A young man named Grent Prywell trudged toward his new workplace, his boots crunching against the gravel path. He had taken on countless jobs across the Kingdom of Grendall, yet no matter how many cities he passed through, he never felt at home in them. The capital, Tyllberg, made him uneasy the moment he set foot inside its walls.
But his workplace was nowhere near the bustling city streets, nor did it reside within any village or settlement. It lays deep within the Medyn Forest, far to the south. He was an Adventurer—----one who found solace in the untamed wilds rather than the structured order of civilization. Yet, even among his fellow adventurers, he was seen as an anomaly.
As he approached the dense tree line, his mind focused on his upcoming trial—the infamous Wall of Medyn. A stationary yet relentless entity, the living wall stretched across the forest’s inner perimeter, its surface impervious to all but the most powerful assaults. Any attack below a certain threshold would be reflected back at the aggressor. Rumors whispered of priceless artifacts hidden within, guarded by an ancient civilization long thought to be lost.
Historians, treasure hoarders, even the kingdom itself sought the mysteries beyond the wall. Adventurers like Grent were drawn to it, not by scholarly curiosity, but by the promise of immense wealth. If he could breach the wall, he would become a legend.
With a firm grip on his sword, he prepared to test the wall’s limits. He had braced himself for pain, for the force of his own attack to rebound against him. But the moment his blade touched the wall, a searing shock consumed him. His vision went black. His body collapsed.
When the healers examined Grent’s lifeless form, they pronounced him dead. Yet, within his unmoving body, he could still hear, still feel. His consciousness drifted, untethered, as if lost in limbo.
The saints, in their mercy, sought to guide his soul into the afterlife. But the overlords of the Multiverse had other plans.
In another world, another version of Grent existed. And so, his soul was drawn from the void, merging with his alternate self. He awoke in a lavish chamber, his head throbbing with confusion.
The scent of polished wood and fresh linens filled his senses. His fingers ran over silk sheets before he pushed himself upright. His surroundings were unfamiliar—elegant furniture, intricate tapestries, and a golden chandelier casting a warm glow over the room.
The door creaked open, and a woman in a pristine maid’s uniform stepped inside.
“You’ve finally woken, my lord,” she said, her tone even and composed.
Grent blinked at her, his mind struggling to piece together what had happened. “Where am I? Why am I here? Who are you?”
“You are in the residence of House Prywell,” the maid replied without hesitation. “You are the master of this estate and the territory granted to you by the Kingdom of Grendall. I am your faithful servant.”
Grent’s breath hitched. His last memory was of the Wall of Medyn—of striking it, of dying. He clenched his fists. “The Wall of Medyn… has it been defeated?”
The maid’s expression did not falter. “I am unfamiliar with anything by that name, my lord.”
A chill ran down his spine. Had it all been a dream? Or had he truly crossed into another life?
Dressing himself, he ventured to his balcony, where a breathtaking view stretched before him. Vast plains split by a winding, shallow river. Distant forests looming beyond the western horizon. A land far greater than anything he had ever seen.
His thoughts drifted to his past life—to the hardship of his early adventuring days. He had been bullied by higher-ranking adventurers, forced to take the lowest-paying jobs, and endured conditions worse than the kingdom’s underground prisons. He gritted his teeth as a sharp pain lanced through his skull, memories clashing with the present.
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Later, he wandered through his estate, eventually making his way to the dining hall. The room was grand, its centerpiece a marble table adorned with swirling patterns. Around him, statues of the deities stood, their presence unmistakable. But only six of them were accounted for.
The Greater Deity of Balance - The supreme force overseeing all, ensuring harmony between the other deities. Neither benevolent nor malevolent, Balance acts when necessary to maintain equilibrium.
The Deity of Life - Governs vitality, healing, and creation. Worshippers seek their blessing for health and prosperity.
The Deity of Death - Oversees the passage of souls. Neither cruel nor kind, Death simply ensures the cycle continues.
The Deity of Prosperity - Brings wealth, fortune, and growth. Merchants and kings alike pray for their favor.
The Deity of Adversity - Embodies struggle and hardship, believing only through challenge can one achieve greatness.
The Deity of Fortune - A fickle force, granting both miracles and misfortune at their whim.
But there had once been a seventh. The Deity of Evil, exiled for the chaos he wrought. His power had been sealed away; his body lost to the ages. Not even the Greater Deity knew where his essence now resided.
Grent stared at the empty pedestal where Evil’s statue once stood. His fingers unconsciously curled into fists. A foreboding feeling lingered in his gut. As he touched the pedestal, a vision of a dark and gloomy forest, filled with the stench of rotting corpses filled his head. Behind him, 2 entities stand, each holding a Bow and a sword and shield respectively.
Grent snapped out of the vision, his mind racing with questions, as his heart pounded heavily while looking at the pedestal.
Who was that? Their silhouettes felt familiar yet overpowering, as if they rule the underworld. But I’ve yet to meet anybody like them. What kind of battle happened in the middle of a forest like that? Did it take place inside the wall? And what were they doing standing behind me? Could it be… my allies? He thought as shivers roll down his spine, weakening his knees.
He cannot shake the feeling of sinister energy from his mind. Seeking answers about his new life, Grent set out for the nearby city of Cyress, the heart of his territory. The streets bustled with merchants, knights, and common folk alike. Two grand roads crossed at the city’s center, branching out to distinct districts. It was more alive than any place he had lived before.
Curious, he made his way to the Adventurer’s Guild. The lively chatter of mercenaries and warriors filled the air as he stepped inside. He approached the front counter, speaking with a clerk who seemed momentarily stunned by his presence.
“I’d like to register,” he said on impulse, testing his new reality.
The clerk hesitated, glancing between him and the paperwork before nodding quickly. “O-of course, sir.”
Moments later, she handed him an adventurer’s card, her hands trembling slightly. He studied it, amused. “That was… easier than I expected.”
“It is our policy not to question an applicant who provides proper identification,” the clerk murmured.
Grent chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair.”
He noticed a line forming beside the counter, adventurers eagerly awaiting an appraisal of their combat affinities. The clerk gestured toward it. “We offer free affinity assessments, should you wish to discover your natural strengths.”
Grent’s lips curled into a smirk. “I think I’ll take you up on that. After all, I haven’t tested this body yet.”
As he waited in line, two adventurers struck up a conversation with him. A lively young man named Andrew and his more reserved companion, Nana. They spoke of their hometown, Rutherwood, and the struggles of their early careers.
When Grent mentioned he governed Regeant, Nana scoffed. “There’s no way. That territory is massive. The only one mad enough to take it on is—” Her eyes widened. “Wait. Are you actually…?”
He tapped the insignia on his chest. “In the flesh.”
She frowned. “You know, faking an identity can get you into serious trouble.”
Andrew sighed. “Let’s not start this again.”
Grent merely chuckled. “This is going to be interesting.” He murmured
***
