What had he done? Bill had killed him… he defended himself, yes… but… he did it.
Murderer.
He was a damn murderer. He hadn't understood anything since he appeared there, and the first thing he did was kill.
Guilt flooded his chest, consuming him from the inside.
It didn't matter if it was in self-defense… killing was killing.
What if that soldier had a family? What if someone was waiting for him at home, with a hot meal?
Family...
A fleeting thought crossed his mind like a bolt of lightning.
"My siblings! My mom!"
He turned sharply, as if waking from a trance, searching for the other man… the one whose arm he had severed.
He was still there, groaning in pain, his body twisted on the ground, bleeding out.
His arm lay a few steps away, next to his spear, like a scene torn from a nightmare.
"Hey… are you okay?" Bill asked quietly, guilt in his voice.
"Idiot! Of course he's not okay. You cut off his damn arm…"
Even if he was a trained soldier, losing a limb wasn't a small thing.
Bill approached slowly, his steps heavy, as if walking in mud. He intended to help him, to do something… anything.
But the man spat at him in fury:
"Stay away, idiot! Don't come near me, demon!"
"Just… just kill me already. Isn't that what you do? You don't need to torture me… I'm just a low-ranking soldier. Don't expect anything from me."
He averted his gaze, as if hiding something.
Bill watched him, confused by the image that man had of him.
He remembered what he had heard earlier… their conversation.
"I just want to know a few things."
"I already told you, I don't know anything," the soldier replied, panting, his face contorted with pain.
"What's my name?"
"Huh?"
The soldier looked at him as if he had spoken in a forgotten language. Of course, anyone would be confused.
Not every day does a wild swordsman attack you… and then ask you what the hell your name is.
"The… swordsman of the forest?"
"Ahh…" the soldier sighed, dropping the weight of his shoulders. "No. My name. My real name. What is it?"
The soldier blinked, momentarily forgetting his suffering. He looked at Bill as if something inside him finally clicked.
Then he said it, in a grave tone, as if revealing a truth that even he didn't completely understand:
"Desmond Rusel. Your name is Desmond Rusel."
Bill felt a tremor in his chest.
"What year is it?"
The soldier blinked, confused. He swallowed hard and responded:
"It's the year 1260, sir!" he said stiffly.
1260… that was six years before the Rift.
His name. The time. It all fit.
He was in the past.
He was… before everything broke.
"Excuse me… do you also have the identity disease?"
the soldier asked, visibly confused.
"The what? What are you talking about?"
The man shrank, turned his gaze to the ground, and grimaced in pain as he tried to sit up.
"Lately, some people have been acting strange… saying nonsensical things."
Some women claim they were men in another life. Others talk about a crack in the sky. Some even forget their own name and start calling themselves something else.
We believe it's a curse. A punishment from an ancient mage… or a plague that devours the mind.
That's why they call it the identity disease."
"That… that's all I know. So… can I leave?"
So, that's it.
He had woken up in a body that wasn't his…
The Rift had thrown him there. It had embedded him into history like a stone out of place.
But...
He wiped the blood from his sword, swinging it in the air. He felt the soldier's panicked gaze, but he didn't stop.
He looked at his reflection in the blade.
There he was:
A young man in his twenties, with hair black as night and eyes…
golden. Piercing.
There was something different. He looked… older?
The jawline marked, the chin raised. Like a celebrity.
Of course, even the man in front of him — pale from pain — was far more handsome than Bill, so he didn't pay much attention to that detail.
He lowered the sword and sheathed it carefully, walking toward the wounded soldier.
"You can go."
The soldier let out a ragged sigh. He crawled toward his arm, lying on the ground, next to his spear.
But just when it seemed like he was going to let him go...
"Not before answering one last question."
The soldier froze. His back began to tremble.
"What business did you have with me?"
The relieved smile vanished from his face like wax in the fire. And fear returned, denser than ever.
"Wait a second! Sir, I... let me explain," the soldier begged, dragging himself on the ground.
Bill watched him in silence, his hand still firmly gripping the hilt of his sword. It wasn't his intention to kill him. Not without a good reason. But now... now that there was a chance, even a slim one, that his family might also be in this world...
He couldn't take the risk. He couldn't leave any loose ends that might come back to tear them apart.
"Alright," he said with a calm smile, measuring each word as if testing the sharpness of a knife, "Can you explain to me why two armed soldiers would come all the way from the capital to look for a single man?"
He leaned against the trunk of a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. The rough bark creaked under his weight.
"What's your name?"
"...My name is Svend, sir."
"Alright, Svend. You can call me Bill from now on," Bill said, letting his voice take on a false friendliness.
Svend tilted his head, confused.
"It's a nickname," Bill clarified, and the soldier nodded slowly, understanding.
The wind blew again, rustling the nearby bushes.
"So… do you want to tell me what's going on, Svend?"
Svend lowered his gaze to his amputated arm. Bill saw him grit his teeth before responding:
"A letter arrived, sir…"
"Sir? I told you to call me Bill. And what did the letter say?"
"It said the swordsman of the forest… would go mad — even more — and attack the capital. Among the low-ranking soldiers, like my companion Mark and I, the rumor spread that there was a considerable reward for anyone who found you. So we came… at least to try to persuade you or understand your intentions."
The silence between them grew thick, heavy.
"Do you know who sent it?"
"No one knows exactly, but…" Svend swallowed and took a deep breath, "it had a royal seal."
Bill breathed deeply, struggling to stay calm.
"I just woke up in this world, and now I'm an enemy of the royalty. Ha... what kind of joke is this?"
"You said among the low-ranking soldiers… how many are coming this way?"
"Not too many," Svend hesitated. "If we count those in the capital and those who saw the reward… I'd say just a few."
"How many exactly?" Bill asked, staring him in the eyes.
"…At least a few hundred... maybe…"
"A few hundred!? He calls that few!? I barely handled two..."
"Hey, Svend, I have one last question. I want you to be completely honest."
The soldier straightened up seriously.
"You can ask, sir."
"Again, 'sir'..." Bill thought, holding back a smile. He pointed at him.
"Can you also see this strange yellow window in front of me?"
For a moment, Svend's face showed utter bewilderment.
"Sir, did… did you get that strange disease? Is it a new symptom...?" he murmured to himself, puzzled.
Bill rolled his eyes and slapped his forehead at his reaction.
He turned toward the floating yellow window, where new words had appeared:
[New skill unlocked: Body coverage]
[Activate: Yes / No?]
He swallowed. He could hear the slight crunch of leaves under his boots. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and something else... a faint metallic perfume, like oxidized iron.
He clenched his fists, feeling the frantic beating of his heart, as if it wanted to escape his chest.
"Is this real...? What if I activate something I can't control?"
A chill ran down his spine.
He thought of his mother, Ana, and Lucas… how he might be wasting time doubting while they might… maybe they were in danger right now.
No. He couldn't afford to falter. Not here. Not now.
He would take any advantage!
The giant, the hundreds of soldiers, the royalty, the crack in the sky... He didn't care.
He would crush any obstacle that stood between his family and him.
He took a deep breath, feeling the cold air filling his lungs, and reached out toward the window.
[Activate body coverage: Yes / No?]
"Yes," he whispered.
The window exploded in yellow light.