Solus Village, the site of a horrific massacre, lay in ruin. A group of armed men had been spotted inside the village, surveying the aftermath.

“What is happening here!?” A man with white hair and a scar over his right eye exclaimed, alarmed by the scene before him.

Those who saw the devastation wore expressions of shock and horror, murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“What an awful sight.”

“Which madman could have done this?”

“May God protect us from such evil.”

Before them stood a pile of cremated remains, the acrid stench filling the air. Those who approached instinctively covered their noses, recoiling from the smell.

“Commander Stein!” A soldier ran up, his face a mixture of anger and grief. He clenched his fists so tightly that blood dripped from his palms. “I’ve confirmed there are no survivors. Everyone was killed—none were spared, not even the children.”

Stein’s expression darkened, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Who do you think did this?”

“From the looks of it, I believe the village was raided by bandits,” the soldier replied, though his tone wavered with uncertainty.

“I think differently,” Stein said, his tone cold and unyielding, sending a chill through those who heard him. “Do you think bandits would go to the trouble of cremating all the corpses?”

Stein turned to his men and barked an order: “Search the area. Leave no stone unturned!”

Meanwhile, deep within the forest, a loud bellow shattered the silence, sending birds flapping in frantic flight. The sound was powerful, almost monstrous, as if it came from a creature of unimaginable size. But in truth, it was the cry of a human—a man.

Ragnar, the sole survivor of the Solus massacre, knelt in the shadows, clutching his head tightly. His glossy black hair clung to his sweat-soaked face, twisted in agony. His skin, once pale, darkened to a reddish hue as veins swelled across his body, threatening to burst.

“Arghhhh!” Ragnar screamed, the pain consuming him. His body convulsed as if it might tear itself apart.

From the darkness, a figure emerged—a man in a pristine suit, his expression alight with cruel glee. The stranger stopped a few feet away, finding a nearby log to sit on. He crossed his legs, watching the scene with an air of satisfaction.

“What a masterpiece!” the stranger said, his voice dripping with delight. “It seems I chose the perfect candidate.”

As moments passed, the pain subsided. The veins that had threatened to burst receded, and Ragnar’s skin gradually returned to its original pale hue. His ragged breaths evened out as he lay on the ground, weak and trembling.

When he finally regained some awareness, he noticed the stranger sitting on the log, watching him with a sinister smile. Ragnar tried to stand, but his body betrayed him, shaking uncontrollably and refusing to obey.

“Wh—who are you!?” Ragnar managed to croak, his voice weak but tinged with fear.

The stranger grinned wider. “Ah, how rude of me. Nice to meet you. I’m Memphisto—the man who decided to grant you a second chance at life.”

“What have you done to me?” Ragnar asked, his voice trembling. “No... What have I become?”

Memphisto tilted his head, as if pondering the question. “Hmm... Something not quite human,” he replied, his sinister smile stretching unnaturally wide.

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A wave of dread washed over Ragnar as he stared at Memphisto’s inhuman grin. The fear he felt was undeniable. For the first time, he was certain—this man before him was no ordinary being.

“Why did you save me? What do you gain from it?” Ragnar asked, his voice filled with confusion. Since the moment he had been given a second chance at life, one question had haunted him: Why had he been chosen? What could this stranger possibly gain from it?

Memphisto smirked, his eyes gleaming with malice. “What else would I want from a mere human? Entertainment!” He spread his arms wide, laughing maniacally. “In fact, I’ve granted you more than you can even comprehend—a power to become this world’s hero. So, you’d better entertain me, human!”

“H-hero?” Ragnar stammered, his voice trembling.

“Yes! A hero!” Memphisto’s grin widened unnaturally, his expression dripping with sinister glee. “This world is so dull, so utterly lackluster in every aspect. I’ve grown tired of it. So, I gave them a hero—a savior to bring salvation and stir things up.”

The unsettling way Memphisto spoke and the malicious glint in his eyes sent a shiver down Ragnar’s spine. There was something deeply wrong about everything he said, something that hinted at a far darker purpose behind his actions.

“Tsk!” Memphisto clicked his tongue in disdain as he glanced at the sky. “My time is up. I’ll see you again, human. Until then, be well and enjoy your time. I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ll achieve... Will you bring salvation or chaos?”

As he spoke, dark ash began to swirl around him, enveloping his figure. With a sinister laugh echoing through the air, he vanished, leaving only the chilling sound of his amusement behind.

Given a second chance... bring salvation? As if someone like me could bring salvation to this dark world. Mercy isn’t meant for a common man like me—a man whose beloved wife and child, with futures full of promise, were cruelly taken away. Fate decided to mock me by stripping me of everything I held dear.

Salvation or chaos? They can both go to hell. My eyes burn with my own blood as I relive the moment my family was slaughtered by those filthy wretches. My body feels ablaze. Ah, I know why—because my entire being is consumed by fire, fueled by my hatred.

This world doesn’t need a hero. What it needs is a judge. People tend to forget: blood must be paid with blood. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A fair price must always be paid.

Let my wrath be unleashed upon this world. Let my fury burn it all to ash! Let the chaos I bring become this world’s salvation!

Ragnar’s bellow reverberated through the forest, shaking the very air. It was a sign—a new harbinger had been born. The world had chosen its champion.

Ragnar rose to his feet, his glossy black hair shifting to a fiery crimson red, his eyes following suit with the same vivid hue. A dark, shadowy color crept over his arms, spreading from his fingertips to his elbows.

Across his body, glowing reddish tattoos began to emerge, snaking their way up his skin until they reached his neck. The fiery red then cooled, fading into the same dark shade as his hands, leaving an ominous pattern etched upon him.

"Am I wrong for being born weak? No! That is not my fault—it’s the fault of those who misuse their strength. I’ve had enough of this! Let the carnage begin, and let me use the power given to me to cleanse this world!"

From behind the tree a monster with a green skin, with two fangs potruding from its mouth, while resting a wooden clubs at his shoulder. That monster were called ogre, a common monster that exist that can be find in most of the forest in Perditus continent.

When the ogre saw Ragnar, he could sense some kind of ominous feeling emit from him as the ogre froze on the spot, trembling.

When I saw the monster with green skin appear before me, I could feel it, my blood were boiling. I don't know what to call this feeling. I walked toward the monster slowly, if it was me from before, I don't think I have the gut to approach the monster, but now I believe I'm more than capable of doing that.

As I stand in front of this monster, i realise that I looked at him at the eyes level, when did I become taller, did what happen to me before have change me entirely. Putting that thought behind my head, I clenched my right fist tightly, I could felt my vein popping. Without further ado I swing my fist directly to his face, then the monster were send flying to the nearest tree, crashing into its.

But somehow, i don't felt satisfied with that. I head to the monster from the look of it I can see it was already dead just by a single blow. As I felt my rage were rising, I send one single blow toward the dead monster, then green blood sputtering everywhere as it even enter my eyes but I didn’t even flinch, as the ground were also crushed along with the head, dust spread. Seing the aftermath I contain my anger then leave deeper to the forest.

Somewhere, in a realm painted in shades of crimson and ash, the air reeked of sulfur, as if flames had consumed everything in their path. A man with horns resembling a twisted crown stood in the midst of the chaos, his sharp white teeth gleaming as he smiled.

“Magnificent,” Memphisto muttered, his voice laced with awe. “To think he realized it on his own. Beautiful! One of the seven sins, born from an inferior species.”

He laughed boisterously, the sound echoing like thunder. “Not only has he become the embodiment of Wrath itself, but he has also retained his sanity! Do you know what that means? It means only one thing—he is the perfect vessel!”