Buck took a deep breath, the fresh air trickling into his parched lungs like a cool spring. He slowly opened his eyes, his throat feeling so dry it seemed ready to ignite, while his brain was enveloped in a thick fog, leaving him in a state of half-withered agony. He strained to move his eyes, scanning the dimly lit tent before him. Everything around him felt unfamiliar and eerie.

  "A tent? Where is this... What exactly happened? I... Who am I?"

  A whirlwind of chaotic visions intertwined and clashed within Buck's mind, as if an invisible force was preventing him from merging the memories of two different lives.

  Wait, memory fusion?

  A sudden realization struck him like a thunderbolt—his soul did not belong to this world. He had experienced death firsthand: his heart had stopped, his brain had descended into lifeless silence, and the past had become nothing more than a blurred haze. Yet, one name slowly emerged from the depths of his mind—Buck. In both lives, he had been called this name. However, in this world, he was now known as Buck Frank.

  The movements inside the tent abruptly pulled him from his chaotic thoughts.

  "Young Master, are you certain you wish to begin?"

  A knight-clad guard standing beside him gazed at him with a solemn expression, his eyes filled with concern and hesitation.

  Begin what? And who are you?

  Buck furrowed his brows and finally noticed the eerie circle of robed figures standing silently within the spacious tent. At the center, an intricate formation was drawn in a deep crimson hue, exuding an ominous aura.

  A faint but unmistakable scent of blood lingered in the air.

  Buck’s heart pounded—this red substance was no mere paint; it was fresh blood.

  Two young women in tattered garments stood motionless at the center of the blood-drawn ritual circle. They were breathtakingly beautiful, their flaxen hair cascading down like waterfalls. Even though their slave garments were worn and ragged, their exquisite figures could not be concealed, evoking an involuntary stir of emotions. And yet, in their hands, they each clutched a gleaming dagger, its cold sheen flickering under the dim light, poised to slice through the suffocating air at any moment.

  Buck quickly realized that every person in the tent—whether the black-robed figures or the guards standing behind him—had their eyes fixed on him, awaiting his command.

  The moment he gave the order, the two beautiful slaves would drive their daggers into each other’s chests, spilling their warm blood onto the ritual circle.

  A slave duel? No—this was an unspeakably evil ritual!

  From the eyes of the two women, Buck could see the raw emotions of struggle, terror, and despair—a desperate yearning to live, yet a helpless submission to fate.

  Behind him, the guards’ gazes carried silent pleas: Young Master, stop this… But the robed figures, on the other hand, stared at him with fervent, almost fanatical anticipation, eager to witness a grand blood sacrifice.

  An unshakable unease surged through Buck’s heart. He understood that this was an extremely dangerous situation.

  "What the hell? Are you kidding me?"

  His breathing quickened. He pressed his fingers against his temples, squeezing them tightly as a dull throbbing pain pulsed through his head. He needed to calm down. At this moment, he urgently required more information to decide his next move.

  When Buck finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and grating, like rusted iron scraping against metal—so unpleasant that it startled even him.

  The robed figure across the ritual circle, however, had already lost patience. They had waited far too long for this exhilarating blood-soaked ceremony.

  One of the robed men stepped forward abruptly, chanting an eerie incantation in a low whisper. In an instant, an invisible, bone-chilling darkness began to spread from beneath his feet, as if attempting to drag the entire world into an abyss of endless night.

  The two slave women trembled violently, their bodies seemingly controlled by an unseen force. Slowly, they stepped toward each other, raising their daggers. With a flicker of cold steel, the sharp blades sliced into their skin.

  The scent of blood thickened, saturating the air like a tangible mist, filling the entire tent.

  The moment the metallic tang reached Buck’s nostrils, a violent shudder ran down his spine.

  No—something was terribly wrong.

  This stench, this ritual, this ominous fluctuation of power—it was all too bizarre, too perilous.

  A deafening warning bell rang in his mind.

  Then, amidst the chaos, Buck caught the faint echoes of something beyond the tent.

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  A distant roar.

  A ferocious beast howling, its voice laced with insatiable hunger and rage, drawing ever closer—undoubtedly lured by the thick stench of blood.

  "Stop!"

  Buck’s voice boomed like thunder.

  At the same time, he reached out and seized the arm of the nearest guard captain, his grip urgent.

  "Stop them!"

  He didn’t know what the real Buck Frank had intended to do, but whatever it was, it was a path to certain doom.

  The guard captain’s eyes flashed with resolve. Without hesitation, his arm swung.

  A bloodied dagger appeared in the chest of the chanting robed figure, piercing his heart with unerring precision. A fountain of blood erupted, staining the ground.

  The abrupt turn of events threw the entire tent into turmoil.

  Buck’s ears caught the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn, and the other guards instinctively gripped their rifles. The sharp clinking of metal echoed through the tense air.

  Rifles? Why would there be rifles in this era…?

  No—now wasn’t the time for such questions.

  Buck lowered his gaze, frantically searching for a weapon of his own.

  The fallen robed figure lay motionless within the blood-stained ritual circle, while the other cultists erupted into frenzied rage.

  “Traitors to our great master! You shall all be offerings to the Blood God!”

  With crazed roars, they charged forward like ravenous wolves.

  The two slave girls were so terrified by this sudden turn of events that their faces turned pale with fright, stumbling backward in panic. At this moment, the black-robed figures no longer had the time to concern themselves with them—their eyes were filled only with hatred and madness.

  “Lunatics…” Buck took a deep breath. In his frantic search, he realized he had no weapons on him. The only thing he could use for defense was the heavy black wooden box, the length of his arm, lying on his lap.

  The battle erupted in an instant. The black-robed figure closest to Buck was immediately struck down by the deafening roar of gunfire. However, the others displayed astonishing agility. They charged forward fearlessly, like moths to a flame, throwing themselves at the knights in their armor. They used their own bodies to shield their comrades from bullets and blades, sacrificing themselves as they clawed out the eyes of the guards with their bare hands. In an instant, screams of agony and battle cries intertwined, filling the entire tent with a nightmarish cacophony, as if hell itself had descended upon them.

  Panting heavily, Buck swung the solid wooden box with a reverse grip, smashing a frenzied attacker to the ground. In the chaos, no one paid any more attention to the two slave girls—they had likely already fallen under the flurry of blades. But before that, more guards and black-robed cultists had already perished in the brutal melee.

  “What kind of lunatic cultists are these, daring to fight a noble’s private soldiers to the death?!” Buck cursed inwardly. He swung the wooden box once more, deflecting another oncoming attacker.

  The blade tore through the tent fabric, and Buck, drenched in sweat, scrambled out of the blood-reeking battlefield. A gust of mountain wind howled past, sending a chill through his body. He looked around, and what he saw made his heart sink. This was neither a military camp nor a noble’s estate—it was a desolate, pitch-black valley, surrounded by jagged rocks, eerily silent.

  So that was it. The original noble youth, in order to avoid prying eyes, had secretly led a group of cultists into this remote mountain in the dead of night to conduct this horrifying ritual. What a foolish decision! A bitter smile tugged at Buck’s lips.

  Just then, Buck noticed several towering shadows approaching from the depths of the valley. These figures stood over twice the height of a man, their massive bodies exuding a deathly blue-green hue. Their arms were unnaturally long, and their razor-sharp black claws gleamed ominously in the darkness, like the deadliest of daggers, sending shivers down his spine.

  “Monsters?” Buck’s heart clenched.

  The captain of the guards, drenched in blood, burst out of the tent. The moment he laid eyes on those creatures, his expression turned grim. He bellowed, “Demonic beasts! Protect the young master! Form up—attack!”

  The surviving guards, still reeling from the brutal slaughter inside the tent, emerged to face the monstrosities with visible dread. Yet, not a single one of them backed down. Without needing orders, half of them split off and charged forward alongside the captain, fully aware of the peril before them.

  Determination burned in the captain’s eyes—he knew full well he might not live through this night. His only wish was for the honorable Viscount Frank to take care of their families.

  However, the disparity in power was simply too great. Despite their nearly equal numbers, the thick-skinned, iron-fleshed monstrosities tore through the formation with ease. Their razor-sharp claws sliced through armor as if it were paper; their foul, gaping maws crushed throats in an instant. Blood sprayed, screams echoed, and the stench of death thickened in the valley.

  Seeing this, Buck didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the remaining guards and turned to flee. But the formation behind him collapsed too quickly. Some guards had no choice but to stay behind, sacrificing their lives to buy Buck time to escape.

  The wind howled in his ears as he ran, uncertain of how far he had gone. One by one, the guards around him turned back, wielding their swords with unwavering resolve to hold off the pursuers. No matter how hard Buck tried to stop them, they could not be swayed.

  Finally, his strength gave out. His legs could no longer support him, and he collapsed face-first onto the ground. He had to admit, the Frank family’s guards were truly brave. They had nearly slain all the monsters… nearly.

  The last remaining green-skinned fiend, moving like a specter, closed in on him. Its grotesque mouth curled into a sinister grin as it approached, as if savoring the thought of feasting on Buck.

  “Am I going to die again…?” Sitting on the ground, Buck looked up at the towering beast with a dazed expression. A wave of desolation washed over him. He had entered this chaotic, dark world, only to be thrust into this life-and-death struggle from the very start.

  “I was given a second chance at life… How can it just end like this?” A surge of unwillingness flared in Buck’s heart. He screamed inwardly, “No! Never! I will do anything—anything—to survive!”

  Anything?

  As if answering his desperate plea, an unseen force stirred in the void, amused by the tiny mortal’s cry. It granted him a faint, cryptic whisper.

  Buck, racking his brain for a way to survive, suddenly noticed the fallen box beside him. This box—he had held onto it from the very beginning. It seemed to hold some kind of special significance…

  He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and slowly unlatched the box.

  A severed arm, deep crimson in color, tumbled out.

  As if guided by some sinister instinct, Buck grasped it.

  At that moment, a tidal wave of dizziness crashed over him! A terrifying psychic force assaulted his mind, plunging him into hallucinations. And then—a strange prompt appeared, vividly etched in his consciousness.

  【Severed Arm of the Divine Corpse detected. Initiate grafting ritual?】

  Buck’s eyes widened in shock as the monstrous fiend loomed ever closer. Gritting his teeth, he steeled his resolve and reached for the final straw extended to him from the abyss.

  “Yes!”