I stood there, stunned, watching the headless body of the soldier collapse to the ground."…this…""What have I done? I killed him. I defended myself, sure… but I did it!"
A murderer.I'm a damn murderer.Nothing has made sense since I got here, and the first thing I do is kill someone.It doesn't matter if it was self-defense—killing is still killing.What if he had a family waiting for him at home?
Family...
Suddenly, a sharp thought pierced through the haze.
"My brothers—my mom!"
I turned quickly, eyes scanning the field until they landed on the man whose arm I had severed.He was still there, writhing in agony, bleeding out.His arm lay a few feet away, next to his spear.A horrifying sight.
"H-Hey… are you okay?" I asked, my voice low, almost like an apology.Idiot, of course he's not okay. You just cut off his arm.Even if he looked like a seasoned soldier, losing a limb wasn't something anyone walked off.
I stepped closer, cautiously, meaning to help—but he spat blood and fury in my direction.
"Stay away from me, bastard! Don't come near me, demon!""Just finish me off! That's what you do, right? No need to torture me… I'm just a low-ranking soldier. You won't get anything from me."
I stared at him, confused by the kind of person he thought I was.But based on what I'd overheard earlier, I could piece together a few things.
"I'm not here to torture you. I just want to ask a few questions."
"I already told you, I don't know anything," he groaned, his face twisted in pain.
"What's my name?"
"What…?"
He blinked at me, clearly thrown.Who wouldn't be? It's not every day a wild swordsman nearly kills you and then asks for his own name.
"The… Forest Swordsman?"
I let out a frustrated sigh.
"No. My name. My real name. What is it?"
He hesitated. The confusion in his eyes deepened—but then something shifted.A flicker of recognition, maybe. Or understanding.
"Desmond Rusel," he said at last, with a strangely solemn tone. "Your name is Desmond Rusel."
The name hit me like a bell rung deep inside my skull.
"What year is it?"
He swallowed, then answered stiffly, like a soldier reporting to a commander—or something older.
"It's the year 1260, sir."
1260… that's long before the Rift.
The name. The time.It confirmed everything.I'm in the past—long before the Rift ever tore through the sky.
"Sir… forgive me for asking, but… do you also have the identity sickness?" he said, cautious now.
"What is that? What do you mean?"
The soldier looked down, uneasy.
"Lately, people have been acting strange. Saying things that don't make sense.Some women claim they were men in another life. Others talk about a crack in the sky—something impossible.Some forget their names and start calling themselves something else entirely.No one can prove anything, so most say it's either a curse from a powerful mage, or some unknown plague.That's why we call it the identity sickness."
"That's all I know. So… may I leave now?"
At least now I understood where I'd awakened.I must've taken someone else's body when I crossed the Rift.
But…
I wiped the blood from my sword.The soldier stared at me, frozen in fear, but I didn't look at him.Instead, I looked at my reflection in the blade.
A young man, maybe twenty, with hair black as midnight and sharp golden eyes stared back at me.Did I… look older? More mature?
I lowered the sword and slid it into its sheath.
"You can go."
The soldier looked like he'd just been handed his life back.He turned to retrieve his arm and his spear.
But just as he reached them, I stopped him.
"One last question."
He froze.
"What did you want with me?"
The smile dropped from his face.And his body began to tremble again.