“Ugh…”
Mordred grunted as he scanned the forest, an ordinary sort populated sparsely with large trees and foliage, his body leaning on one of the giant trees that reached almost 40 meters tall, above him. He is currently suffering from a brain-splitting headache as his memories blur, mumbled from his original memories and the memories of the current body’s owner mixing. Even though the number of original ones vastly outnumbered that of his new body, it took him almost an hour before the headache started to subside.
After making sense of his current situation, Mordred browsed through his now-cataloged memories. “I’ve successfully used my death-mitigation method, but whose body am I inhabiting right now?”
He inspected himself and found out that he is wearing rough hemp villager clothing which is itchy and uncomfortable to the skin. Amongst his possessions, there was a waterskin hanging on his waist. On his back, there is a large wooden basket filled with mushrooms, nuts, berries, and consumable leaves. It’s heavy, but it seems like the owner of this body was strong enough to handle at least 40 kilograms of burden on his back.
“It seems like the original owner of this body was foraging before I took over his body…” Just as he was thinking about it, he could faintly feel numb pain coming from all over his body, especially from his left chest. When he inspected the source of the pain, he was surprised at the large amount of bruises, scars, and signs of abuse beneath the hemp clothing. It’s no wonder he is feeling a bit numb and weak, the owner of this body is- or rather, was being abused. “This boy just died before I took over. His ribs must’ve punctured his lungs and pierced his own heart…”
Mordred started to rub all over his lukewarm, dead body, looking for a specific object. He only stopped after finding a tooth-sized amethystine stone found in the boy’s pocket.
It was this object that allowed Mordred to survive from Lamost’s guaranteed-kill method. After the owner of this body’s soul detached from his body, in other words: dead, Mordred’s fragmented soul was able to consume and replace the original, but the body is starting to suffer from early signs of rigor mortis.
The result is, he’s currently a quasi-undead.
“My dearest rank 6 soul-path artifact, Soul Phylactery…” He rubbed the stone with his thumb, feeling the inviolably smooth texture of the storage-type artifact he refined from almost a billion supreme-quality souls. This ‘rock’ is indistinguishable to the naked eye from any other poor-quality gemstone, but this is a precious rank 6 artifact that not only could cause wars but has if word were to spread.
The original owner of his body must’ve found it somewhere before picking it up. When he died, Mordred’s truesoul took over and the result was a successful resurrection.
“Unfortunately, it is empty at the moment. The pseudo-random teleportation during the Great Archmage’s ‘death’ depleted the reserve; I can’t recuperate my truesoul without plundering souls.” He suddenly felt bitter at that, but the feeling faded quickly; he was just Mordred now, not the Great Archmage.
Mordred placed the phylactery in his mouth and swallowed it before planning his next move. Stomach acid wouldn’t be able to melt it, and the phylactery would get stuck somewhere in his intestine.
The leftover biological energy of this body allows him to move. If his metabolism stops entirely, he will be forced to use the power of his truesoul to move this clunky, weak flesh suit. He’d rather be a ghost than a zombie, but being a ghost has significantly more demerits now since the sun is out. For the naked soul, sunlight is lethal.
“There’s some leftover bioenergy since he died very recently. I need to heal the wound and restart higher biological functions so that this body won’t fully turn into a zombie…” Mordred used his soul’s natural sensitivity to vibration to inspect the surroundings. The echoes caused by birds, insects, the creaking sound of branches rubbing against each other… all of that information is being stored and refined into a mental map of the surrounding area.
Healing a corpse would be problematic for most medics, but not for the ‘Great Archmage’ well-known for promoting refinement-path to a new height. With his current situation, there are two methods available: refining a healing potion or using a soul art to directly heal his body. Each has its advantages and disadvantages, but most importantly, both will not work without surgery.
While looking for a water source, he took some medicinal plants that he came across. The medicinal plants are mortal-level, meaning they wouldn’t work on even the weakest rank 0 cultivators, but that’s fine since the body he’s inhabiting is a mortal’s. Small mercies. Thanks to his soul’s built-in geomapping, it did not take long for him to find the sound of flowing river water. He headed there immediately, but the corpse that hosted Mordred’s soul wouldn’t be able to handle too much action.
Amongst the giant trees, there were copious amounts of small animals, but they quickly scurried about the moment they sensed Mordred’s presence. Thankfully, there were no beasts nearby. Fighting a beast, even if they are rank 0, would be impossible for the current Mordred.
“I need to quickly resurrect this body…” Mordred reached the riverbank after some effort. There were already phantom pains, he would have to begin the process soon.
Dropping the wooden basket, he started to look for some stones in the bank. Finding what he was looking for wasn’t too hard as he didn't have a high requirement. As long as its hardness is sufficient, it’ll do. It didn’t take too long before he found one the size of a man’s fist. The stone’s hardness was good enough so he started smashing it onto a bigger stone in the river with some angle. The stone splintered, becoming a sharp knife-like stone.
With this small, but sharp stone, Mordred returned to the river bank and began undressing his top. Clear of any obstruction, he laid on his back and began slicing his chest. There’s little to no blood lost in the process, even with a literal rock; the result of countless hours at an operating table, most of those being himself, unfortunately. His purpose of the operation was to determine how severe the wound on his chest was, as it was the cause of death for the original owner of this body.
“Damn it. Just as I thought, the boy’s heart was pierced by his ribs. It seems like he took a bad hit before being sent to work by mo- I mean, his mother.” Mordred shook his head. Since the heart was completely wasted at this point, he cut the veins and began using healing-type soul arts in tandem.
The healing soul arts eliminate the chance of infection due to foreign contaminants or the tools being unclean, and it also allows Mordred a greater margin of error during the operation.
After another hour or so, the operation succeeded.
The operation was done so that when he used the healing soul arts to fix the heart, his body wouldn’t be deformed. After all, soul arts are far more effective on the soul, not the body. If he used the healing soul arts with the heart still being pierced by the broken rib bone, his body structure would change permanently. He hasn’t forgotten his past experiment against a brainwash-resistant patient, breaking and mending him even as their body became permanently deformed; it was a success.
Ironically, healing methods are perhaps the best tool in a professional torturer’s kit.
Nevertheless, Mordred’s healing soul art is forceful. It accelerates the body’s metabolism and the cell's division rate to a nearly cancerous extent. In exchange for healing, it consumes one’s lifespan. However, Mordred is not too worried about the boy’s lifespan since he won’t be using this body for long.
Now that his heart had started beating, he had ‘resurrected’ the corpse from a near-death experience. Mordred now has the freedom to think about his next course of action.
‘I, not the Devil King nor the Great Archmage, but Grimsong Specter, Sovereign Magus of Holy Terra, will take back what’s mine… with interest…’ Mordred slowly browsed through his memories.
The world has been fooled. The Braves and the gods have besmirched Mordred’s reputation and branded him as an otherworldly invader to justify plundering his knowledge and seizing his True Inheritances.
Ironically, they weren’t wrong.
The ‘Great Archmage’ Mordred, the Sovereign renowned for his lightning and refinement accomplishment, was merely a cover. Mordred is truly an Otherworldly Invader who hailed from a distant, space-faring civilization. His original identity is Grimsong Specter, a Sovereign Magus of sound and soul.
‘This world’s technology and soul arts are too far behind compared to Holy Terra. I suspect the Divines are responsible for this.’ Mordred made a brief evaluation of his previous failure. ‘Despite reaching the absolute peak of rank 6, I cannot ascend into rank 7… This is either because of a special requirement that I am unaware of or there’s something that’s blocking me from ascension. Both are equally frustrating.’
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Mordred shook his head. ‘In any case, I’ve accomplished my mission as the Great Archmage, it was only a matter of time before I ditch that identity, The timing also matches with my deductions long ago, which was a few months after returning from my campaign in Purgatory World.’ Mordred could feel a shiver on his spine when he thought about it. ‘To think the karmic retaliation of the world allowed the Braves and the Divines to frame me with the most absurd but correct reason. I need to be careful so that the mission won’t be compromised.’
Just as he was thinking about the next objective of his ‘mission’, he could feel a head-splitting headache. He was, after all, trying to recall a memory that no longer existed. ‘Damn! Not only have I lost my [Indestructible Soul] trait, but a large portion of my memory has been lost.’
Mordred sat down on a rock after his headache toned down, touching his chin in ponderation. ‘I planted a contingency in the northern lands where the elves live, but to take it back, I need a rank 4 cultivation base. Then, my long-term goal should be recovering my cultivation into rank 4 before taking back my soul-path True Inheritance. After that, I can continue my mission… whatever that is.’
After waiting for some time, the headache completely disappeared. He didn’t immediately test the limits of what he could remember, however. Mordred inspected his surroundings to deduce his current location. ‘Large trees with a copious amount of grass and wild plants growing everywhere. The river water is clear, without too much sand or ice particles. At least, I did not resurrect in some barren cave without a body, that would be outrageous to deal with.’ Mordred squinted his eyes.
From the information he gathered, he did not resurrect in the eastern region of this world which was filled with sandy desert, nor the western region which was filled with ice and darkness. Nevertheless, he knew he did not resurrect in the northern region simply because humans would be enslaved by the elven races living up there. The fact that his current host is not wearing a slave collar is already proof.
Using the clear river water as a mirror, he finally sees the plain features of the boy’s face. ‘Around 155 cm tall, having black short hair and black eyes. The boy’s identity is Mino Satoru, a literal nobody from a frontier village. From the naming style and physical features of the boy, I should be in the southern region’s Hartina Kingdom.’
Mordred glanced at the basket, ‘Funny. He’s working his ass off while his mother ignored his effort. It was his mother who kicked him hard enough that it broke his chest.’
He stood up. “Alright. Satoru, for allowing me to inhabit your corpse, I’ll grant you the wish that you’ve been harboring all this time. I will slaughter your family in your stead.” Putting the basket onto his back, Mordred walked towards the village where Satoru used to live.
…
The village is not too far away, it is within one hour of walking distance from where Mordred ‘fixed’ Satoru’s body. When he reached the periphery of the village, it was already in the late afternoon. He could see a rough, hastily made wooden fence that suffered from beast attacks. It was loose enough that most small critters would be able to pass through, but large animals such as boar or sheep would have difficulties. A sparse number of torches are beginning to light up, they faintly illuminate the soon-to-be dark village.
Beyond the wooden fence, there are various wooden houses erected with practicality rather than aesthetics in mind. Some are reinforced with bricks, but most are made out of wooden materials. Living in the frontier without a true wall is hard, especially if there’s little to no cultivator guarding the village from dangerous beasts. However, it seems like this village is located in a rather safe area. The beasts that encroach upon the village’s periphery are never beyond the standard of rank 0 cultivators.
Nevertheless, pests such as goblins or other minor races like kobolds, gnolls, or others still pose a threat to the village’s livelihood. That is why strength is worshiped in this dangerous world.
‘The village is too small and too weak to defend from beast attacks. What are they going to do if there’s a beast wave?’ Mordred shook his head, suppressing his suspicion as he slowly trotted along the path towards his home. He was greeted by some old couples who seemed to know the condition of Satoru’s broken home, but Mordred merely smiled in response.
Before he could reach his home, he was blocked by a group of youths.
“Hey Satoru, you’re back!” One of the six youths that blocked his way muttered. He is a head taller than Satoru, the tallest of all the youths here. The hemp clothing that he wore might still be uncomfortable to the skin, but it was a better quality than the one that Mordred wore. On his waist, there's an old, slightly rusty sword hanging, hunting equipment that was passed down from his old man.
Mordred instantly recognizes this youth.
In this Mira village, Satoru, Mordred’s host, is considered a lowly birth.
Born from the village whore, Satoru was constantly abused and belittled. Forget education, he wasn’t even given proper parental care from his mother. Could that self-serving bitch even begin to care about an accident that feeds off “her” wealth? Well, it’s not like they’re wealthy in the first place. Asset management isn’t something that the commoner from Mira village could learn by herself.
The education level in the frontier is typically lower than middle-ages, it’s not even strange for commoners to be unable to read or write. If this were the capital of Hartina Kingdom, every commoner would receive 12 years of mandatory education, but this was as far from it as one could get.
In any case, Mordred ignored the youth’s malicious intentions. The memories of Satoru are filled with unpleasant events, such as being extorted by this shitty human. However, there’s no need for Mordred to accommodate their bullying any longer.
Mordred lifted his arms to reach for Haru’s, the youth leading the group, chest. Just as he was about to activate a soul art to simply kill him through cardiac arrest or some heart failure, there was a disturbance in one of the village’s main roads. The disturbances were so loud and averted so much attention that the youths quickly conversed amongst themselves.
“Hey, they’ve arrived! The Hunters of the Association!” One of the youths reported to Haru, unable to suppress his excitement.
“I thought they’d come a bit later. What happened?”
“Dunno, my dad said something about the Boar Beast that recently entered the village’s periphery, They must’ve taken up the chief’s request…”
“Wanna see them?”
“Yeah, sure! Haru, let’s go! If we’re too late we couldn’t see them up close!”
Haru, the youth, spared a disdainful look at Mordred. “Satoru, it’s your lucky day.” He scoffed and pushed him away powerfully enough that he’d usually fallen before leaving to join the ruckus.
With a few steps to neutralize the force, Mordred did not lose his footing. ‘Heh, I guess the world just wouldn’t allow you to die just yet. You should thank your karmic luck.’ Mordred’s gaze absentmindedly followed the youth led by Haru, rushing towards the village’s entrance in a motley band. ‘Well, then, the Hunter Association seems to possess a deep influence in this village. I wonder how long I have been declared ‘dead’? In any case, there’s no rush in killing Satoru’s mother.’
He started to trot along the path of the youths who wanted to bully him. He, too, became interested in the Hunters of the Association.
Seven young adults are being encircled by a bunch of country bumpkins, er, villagers. From a glance, the equipment that they wore seems high-tech and varied, but an expert’s eye would judge that they are geared up with practicality in mind rather than aesthetic fashion. Each is well-equipped for different roles, therefore having non-uniformed gear.
The leader, or what it seems to be, is an enchanting young girl with noticeably outstanding breasts her outfit seems practically designed to highlight. She wore a camo-pattern military outfit with some kind of metallic exoskeleton to boost physical performance. Her purple eyes and long hair are eye-catching even from afar.
On the opposite side, there is a person that Mordred could identify after searching Satoru’s memory: the village chief. He is an old man, probably in his 50s having a slightly hunched back. Well, the lifespan of villagers in the frontier is often shorter than those in the capital, so he’s considered very old. His kind exterior hides an intelligent man worthy of being the chief of this Mira village.
“I apologize, esteemed Hunters. My people lacked entertainment.” He said apologetically.
“It’s fine! We are used to this.” The girl waved her arm before nudging her teammates. “Now then, let’s introduce ourselves. Our team of eleven’s callsign is Twin Helix. The four of us are delayed due to some matters, so there’s only the seven of us right now. We’ll have to introduce them later. We’re here on behalf of the association's mission, well, several of them. We can’t disclose most of them to the general public, but one includes your request for the Rite of Passage as well as the Academy’s recruitment.”
Then, as if she had forgotten something important, she half-bowed apologetically, “Ah, where are my manners? I am the vice-captain of Twin Helix, Violet Sumire. Pleased to be your acquaintance.”
“Please, raise your head!” The village chief reveals a difficult expression in receiving the apology of a cultivator despite being one himself. “We apologize for the lack of reception. With our village’s resources…”
“It’s fine. We’re here for work, not leisure. Hunters are trained to live in the wild.” Sumire waved her arms once more, showing her nonchalant reaction to the lack of reception. “Shall we discuss the details in a more private location?”
“Yes! Please…” The village chief nodded, leading Sumire towards his house, the largest in the village. Several village elders followed suit, but some stayed behind to give accommodations to the rest of Sumire’s teammates.
“Esteemed hunters, please this way…” One of the elders led the hunters away towards their lodging.
“Old man, you’re too courteous. Just call me Sakuya…” One of the female hunters casually replied. She had blazing red hair which was tied into a ponytail. Her martial robe seemed like it was designed based on a yukata. It completely covered her body with martial-mage aesthetics rather than the military one that Sumire showcased. From a distance, Mordred could feel the thin metallic parts of an exoskeleton hidden behind the martial robe. Among other ‘aspects’, that is- not that his current body even considered such things.
While the hunters conversed with the elders and some of the villagers, Mordred could only ‘watch’ from afar.