Hevel awoke in a field of grass. He was back in the past. How many times has it been, trying again and again? An infinite Samsara, perhaps a punishment for his arrogance against the gods, to try and conquer fate. The cycles did not matter, nothing mattered. No one was keeping the scores and he had more time than anyone else.

After entering the city, he walked a familiar path, a path well-trodden. Hevel began remembering the hundreds of spells he learnt. Normally, the max number of spells remembered by a person is limited at 112, however through the exploitation of the time reset, he was able to break through from hundreds of years of experience. Every cycle, his memories and experiences made him stronger. It was an inevitability that this beast would be unleashed upon the real world someday.

.....

"So Dr.■■■, what is your opinion on murder?"

"M-murder?"

"Yes, of people"

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Uhh... I suppose it's bad. It's possibly one of the most immoral acts a human can commit"

"I agree. Thank you for your controversial opinion Dr.■■■"

"Controversial...? Also, you do know that I'm a urologist, right? I thought this was a medical podcast?"

"Death is medical, doctor"

.....

The hero was now riding a carriage with the prince as a mere criminal. The wind blew low, whistling the tunes of a murderous horse. The persona of an assassin, tasked with the murder of the princess. There was a recent struggle over the inheritance between the two siblings due to the king's deteriorating health and cognitive abilities. A corpse to be buried was a cake to be eaten.

Hevel was able to convince the prince that murder was the only way.

"The fate of the kingdom can only be ensured by soaking your hands in blood. If all lives are equal, does that not make the lives of the slaves equal to the lives of the royals? If that is so, you have already killed hundreds of slaves, what is one more?"

.....

Every single conscious being - even those unconscious are like the hands of a clock. They tread a pre-destined path, and when they stop, that means they are dead.

What good is a clock that does not move the same path every day?

What would you do with such a clock?

That is why I am grateful that all my clocks work well. For I do not ponder such questions.