And then…
I took another.
My heart felt like a war drum.
The large, engraved double doors loomed before me.
Beyond them, my sentencing awaited.
'You're not Arthur,' I repeated to myself like a mantra, trying to detach myself from the situation.
But it was proving impossible. I might not be Arthur, but I had all his memories.
I remembered the expectations his father had for him. The cold distance of his mother.
The way his siblings treated him.
I remembered it all, so in a way….was I Arthur?
'Fuck it,' I sighed.
The atmosphere of the room shifted as I entered.
The air felt heavy and charged as I walked into the courtroom, bearing the weight of all those calculating, hateful gazes.
They didn't despise me for my crime—well, most of them didn't.
They hated me for who I was.
Because my station was above theirs, and no matter what they achieved, I would always be considered better.
Well, for the next five minutes anyway.
My eyes naturally gravitated to the figure sitting at the far end of the court, on a throne made of black metal that twisted upward into dark spires.
From that seat, two cold, calculating scarlet eyes considered me.
Duke Gravewalker had dark hair cut short and slightly tanned skin, and a powerful physique apparent even through his dark robes.
A chill crept down my spine as our eyes met.
Duke Gravewalker—my, no, Arthur's father.
It felt as if a snake had coiled around my heart, sapping the strength from my legs.
Along with Arthur's memories and sins, I had also inherited his fear of his father.
Fighting to keep my composure, I knelt before him, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor. "I have arrived… Father."
The Duke was silent for a moment before turning to a guard, his tone cold and sharp.
"Since when do we allow prisoners to walk without cuffs?"
My heart sank as I heard his words.
'Fuck's sake,' I scolded myself. 'He isn't your father. Your father was a working class man who loved adding newspapers. This guy is not your father.'
But the words still hurt. As a child, Arthur had looked up to his father like no other—and had also feared him like no other.
A guard approached, tying my wrists behind me with leather cuffs.
"Do you know why you have been summoned here today?" the Duke called, his voice unrelentingly harsh and cold.
"T-to answer for my crime," I responded, my voice hitching.
'He isn't your father.'
"Yes. You tried to…assault Alara Thanason, daughter of one of my vassals. Do you deny it?"
I shuddered.
I needed to say yes—to get this trial over and done with.
And yet, when I tried to open Arthur's mouth, nothing came out.
I just couldn't say it. Because if I did, it would be as if I had committed the crime, not Arthur.
I just…couldn't.
The silence stretched, tension building to a crescendo.
"Well?" the Duke called, his voice sharp like a whip.
"..."
The Duke nodded, his eyes devoid of compassion.
"I see….You'll be banished to the army. Stripped of all privileges and titles.
Your name shall be nothing. You are nothing. You will be a criminal, branded as such, and sent to fight on the frontlines—to die there. So that the filth of your blood will never spread."
It took considerable effort to stop this damn body from trembling.
'He isn't your father.'
"As you wish," I whispered hoarsely, still refusing to open my eyes. 'It's going to be over soon. I got what I wanted.'
Unfortunately, the thought didn't make me feel any better.
"Guards," called the Duke, "throw the criminal in the dungeon."
.........
I sat in the dungeon, my face buried in my hands, feeling a cold sort of emptiness wash over me again.
Instinctively, I sought that same apathy, remembering why I had always kept it so close when I had been Reshi.
Who was I? Arthur? Or Reshi?
I didn't want to be anyone.
Peace—that's all I wanted.
Laying down, I closed, seeking the only solace I had left.
Sleep.
But before I could, I heard the groan of the gates creeping open. Turning, I saw two figures watching me from outside my cell.
Alara Thanason. And her father.
General Thanason, my father's vassal, was a powerful man.
He had a strong build, dark short hair, and piercing yellow eyes. His gaze rested on me with barely restrained fury.
But my eyes were on Alara. She was her father's daughter, with the same dark hair and yellow eyes.
We had been friends once, a long time ago. It stung to see the hate in her eyes—and rightfully so.
"Open the gate, soldier. Return after thirty minutes," General Thanason commanded.
The guard shot me a nervous glance but nodded. Saluting, he turned and left me alone with the father of the girl whom the old Arthur had tried to assault.
"So, it was you."
I kept silent, my face hung low, feeling so tired.
So unbelievably exhausted.
All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
General Thanason approached and kicked out. The blow struck my face, causing my head to slam against the wall.
"No one is here to protect you now, boy. Now there is no mercy, just me."
He withdrew a thin metal stick, brandishing it in front of me.
Then he struck while I lay on the floor, still disoriented.
And he struck again.
And again.
And again.
I didn't say a word as I was beaten.
Not out of pain or to call for help.
In a sick sort of way, I deserved this. This body deserved this.
I did nothing but keep my eyes fixed on Alara through the veil of blood.
Maybe it was the blood obscuring things, but for a second—she almost looked sad.
The blows continued relentlessly, raining down with cruel precision, targeting the areas in my body that would cause the most pain.
And yet, amidst the beating, I felt a sort of understanding.
I was Reshi.
But I was also Arthur.
I had his memories, his body, his thoughts, feelings and instincts.
All of them were just as mine as Reshi's was.
The rest of the world would see me as Arthur, and it was getting harder not to see myself as him either.
'Maybe I am Arthur. And I'm Reshi. Or perhaps, they are both me.'
'I'll survive this,' I vowed as the beating continued to rain down.
'Not as Reshi. Not as Arthur. But as me.'
With that understanding came a sort of peace.
'I'll live my own life.'
I didn't know which blow made me lose consciousness. But before I knew it, I was dreaming of my old living room.
Turning, I saw Sun lounging on the couch, a charming smile on his lips.
"Hey."
Rage flared up instantly, but previous experience taught me it was best not to hit him again.
"You bastard. I wanted a peaceful life."
Sun raised his eyebrows. "And you might still get it. But did you think it was going to be easy?"
"Why couldn't it be."
"Because."
My hands twitched. "…because…. That's why…"
Sun smiled his damn insufferable perfect smile. "Exactly."
"…..Why are you in my dreams?" I sighed.
"To remind you."
"What?"
"This is your last life, Arthur. Live it well. No more chances, no more do overs. This is it."
I paused on the verge of swearing at him.
There was something in the Angel's eyes that made me consider his words properly. He seemed almost…pleading.
"If you wanted me to live my life well, why didn't you give me an easier one. Or at least to reincarnate earlier so I could've prevented all of this."
Sun shook his head wearily. "This was the best I could do Arthur, believe me. In time, you'll thank me."
"Thank you? I just got battered into dreamland, and now I'm going to be sold to the army. How's this the best you can do? Why should I listen to you?"
Sun sighed. "It is your life, this is your right, to do as you wish. But…don't forget my words, Son of Tears."
He then got up, turning as if to leave.
"Wait! I have a question" I called.
Sun smiled, an insufferable smirk on his lips. "I'm sure you do."
Then he disappeared.
And I woke up with a start.
Groaning I got up, my body a score of bruises and cuts.
'That damn bastard.'