Death No. 2: I was reincarnated again. This time, it was during the 1400s in China. Once again, I took on the identity of a soldier. But this time, I couldn't withstand the enemy's might and was captured for execution. Bound tightly, each limb of mine was gradually shattered by iron hammers. The pain was even more unbearable—worse than before. I wasn't allowed to die instantly, but was forced to experience that fragile thread of life—hope entangled with despair. When the iron hammer finally crushed my skull, blood gushed from my neck, and my head was reduced to a pulp of flesh. And yet again, I saw that same image. The red X-shaped eye. As if laughing straight into my face.
Death No. 5: I died once more, and again, I was reincarnated. This time, in Mongolia during its early founding years. I was reborn as an ordinary person—a farmer. Yet I quietly studied, explored, and sought ways to invent tools, hoping one day to conquer Tetry. But just as I began, I was swept into war. No matter how much I ran, no matter how cowardly I tried to hide and burrow away, I was still killed. Blades slashed across my body, the wounds forming patterns that resembled some unknown culture's art—both beautiful and haunting. The smell of blood again, that same burning heat—it felt like I had plunged into the abyss. This time, I lived a little longer. Someone even treated my wounds. But I hadn't recovered for long before the war struck again. A sword pierced deep into my chest. This time, I truly died—or at least, that's what I believed. That enigmatic smile still watched me.
Death No. 10: Reincarnated once again. This time, I found myself in Southeast Asia. I couldn't tell which country exactly, but judging by the culture, the clothing, the gestures—this was unmistakably Southeast Asia. Once again, I was a soldier. But this time, I was on the side of the invading army. Looking down at myself, again and again, I couldn't be sure I was even Southeast Asian. I felt disgusted by who I was—by my very identity—and hopeless as I watched the invaders torture and brutalize prisoners.
They severed prisoners' arms and filled the wounds with insects, letting the victims suffer in unspeakable agony. It was inhumane—beyond reason. I couldn't take it. Alone, I betrayed my own army. The result? I was tortured. Just like the prisoners I had pitied, they tortured me and laughed at me. I could feel something squirming inside me—I understood all too well. I was inching closer to death, but it wasn't death yet.
My emotions erupted. I had never felt such madness before.
And then, I died once more.
Death No. 20: China again. I had already died here once—surely, this time, I could last longer. But not long after, I was swept into a major treason case. Though I had done nothing, it seemed I was somehow linked to the conspirators. At that time, I was merely a weapons merchant—just selling goods, unaware they were tied to treason.
And so, I was sentenced to death.
Despite all my efforts to prove my innocence, I couldn't clear my name. I was condemned to the cruelest punishment of that era—Lingchi (death by a thousand cuts). Bound tightly, I was sliced piece by piece in rhythm with the beat of the war drums. Blood slowly drained from me; there wasn't a single part of my body left untouched by the blade.
I was drowning in despair, watching myself edge closer and closer to death—a death far from peaceful.
And once again, death came for me.
Death No. 50:
My mind had started to blur—I could no longer recognize anything clearly. But the will to survive still burned within me, pulling me back to reality. This time, I was in France. I thought, perhaps, there would be no war here. But I was wrong. Not only was there war—it was brutal and overwhelming.
Once again, I stained my sword with blood, now as a commander in the army. As I looked upon the countless corpses scattered across the battlefield, I felt joy—a joy so twisted it bordered on madness.
Perhaps by now, my mind had already eroded beyond saving, and so, death came for me again.
I was executed—drawn and quartered by four horses, then impaled through the chest with a stake.
Facing death once more, I no longer felt fear. Instead, I felt... delight. So much so, I didn't even realize—this death of mine... it felt planned.
Death No. 100:
My mind was sharp, crystal clear—but filled with a horrifying, indescribable urge to kill. A monstrous madness I couldn't put into words. But perhaps… it was time for it all to end.
For the first time since being trapped in this cycle of reincarnation, I felt something I thought I had lost forever—love. From someone who called me her older brother—more accurately, the younger sister of the body I had been reborn into.
She reminded me so much of my real sister, Sera, who had died in a previous life. Her long blonde hair, her playful slurs, her sweetness—it all matched in a way that was eerie. And in her presence, I rediscovered a fragile peace within myself.
But fate, cruel as always, had no mercy.
She enlisted in the army. She died on the battlefield.
I was broken. Grief-stricken. Furious. Hopeless.
In despair, I pulled a pistol from my coat, pressed it to my head, and pulled the trigger.
I took my own life—this time, in the beautiful country of Finland.
Death No. 200:
I hated war. I despised it. The people I loved were stolen from me by its merciless hands, one by one. And every time, I ended it myself—through suicide. Drowning in endless sorrow, I swore that even if it killed me, I would put an end to war.
This time, I was a Jew, caught in the chaos of the war against Nazi Germany.
With leadership skills and fragments of historical knowledge, I managed to contribute meaningfully to the effort of extinguishing the flames of the Nazi regime—and for once, I survived.
I thought I would continue living.
But no.
Someone found me. Captured me. Bound me. And set me on fire.
This time, it wasn't the scent of blood that lingered—but the stench of burning flesh. The searing pain was beyond anything I had ever felt.
I turned to ash.
And once again, I died.
Death No. 500:
The fire of hatred I once held toward war had long been extinguished. In its place remained only a desperate plea—a cry for help, begging to be freed from this endless cycle.
I didn't want to reincarnate anymore.
And yet, once again, someone dear appeared—someone who showed me comfort, affection, love.
This time, I was in Greenland. I thought perhaps, finally, I'd live a peaceful life.
But reality slapped me—hard.
This Greenland was not what I imagined. In this world, it was soaked in hatred and deceit. The sight and stench of corpses lining the streets made me fight back the urge to vomit.
But that wasn't the worst of it. Not yet.
Because I still had family.
Or so I thought.
They killed me.
They gouged out my eyes, cut off my limbs, and severed my head.
I died, filled with rage, grief, and disbelief.
Death No. 1000:
I asked myself—was it only now, after all this time, that I finally realized humanity is the most brutal species of all?
Perhaps there was nothing left to fear anymore.
I kept living, only to be pulled into war once again. To survive, I had to eat scraps—leftovers barely worthy of dogs.
And once again, I fought.
But not for homeland. Not for honor.
I fought to be free.
Like a rabid dog, I charged straight into the enemy base, killing everything in sight. Guns, cannons, knives—whatever I could find, I used to slaughter them all.
I had lost all traces of humanity.
And the price I paid—was death.
A piercing death, straight through the body.
Death No. 2000:
Perhaps I had gone mad enough that, at times, I died the very moment I reincarnated. That madness eventually cooled, leaving behind a faint path toward life.
No—I didn't die this time. But the madness still clung to me.
Across these countless reincarnations, I had murdered so many, taken my own life over and over.
But there was still one thing I hadn't done.
Think.
Just think.
Sit at home, and think of a way out of this hell.
But no.
This wretched world never allowed me to think. It only wanted me to suffer.
And so, I wandered again. Lost. Broken.
And I died—again.
Perhaps this time, it was betrayal. My comrades—seeing me laughing as I tortured a prisoner—stabbed me in the back. So familiar...
Death No. 5000:
I began to wonder—is death supposed to be fun?
I had grown used to executions, to torture… yet I had never been granted a peaceful death.
Why?This world—why?
Why not do something reckless for once?
I imagined the ways I might die—would it hurt? Would it feel different this time?
After all, aside from death, there was nothing left to entertain me.
Slaughter. Blood. Desire.I had tasted it all.And none of it could satisfy me anymore.
So I decided—I would seek out beautiful graves.And craft for myself bright, elegant deaths.
No one would mourn.
No one...
No one will mourn me… right?
Death No. 10,000:
Turns out, it was more fun than I imagined.
More fun than painting. More fun than writing. More fun than any passion I once held.
Oh wait—wasn't death my passion all along?
I'm still trapped here, at the tail end of the 16th century—Thousands of identities, tens of thousands of crimes, a mountain of corpses that once were me.
By now, I've become something like a god.
Yes—why hadn't I thought of it sooner? Why not use this world as my power?
If I wanted to be a millionaire, it would be child's play.
But in the end…
Those were just naïve thoughts from a fool who forgot how to dream.
This world only ever wanted one thing from me: Suffering.
Suffering, huh? Fine. Then I'll turn it into happiness.
…Happiness?
And just what is that… again?
Death No. 20,000:
I found peace. Then I lost it.
I found peace again. And once more—it slipped away.
Each time, it began with sunlight and green fields. And each time, it ended in clouds, corpses,and my bloodstained hands.
I died again.
But this time…something was different.
I reincarnated—but not into someone new.
I became a version of myself I had already lived before.
It was strange. Too precise. Too perfect—as if following the order of my deaths.
The order of death?
Wait…
What if—when I reach a certain number, something changes?
Hope—that had long since died inside me—
flickered back to life.
Death No. 50,000:
I've begun to master it—Not just facing death, not just mocking it,
But truly, becoming an expert in dying.
No…Not "begun" anymore. I am an expert.
The physical pain still lingers—but the decay of my mind? It can't rot any further. There's nothing left to spoil.
I've been impaled,nailed to walls,stabbed through the eyes, pierced by arrows, torn apart by "beasts", corroded by poison and time.
I didn't want those kinds of deaths anymore. So I threw myself into rivers, climbed cliffs just to fall, buried myself in earth and stone.
Oddly enough, it wasn't boring.
I continued.And continued. And continued—
Until,finally…
someone mourned.
Death No. 100,000:
Me. It was… me.
Though I've died and returned again and again,no one wept,no one smiled—only a still, eternal night remained.
That was me.
But now—that version of me…is dead.
Dead—without reincarnation.
This time, I was reborn as someone else.
But then—I received an invitation. A funeral.
I glanced at the name—and froze.
It was the name of a former self. I don't know which death it belonged to—but I knew it was me.
And there, in that ceremony—among the grieving,among the tears—was a photo: a version of me that once lived.
And for the first time in… how long? I felt something warm.
Relief.Peace.Something utterly ordinary, and yet utterly extraordinary.
Someone…had wished me well.
I won't waste that blessing. I will find my way out.
Death No. 200,000:
People often say, "Dying is easy—it's staying alive that's hard." But for me, death is no longer something to fear. I don't worry about losing my life, don't worry about the difficulty of dying.
What I worry about…is whether I've died enough. Whether I've suffered enough.
Seems like I'm more savage than I ever imagined.I torture others—and torture myself.
It hurts, sure. But by now, it feels more like getting a vaccine shot than actual pain.
Still, too many "vaccine shots" have left me trembling, numb, blurred—and mad.
I started to wonder: Can death get… boring?
I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid it might bore me to death.
Death No. 500,000:
I've done it all. But why? Why is it so boring? Why is the suffering so absurd it borders on comedy?
I even tried my own arms and legs. The taste? Not bad. But honestly… it was exhausting.
I went from one person to the next, but the hunger remained. And once the craving passed, there was only disgust.
I became a professional chef, crafting the finest dishes imaginable—BUT STILL BORED.
Am I insane now? Or… is this what true art is? Or maybe... I've been dead for far too long, yet still long for a dreamlike world to call my own?
Death No. 1,000,000:
The rain has fallen. The flowers bloom again, the skies have cleared. The seeds have pushed through the soil.
But I ATE THEM ALL.
I'm hungry again—greedy again.
I even saw myself. A wretched, terrifying, haunting figure. To call me a mummy wouldn't be far off.
I am Death itself—the devourer of death. Even other Reapers would bow before me.
I have it all now: my true self.
I die—and then I paint another story, and another, and another...
But tell me—why isn't there a single fairytale among them?
Death No. 2,000,000:
I'm very polite. I've done, seen, and endured far too much. And after it all, I can no longer complain, no longer scream or cry.
Because at that moment—I WAS HUNGRY AGAIN.
Silence is golden, they say. Well, I stayed silent. So where's my gold?
The only thing I can do now is ASK. More precisely—ask myself. Pose the questions, answer them, reflect on them, and search for my own kind of gold.
But now, tell me: Do I have any gold yet? No.Is it fair? Not at all.
Death No. 5,000,000:
Why? Why did you give me hope? Why?
Did I make you die? No—more like, you were intrigued by me. But why? Just because I saw that scythe?
I've always wanted to know who you are. I've always wondered who the one that gave me hope was. Ah—so it was you. Then... who are you?
Maybe you don't want to answer. I respect that. But you know—If you stay silent, others might call you a coward.
I'm really lonely, you know? So come play with me, won't you? :)
Death No. 10,000,000:
Thank you. I think the reason I can feel this kind of joy—is because of you.
Now I'm addicted. I can't stop anymore.
Yes, it's bland. It's dull, really. But knowing you were always watching me from the shadows—that inspired me.
Still…You're such a coward.
But hey, I'm not mad. Don't worry.
But let me ask you something—Since you've been watching me all this time…Have you ever felt joy? Or maybe... F u n?
Death No. 100,000,000:
Where… am I? Is this… the void? But I was just having fun…
Death No. 123,456,789:
Stop it. That's enough, you lunatic. I'm the lunatic—and lunatics deserve to be beaten. The fun's over. Now disappear. Like a dream—no, more like a nightmare.
This death… was miraculous. It pulled me out of that blood-soaked darkness. This time, I was sent exactly to that day—July 28, 2033.
I felt joy. And also regret. I couldn't explore the city of Tetry again, not this time. I had reincarnated as just a normal person. Couldn't make it to Antarctica.
But then…A gift landed right in my hands: The Art of Emotion Purging. It was just a random video online, something that seemed kind of cool. So I tried it—mostly out of boredom. And it actually worked.
It cleared my mind. Gave me a hope stronger than ever before.
I will fight again. For myself. For freedom.
And yes, I died—again—by the world's law. A car accident this time.
But like I said:
I will never go dark.
Death No. 999,999,998:
I died—but this time, in peace.
At last, peace rested gently in the palm of my hand. Even in death, there was no more pain.
I had outwitted even the one who governs death. A little trick, a little gamble—and it worked.
Now, a crucial milestone is near. I wonder what awaits me there?
Will it finally mark the end of my 1.6 million wasted years?
I don't know. But I think…it's coming.
Death No. 999,999,999:
I died and was reincarnated once again. But strangely, this world doesn't seem like mine at all. I woke up in a forest, seemingly on a hill. After crossing many trees and encountering some strange creatures, I reached the edge of the forest on the hill—and what I saw outside was a world utterly unfamiliar. Dragons soared in the sky, and bizarre ghostly beasts roamed the valley below. Far off, the silhouette of a fortified kingdom stood proudly. Even stranger, my appearance had changed—now I looked exactly like I did at my very first death.
"What the... is this? Could it be that I've been isekai'd into a fantasy world???"