Chapter 2: [2 – amaranthine; an unwanted eternity]

"If you get lost, I can't help you." said Damien coldly as he walked in a random direction into the forest.

Soren followed beside him, and Damien kept his pace steady. After all, he was currently pretending to be a servant, and couldn't show too much disrespect.

Raphael trailed behind slowly, inspecting them.

Soren could almost feel the burning gaze behind his neck. Feeling uncomfortable, he glanced back and said, "Don't be weird."

Raphael raised a brow. "I'm being weird?"

"I don't judge, but I feel you staring at our backs."

"I'm not."

Soren turned to Damien. "Do you feel the burn?"

Of course, Damien was sensitive to such things, but he had ignored it. Now being so blatantly asked, but not wanting to get involved, he shook his head calmly.

"I don't."

"Disliking somebody is not a reason to lie." Soren lectured lazily, ignoring the narrowing gaze of the teenager as he sighed.

At the back, Raphael heard the comment and laughed, earning Soren's displeasure.

On the bright side, Raphael has stopped staring so intently, and Soren relaxed a little. He wanted to hurry back and figure things out.

The world of a novel.

Why exactly had he been pulled in?

It didn't take long to exit the forest, an hour at the most. Though it seemed that the concept of time differed in this area, so it was hard to tell.

Before long, a narrow light filled his vision. He stepped in front of the mystic trees and saw a brilliant city, stretched out before him.

Or at least, it was incredible compared to the broken buildings and bloodied streets of his own world. A far cry different, brimming of life and colour. 

Soren hesitated for a moment as his eyes reflected the simple, yet warm stone buildings. Raphael glanced at him casually as the three stepped into the streets.

To the citizens, it just looked as if they were coming out from a regular forest.

A few glanced suspiciously at Soren, who was infamous for all the wrong reasons, then looked at Raphael. The man met their gaze with his deadly slant of a smile, and they quickly scurried off.

"Let's go, Damien." Soren turned towards the palace walls, only a little distance away.

He started to walk before a voice called to him.

"Don't you want a payment?"

Raphael looked at him with a sly smile, his posture straight in his confidence, but carrying a lazy air.

Soren wanted to say, 'Yes, please never enter my sight again.'

But what he said was, "No need. I'm trying to gain good karma and you happened to be there."

Angering the protagonist wouldn't be much fun. Soren enjoyed battles, but he doubted it'd be interesting in a weak body like this.

"I insist." said Raphael generously, though Soren knew this man was anything but honest at this point. "How can I let my benefactor go without doing anything?"

"I'm not lacking anything."

"Oh? Is your identity so grand?"

Damien stepped forward, respectfully. "This is your highness, the fifth prince, Soren Rosenbaum."

Soren looked at the scene with quiet indifference. He didn't really want to talk, so he appreciated Damien a little more at that moment.

"A prince?" Raphael was a little surprised before his expression became normal again. "I suppose you really lack nothing, little prince."

The words were spoken disrespectfully, and Damien had expected the young prince to lash out, as he always did.

Soren Rosenbaum was prideful and arrogant, housing many anger issues.

To his surprise, Soren just yawned and said in a drowsy tone, "Yes."

'And I don't want to run into troublesome people anymore.'

Then he turned around again and walked away, steps faster this time.

Damien glanced at Raphael. He appreciated the other's strength, but he was still the personal attendant of the fifth prince. Plus, his master had been behaving interestingly after waking.

He nodded in farewell before following the white-haired youth.

Raphael watched for a moment before turning the opposite way.

When Soren entered the palace, ignoring the scornful gazes around him, he directly bumped into the first prince.

"Ow." muttered Soren, rubbing his nose as he looked up.

'What luck.'

His mood sunk a little.

However, there was some benefit in Soren's identity. The original owner hadn't been polite or kind, so he didn't have to overexert himself either.

The original owner could be said to be similar to him in the sense of lacking politeness, but just 1000x more awful. Well, maybe not so similar, but enough that Soren wouldn't be obviously suspicious with his behaviour.

Soren said, "Good morning, Prince Vincent."

Vincent Rosenbaum's frosty dark eyes turned a little surprised.

Although the fifth prince had many hateful rumors and a terrible character, he had insisted on calling the other princes 'brother'.

Soren knew this, but thought little of it.

The others had scorned him when being called 'brother' and usually ignored him. In all fairness, the original was scum, but his longing for family was true as anything else.

After all, unlike the four princes who were born from the Queen, or the King's other wives, Soren's mother was unknown.

One day, the King had come home with an infant in his arms.

The Queen had already passed long before, and the King had mysteriously broken off his marriage for the last time at some point.

Many speculated he was tired of marriage, or chasing a new woman. However, he had an excellent reputation as he always compensated  the other party and would remain loyal during marriage.

The day they had brought Soren back, he was already ridiculed.

In a way, it was understandable that Soren hadn't grown to become a great person. But he had crossed too many lines to be pitied.

Soren sighed.

Relationships were truly complicated, and misunderstandings occurred so easily.

Thinking that, he didn't wait for Vincent to respond and said, "I will be off."

Without another word, he walked away.

When he returned to the room, he asked Damien to bring him an apple and a knife.

"I can request for the kitchen to cut it."

Soren shook his head and said, "I'm practicing how to cut bunny apples."

Damien's frown deepened. "What?"

"Apples in the shape of bunnies."

"...why?"

"Chasing beauties." Soren said bluntly, trying to find a reasonable explanation.

".....I will be back."

It was stupid, but the original host had also been quite stupid, so it wasn't impossible. Regardless, Soren didn't want to bother thinking too much over such a thing.

He only wanted a knife, but saying, 'Please give me a knife' would be even stranger. They would most likely wonder, 'Is the prince going to beat somebody up again?'

How had he even beat others with these weak arms? Most likely through bribery and merchants, Soren thought.

Knock, knock.

"I have the items you requested, your highness."

"Come in." Soren originally sunk into the soft blankets that he hadn't felt in any lifetime, burying himself under. Hearing the knock, he sprung out and watched Damien pull in a small trolly with a few apples.

"Oh, thanks."

Damien's movements paused after hearing his words, but he soon returned to his normal indifference.

Soren waved his hand. "Go, don't bother me."

Damien nodded and quietly left the room.

When the door was closed and Soren no longer sensed another person nearby, he picked up the knife.

Its edge was sharp and gleaming under the trickles of light the shone through his balcony. He twisted it around in his hands calmly.

Then he shoved it straight through his chest.

He yanked it out just as breath stopped, the handsome youth collapsing onto the bed. His face grew pale as his body showed no signs of life.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Soren's eyes opened abruptly, staring at the ceiling with a faint sense of annoyance and disappointment.

On earth, the apocalypse lead to the birth of ability users.

Among them, there was a legend. A mysterious user who attracted death, surrounded by a never ending sea of blood.

His dark eyes would be magnetic, hypnotizing you in it's deadly charm until you met your end. Unknown, but always watching.

The Undying Reaper.

The ability that allowed him to survive for so long was [Reset].

To reset the body after death. That was Soren's unique and very unwanted ability.

To one, it may be a gift, and to another, a curse. In this immortal body of his, he continued to stand, even when everyone else fell.

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In an endless sea of blood, he remained.

Soren sighed irritably, staring at the bloody knife in his hands. Even in rebirth, he couldn't escape.

He had little interest in living, but after being forced to do so, he chose to live a fulfilling life. Wandering hopelessly in despair for decades was not his style.

When he had woken, it was impossible for him not to have considered his ability. But if he died and then came back in front of two very unpredictable characters, what troubles would that have brought?

Although an undying body did not mean he could rival Raphael. That protagonist could probably kill him several times over before he got in a punch.

He sighed again, falling back onto the bed.

If he had to live, then he wanted to live properly. Otherwise, it would be too boring. Just because he couldn't die didn't mean he felt no pain.

In fact, he felt double the amount. An overwhelming pain — though he was used to it. Thankfully, a clean stab through the heart didn't hurt too much since it was almost instant.

'At least I left nothing behind.'

Adapting to a new world with regrets would be much more difficult.

'Soren Rosenbaum.'

He would have to adjust to being called by that name.

He gazed at the clear, expansive ceilings quietly. A truly different life from his own, full of luxury and freedom.

But Soren cared little for those things.

To begin with, it was still a little hard to understand. In his original world, how had he died? His falling body, the blood that surrounded — he remembered his death vividly. Except, what was the outlier that stopped his ability from activating?

No matter how many times he ran the scene in his head, he couldn't understand. Since that was the case, he temporarily set it aside.

Now, what would he do?

It wasn't as if the matter of being hated affected his mentality, but playing prince seemed like a tiresome task. If he had to do something... travelling would be good.

Thrills were necessary to make up for his bland life. He'd enjoy it until he died — it wasn't as if he was immortal; he could still die a natural death whenever it may be.

He couldn't allow others to find out about his ability either; that would only bring upon trouble.

Through the book, he knew the overall map of this world. A part of him would've liked to also participate in the upcoming battles — he hadn't gotten his previous nickname for nothing — but Raphael was a magnet for trouble.

The people who would gather around him would be a little bothersome, too.

Following the book, this world would end. Soren was indifferent to it, not being compassionate to try to save the world.

Raphael was the key to this story; if not him, who would solve it?

If he found something useful for the protagonist, he could consider sending it his way. Though the destruction of this world wasn't exactly alarming to him — he didn't know anyone and didn't hold strong attachments to life.

The sympathetic justice of heroes did not exist in him.

He decided the easiest option would be to run away and live a low profile, but exciting life under another identity.

The kingdom would likely rejoice, so they wouldn't go searching for too long.

Before that, there was one last thing. No matter who the original host was, Soren had taken his body.

Even if it wasn't by choice, Soren didn't like feeling indebted.

Fixing the relationship with his family was out of question — that would only lead to more annoyances.

Then he remembered.

Soren never appeared in the book after death, but they mentioned his actions towards his siblings. The first prince, Vincent, mentioned his brothers while at a bar with Raphael.

He had mentioned Soren's death, then the fourth prince who had died from a rare illness, only treatable by a herb that wouldn't be known until after his death.

Later, their team member would be inflicted by the same illness after being bitten by a snake, and they learned it was a part of a herbal prize in the illegal fighting ring.

Of course, Raphael easily beat up everybody and got the medicine.

Vincent lamented he hadn't known of it before, or the fourth prince could've lived.

The fourth prince, Atlas Rosenbaum.

He was a well-known genius, who in his youth was expected to become the King's advisor, or even rival his brother for the thrown. With new and fresh ideas, he won the admiration of many.

Until he fell ill on his eighteenth birthday.

Six years later, death was finally calling him.

Soren pressed his lips together in thought. The legal age for the fighting ring was eighteen, and his body was currently the right age.

Repairing family relationships was impossible, but for the sake of Soren, who loved his brothers, he could save Atlas.

'And with that, let me cut the bonds between you and I, Soren Rosenbaum.'

This luxury, frivolous lifestyle — he did not plan to live with it.

But the illegal fighting place. With this body, could he really win?

There was no doubt regarding his skills, but technique and physique were two different things.

The fighting competition took place on the first day of every fourth month. There were no complications in entering and many nobles also took part — hence why the fighting ring still existed.

Thinking about it, didn't one prince also attend? Not to see people shed blood, but to look for a way to shut it down. Although that would only happen awhile later.

The next competition would take place in two months.

Soren pursed his lips, lying on the bed, deep in thought.

Hadn't he recklessly leveled up during the apocalypse during a time of emergency? If he trained himself to death every day, he would reach a certain standard that could accommodate his skills.

An extreme method that only he could use.

It was just taxing.

He enjoyed fighting, but he didn't want to enter the competition a second time. Most of the fighters just came to beat people up; violent and crude. The spectators weren't much better, relishing in the murderous battles while watching in the shadows.

A showy, bloody battle was the sort Soren disliked the most.

Although that wasn't to say there weren't any powerful fighters, their characters were often bad. He'd rather not get too involved, if possible.

A guarantee was necessary in order to assure his success.

With training, he was certain he could beat most of the people — there typically were a hundred challengers each time, with the rest healing from previous fights. However, once one reached the top ten, weapons were introduced.

And death was almost inevitable.

Thinking deeply, he called for Damien. Soon after, the boy arrived in his room.

"What is it, your highness?"

Soren asked, "Do you have any information about the upcoming city auction?"

Damien looked a little surprised.

The fifth prince had a habit of squandering money, but he avoided the auction. The auction was a place where one couldn't mess around, and the prince was the very definition of messing around.

He looked at the other curiously and said, "Yes, the auction should take place in two weeks, at the grand hall."

"Prepare a notice that I will be going."

"Yes, your highness."

The form of address was uncomfortable for Soren, and so he said, "Stop calling me by that title. In the future, I will act under another alias, so practice referring to me by another name."

Damien thought about it and said, "Okay, little prince."

Soren, "?"

Those two words were the terrible influence of Raphael, were they not?

The protagonist's power was indeed incredible. Though wasn't it odd to be called little by a youth younger than him by two years?

Although it was true that Damien had an odd maturity far exceeding his age — most likely honed through the years of experience in his tribe.

In the future, Damien would go back to his tribe and find that somebody had usurped his position. This sixteen-year-old would cleverly find his way back and return the tribe to his hands, though not without consequences.

Several members were injured during the conflict, and the tribe was unstable for a few months after.

'If he doesn't bother me, I'll help him out a little.'

The false leader had won the trust of the tribe members and claimed Damien had abandoned them after not returning for so long. A few members who looked down on Damien's age found a way to change the members' opinion.

However, a list of the false leader's connections would break that trust.

The tribe often dealt with shady deals; in fact, their core was mostly within the shadows, but they had their limits.

Even killers protected their own.

The false leader, Tonio, helped kidnap several of the children in the tribe to sell them to traffickers.

That was the greatest taboo.

The novel had vividly described the gruesome conditions of the survivors, though to begin with, few survived.

For Soren, who had hardly seen any children around during the apocalypse since most died, he was a little more soft-hearted toward them.

Thus, even if he didn't help Damien, he would likely still save the children. It was impossible to save them all, and he couldn't directly tell the boy or he'd just be under suspicion, but he could save more than before.

It wasn't that he was cold-hearted, but he was aware of his limits. Soren was no hero of justice and no God. He couldn't save everybody.

"Master, is there something you're looking for in the auction?" asked Damien suddenly, a vague, scrutinizing look in his eyes.

Soren moved out of his thoughts and looked up at the teenager.

Thankfully, Damien had corrected his form of address. 'Master' was still a little strange, but it was tolerable. At least it was much better than that odd nickname of Raphael's.

Soren nodded. "There are a few items. Inform the kitchen that I will eat in the hall today."

"I will do so immediately."

Although the original host was like a helpless puppy around his family, to a certain extent, he couldn't bear the tension during dinner and directly avoided it.

However, Soren didn't intend to go hungry, nor did he plan to avoid it.

Dealing with a few people who didn't like him; who didn't have to deal with that during the apocalypse? His notorious identity naturally drew a crowd of enemies.

Anyway, they could tolerate a few months of eating dinner with him. If not, it wasn't his problem.

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