Isadora was playing just outside their makeshift cottage, her small feet stirring up dust as she twirled with a handmade doll, giggling softly to herself.
"Umm... Big brother?"
But the moment she caught sight of Igaris approaching from the distance, her face lit up with joy.
"Mommy! Mommy! Big brother is back!" she shouted with pure excitement, her voice ringing clear as a bell as she dashed toward him with open arms.
Igaris's lips curled into a faint smile, his arms moving instinctively to lift her up in a warm embrace. It wasn't a conscious decision. His body simply responded, like muscle memory buried deep within the soul of the body he now occupied.
But inside, he didn't like it. Not even a bit.
The warmth, the comfort, it all felt like a cruel illusion.
His miserable past had crushed whatever belief he had in love or family. To him, love was nothing more than a decorated lie, and he had long buried the desire for it.
Yet here, in his arms, Isadora beamed with delight, nuzzling against his chest. She didn't know. She couldn't know that her big brother had changed. To her, he was still the same kind big brother she adored.
"Eh? Big brother, you smell weird..." she muttered, wrinkling her nose with innocent disgust as she caught the faint iron tang of dried blood clinging to his clothes.
She couldn't identify it, of course. But the scent unsettled her.
"It must've come from the hunt," Igaris replied calmly, brushing her hair aside as he gently set her back down.
"Where's mother? I brought food. It should be enough for two days."
Isadora pouted slightly as her feet touched the ground again, unhappy to be let go so quickly.
Still now she didn't realize that something had changed in her beloved brother.
He wasn't the same.
The warmth in his eyes had dulled. The familiar gentleness in his tone had vanished, replaced by a cold indifference.
But Isadora, in her innocent naivety, saw only the brother she loved.
And Igaris, no matter how much he denied it, couldn't completely ignore the flicker of something in his chest every time she smiled.
"Son, you're back."
His mother stepped out from the small hut, her face lighting up with a mix of relief and warmth the moment she laid eyes on him.
"You must be very tired, son. Do you want to rest a bit before taking a shower?"
She asked gently, her hand reaching out to wipe the grime and sweat from his face with a familiar motherly touch.
Igaris placed the leg of the boar carefully on a clean cloth spread over a flat stone near the entrance, then straightened up to answer.
"No. I'd rather clean up first. Is there enough water left, or do I need to fetch more?"
"Yes, there should be enough, son. Go get yourself freshened up. I'll start preparing the food for you. You must be really hungry too," she replied with a soft smile, already crouching down to inspect the boar leg he'd brought back.
"Alright," Igaris said flatly, without too much affection or excitement.
With that, he turned and made his way toward the side of the clearing where the makeshift bathing area had been arranged. A few wooden buckets stood nearby, half-filled with stored rainwater. A small wooden basin and a flat stone served as a seat. The area was surrounded by old sheets strung between branches for privacy.
The shower here, however, didn't offer the luxury of letting water flow freely over his body. No. Far from it.
First, Igaris got undressed, placing his worn clothes neatly to the side.
Then he dipped a rough cloth into a small jar of water, soaking it just enough before bringing it out.
Afterward, with slow, methodical movements, he began wiping himself clean starting from his face, moving down to his neck, torso, arms, legs. Almost every part of his body received attention, though the water barely seemed enough.
But he made it work. He had to.
Despite the bare minimum cleansing, it felt oddly good. Good to be able to clean himself, to rely on no one else.
He wasn't a cripple here.
He exhaled, forcing the boiling storm inside him back into silence. When he was done, he grabbed the same set of clothes.
Because there was no luxury of changing clothes. Not in this world. Clean or not, the same fabric had to serve its purpose another day.
With that, he redressed and stood still for a moment, staring at the night sky full of stars and Moons.
That's right there were three moons in this world. And Sun, a single one.
Because of the absence of the Sun, in this desert, the wind was cold.
But not colder than the world he'd failed to survive.
This time, things would be different.
In this world, he would rise above all. Every man. Every woman. Every living thing that walked this earth—sooner or later, they would bend to his will.
Using Infinite Acquisition, he would dominate them all.
A cold, ruthless determination surged through his entire being, burning brighter than any flame, colder than any steel. His eyes, once hollow, now glinted with a dangerous purpose.
With that conviction carved into his heart, Igaris stepped a little away from the hut, gripping the newly acquired iron blade in his hand. The metal was crude, chipped at the edge—but that didn't matter for now.
He stood still for a moment, then commanded sharply:
"Assemble."
In an instant, Dred—the Undead Knight—rose from beneath his feet, his armored form emerging with a whisper of death. His eerie gaze locked on Igaris, awaiting orders.
"Fight me," Igaris ordered coldly, lifting the iron blade in his right hand and pointing it toward Dred.
He didn't summon Dred for chitchat.
He summoned him to learn.
To master the blade.
To wield it with the same terrifying efficiency as the elite undead before him.
His wished for combat growth with every practical experience.
But experience meant nothing without grit, without blood, without pain.
So he would fight. And fight again.
Until he became the very thing the world feared.