile of alcoholics, eh, Sir St. Michael?"

A shadow cast over JD's face, and all the trembling reached his fists, his nerves unsure what message he wanted to send to his fingers: let go and strike, or keep hold and forget.

"Or are you not as cold-hearted as you thought you were? How sweet." The man clasped his fingers together, gasping in fake awe. "You actually don't want anything to happen to them, do you?"

"What do you want?" JD mumbled against his gritted teeth.

"Unfortunately, this new formula requires the liquid to enter the system." The man placed a finger below his chin. "Maybe it's the fermentation that's ruining the effectiveness of the boss' magic? What do you think, boys?"

"Talk," JD spoke again, glaring. "What does Zalden want from me?"

"Hmm, well..."

"JD!"

JD turned around quickly, and the terror that rushed to his mind failed to keep his sweaty fingers from letting go of his luggage. A man with dirty-blonde hair had a somewhat unusual expression as if he'd seen something so exciting and was eager to share it with someone. And he had a half-empty vial in one hand.

"Charles-"

"Here!" Charles shoved a vial of elixir between them. "I got one for you, too! It's vodka-flavored! Just your style!"

A barrage of questions smacked JD face-flat, failing to grasp what he did that led to this very moment. Not a single cell in his brain worked to find a solution that could lead him out of this situation without feeling the sense of morality clutching his soul. The logical thing to do didn't sit right with him, but the first thing he didn't want to happen upon gazing at his friend about to empty his vial took over his mind and body.

He jumped close and caught a grip on the vial, pulling it away from Charles, whose hold tightened and face thwarted to one of blind anger.

"What do you think you're doing, JD?" He yelled.

JD yelled back, "Don't!"

"Why?"

"You can't!"

"It's just like any normal alcohol!"

"No, it's not!"

"It's not that different!"

"It is!"

"How?"

"It's poisoned!"

"Huh?"

"All of them are poisoned!"

Charles stopped struggling but still kept a good grip on the vial. JD's mouth left agape after a short silence in the entire inn.

"Poisoned?" Multiple people muttered, including Charles.

JD gritted his teeth and pushed his stubborn thoughts, disagreeing with what he said away, focusing his brown eyes only on Charles' perplexed, hazel ones.

"Aye," JD said in a low, quivering voice, but plenty of other people nearby heard him due to the distorted silence. "Zalden is using an inborn magic to control the minds of anyone who drank their elixir."

The confusion on Charles' face only deepened, prompting JD to speak faster.

"Charles, your passive magic! Your inborn magic! You can feel it, don't you?" His grip on the vial tightened, and the strength was something Charles couldn't match. "From somewhere within these elixirs around us—this one we're holding—you can sense a malicious usage of magic, right?"

Charles' head lowered like a puppet, and for a moment, JD believed he had gotten through his friend. He ignored the scoffs from Zalden's men behind him and the disbelief in the gasps of familiar faces around them.

"How..." Charles started, then he raised his head, his face twisted and eyes glinted with hatred. His deep voice rang in JD's ears. "How dare you accuse Zalden of such a thing?"

"Shit."

A snicker from behind made JD turn his head swiftly. The scarred man from before had a massive grin as a flare came from his eyes.

An inborn talent. That was the only answer to the unique concept of a red dot like that of a camera gazing at JD from the man's pupils.

With the CEO using his men to watch this scene live, he could control everyone in real-time. Although JD could easily best Charles or anyone here, in terms of strength alone, these people could start using basic magic practices and their unique inborn talents.

The man with the camera-like inborn magic hummed in amusement. He yanked JD away from Charles' hold and into the arms of the people. The mind-controlled townspeople detained JD's arms and legs with their tight clasps, trapping him in a position where he couldn't escape even if he tried. There were too many of them.

JD shut his eyes as tightly as he clenched his jaw and fists. As if blocking his sight and suppressing their blows could diminish the accusatory voices of those he no longer recognized, trampling on his sense of hearing. As if it could lessen the sting of fingernails digging into his skin, grips twisting his limbs, and the strikes on his face and upper body.

That one waitress would never yell at someone so insultingly, the band of hunters would never point their weapons at humans, the group of seniors would never have the strength to clutch to him to the point of drawing blood, and Charles would never punch him in the gut.

"As much as I enjoy watching the misery play its music in your existence, I think it's time to put you down once and for all." The scarred man said as he walked close amidst the continuous shouting of the people around them, pushing the ones hurting JD to the side to give him space. He snatched the cork of the vial in his hands to the air and held JD's neck with one hand.

JD's eyes opened wide at the sudden shortness of breath. The man's hold on his neck wasn't life-threatening, but it was enough to force his mouth agape in desperation for air.

"Farewell, Sir St. Michael. You failed to protect yourself and everyone." The man tilted his hold, forcing JD to cock his head upward.

A meaningless struggle. JD accepted that, but something loud and powerful stroked the core of his soul—the refusal to give in despite the obvious conclusion of his poor and rusted observation and decision-making.

The liquid poured into his mouth had no taste, but his tongue revolted against it nonetheless. Streaks of the elixir slid on the corner of his lips as his throat failed to push it all back. The man released his neck, and he gulped it all down.

Silence and JD's heavy breathing befell the place, and the man's grin turned upside down. No one said or did anything. Everyone just waited for something to happen.

JD looked up as if nothing's changed.

"What...?" The man choked.

"Hah, some mind-controlling magic, that is." JD scoffed, but he didn't move—couldn't.

"Why didn't it work?" The man gazed at the other members of Zalden, who all watched in shock as the people carried JD outside the inn. "Hey! Where are you guys taking him?"

Undoubtedly, the CEO still had control over their minds. Their movements were awkward, and their expressions were blank like dolls. One of them took both of JD's luggage and followed the crowd that carried him outside.

JD's head felt light, but ultimately, he and Zalden's men were left bewildered by what the CEO was trying to do. After gazing at the evening falling deeper into the dark as the people carried him over somewhere, JD felt his muscles sore. They threw him to the ground, and two other heavy objects toppled over him before he could stand.

One of them pointed at him when JD finally gathered himself to sit up and observe the unexpected conclusion. He was right outside the gates of Abarly.

"Earl Felton..." JD mumbled.

"Leave." The mayor of Abarly, Felton, exhibited no emotion. "Leave. And don't ever come back." The gates closed right after.

"..What?"

"What was that?" A messy, brown-haired guy snapped as he and his coworkers settled at a table at the inn. "Brandon, have you contacted the boss yet? I don't remember that being part of the operation."

People earlier had returned to the inn and acted as if nothing had happened. When Brandon, the man with the scars on his knuckles, met the innkeeper, they thanked Zalden for the free elixirs. But the part about JD was rewritten in their memories. Even the bartender, Charles, only remembered seeing JD leave the inn without saying a word to him.

"To be fair," the guy with a fake mustache just returned from ordering bottles of rum, "the boss didn't really specify how he wanted this to end. Here's your glass, Jack." He sat down beside Brandon.

Jack, the messy-haired one, wrinkled his nose and opened one bottle. He poured for all of them but waited for Brandon to say something before drinking.

Brandon sighed sharply upon his call being left unanswered. He pocketed his phone and shook his head.

"We'll figure it out once we return to the enterprise anyway," Sem said, slowly taking his fake mustache off to avoid soaking it with liquor.

"It's still BS." Jack drank his glass in one go. "I swear, the boss acts so weird sometimes. You just can't tell what he really wants to do. And what's up with that flavorless elixir? Wasn't that supposed to be the strongest one so far? It didn't affect St. Michael one bit!"

"He could be immune to it somehow."

"That's crazy. Only Garnet and the souls of gods are immune to mind control."

Sem shrugged. "Eh, maybe the boss' inborn magic just reached its limits tonight."

"Right, of course. Every inborn magic has its limits." Jack answered, nodding. He looked at Brandon, "What do you think, Brandon?"

Brandon sipped on his glass, and without looking, he replied, "I think there's a reason for it." He put his glass down and met Jack's gaze. "He's made it clear since day one that he wants to get his hands on a certain soul."

"John St. Michael."

"That's right, Sem." Brandon clasped his fingers together on the table. "I remember everyone talking about it. We all had our doubts."

"Duh," Jack rolled his eyes. "His reasoning that he just knows he's the one he was looking for all these years feels shallow and random as hell."

Sem nodded in Jack's direction. "I agree."

"I thought so, too, at first. But, according to what I heard from the executives, the boss felt an instant reaction from his soul when we first came to Abarly. In the end, none of us can really tell what's on the boss' mind."

Minimalistic, plain, clean, and blank. Everywhere the short man looked in his room before he slept, it was the same design and pattern—if one could even refer to a minimalistic design as one with a pattern. One lousy spill on the pure, solid white paint would forever stain the walls. No matter how much he'd order his employees to cover it up, the blood he spilled won't ever leave him behind.

Even until his next lives.

"Sire!"

A doctor and a pair of nurses rushed to the man moving around his bed, kicking his blankets, throwing clutching hard on his pillows, and screaming in pain.

"Quick, we have to wake him up!"

The nurses pinned him to the bed while the doctor inhaled and focused his inborn magic on the target. Eventually, the man's struggle and cries stopped. He opened his eyes; tears stained his vision, and sweat soaked his pajamas.

"Piolo?" He mumbled.

The doctor nodded and smiled warmly. "Yes, it's me, sire. You're fine now."

The man heaved and allowed the nurses to wipe his tears and sweat. They helped him sit up while he stared at his hands. The dim, white light from the lampshade on the side was enough to show him his hands were empty.

But the more he blinked, the more flashes of fresh blood dripped from his hands and clothes. With a firm clench to stop his shaking hands, he inhaled deeply, and yet another tear fell from the corner of his eye.

When believers of Garnet said it was impossible to recall a soul's memories even with forbidden magic, everyone believed it. And if one was ever to truly uncover their soul's memories from their past lives, everyone said it'd be the best blessing from Garnet.

But it was more like a curse. Especially when the things he did before he drew his last breath were his first childhood memories in this new body. Knowing what he had to do to eliminate the darkness that seeped into his soul even after centuries since its previous life, he aimed to do just that until recently.

Since setting foot in Abarly, nightmares started haunting him whenever he fell unconscious. And upon gazing at a particular man during his stroll, his soul went wild with panic, fear, excitement, remorse, and malice.

The nightmares got worse.