White Town

"No! You can't do this!"

"Please, I'm begging you. Spare these poor children!"

"Didn't you say you'd let us go? You executioners, you devils! Heaven will punish you for this!"

Bang!

The nun, driven to despair after being deceived, collapsed in a pool of blood at the sound of the gunshot.

"Will you shut up already? Do you believe everything I say? Hahahahaha! If I hadn't told you that, why would you have brought this bunch of brats right to our doorstep? You've saved us a lot of trouble! Hahaha!"

"Just so you know, our orders are to leave no one in this country alive. Everyone still here—including the old and the children—has to die. The only ones who got away were your king and the royal family, who ran off like a pack of stray dogs!"

A soldier beside him frowned. "Simon, you're saying too much."

"What are you afraid of? They'll all be dead in a minute. Dead people can't talk."

"Open fire! Take them all out!"

The soldiers raised their guns with wicked grins and unleashed a hail of bullets.

The last thing the fallen nun saw was the children being shot, one after another.

As the children wailed in helpless despair, two streams of tears filled with regret ran down the nun's face. Then she sank into eternal darkness.

"I'm sorry."

Even as her life came to an end, the nun never saw the merciful light of salvation descend upon them, the poor and wretched.

There was only despair.

In September of Sea Year 1506, Freyvans in the North Sea was destroyed by a neighboring country in a war, and a great fire consumed White Town.

Throughout the whole ordeal, neither the World Government nor the Navy sent anyone to help.

The only known survivors were the former royal family of Freyvans, who had contacted the World Government well in advance and abandoned their country to escape.

Yet faintly, through the dark clouds, a slender ray of sunlight seemed to pierce the despair and shine down.

Though White Town, Freyvans, had been destroyed, the cleanup was still underway.

For instance, the bodies the fire hadn't managed to burn.

If they weren't dealt with quickly, an epidemic would become the first wave of revenge from those "white ghosts."

So the bodies were hauled over to Freyvans' border, where they were piled up and left until the fuel arrived, ready to be burned together.

The mountain of corpses looked like something straight out of hell!

An ordinary person would probably have nightmares for three nights after a single glance!

That was why most of the soldiers tasked with transporting the bodies didn't linger. Each time they finished hauling a load, they left at once, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and this accursed place of death.

After all, what was there to guard in a pile of corpses? It wasn't as if they could get up and run away, was it?

But amid the utter silence, several bodies stirred in an eerie, unsettling way!

Thump...

Huff... huff...

As a few bodies rolled off the top, a thin, disheveled figure, covered in blood and grime, finally struggled free from beneath them, breathing heavily after nearly suffocating.

Then the stench of blood, rotting flesh, and other indescribably awful smells rushed into his nostrils all at once.

"Ugh! Ugh!"

He immediately retched violently. Once he took in his surroundings, he threw up even harder.

"So there really is a hell after death, and it's this terrifying!"

"No, this isn't hell. This is Freyvans. My name is Gustavus Abel!"

After heaving until he had nothing left to throw up, Abel finally finished merging the memories of his two lives.

In his previous life, he'd been a "self-made" young entrepreneur who'd done pretty well for himself.

By the age of thirty, with a little help from his in-laws, he'd made several million with hardly any effort.

To prove he wasn't some kept pretty boy, he'd thrown himself into the business wholeheartedly. Then, after a long day at work, he'd gotten into a car accident while driving home exhausted in the middle of the night.

When he opened his eyes again, he'd found himself here, in a place that looked like hell!

The body he'd transmigrated into had been unlucky enough already.

His name was Gustavus Abel, and he'd been born in Freyvans, an extraordinarily beautiful and prosperous place in the North Sea.

He'd also had a happy family. His parents were well-known local merchants with considerable wealth.

He'd received a good education from a young age, and he'd been cheerful and easygoing. He'd inherited his parents' excellent features, too, and grown into a handsome young man with plenty of friends.

If that had been all there was to it, he might even have been grateful to have transmigrated into someone like that.

But as his memories resurfaced, words like "White Town," "Lead Sickness," "Pirate King," "World Government," and "Celestial Dragons" filled his mind. Only then did he realize what a terrifying world he'd ended up in!

And the situation he was in now was awful, too!

After all, he'd watched plenty of famous manga—Death Note, Fire Force, and Naruto. Who hadn't had those as part of their childhood? But once he gradually shifted his attention to his career, he'd rarely read them anymore. He only checked in on the story now and then during his occasional breaks.

For instance, he'd heard people complain about the Human-Human Fruit, Mythical Zoan, Model: Nika for ages.

I really transmigrated at the worst possible time—and to one of the worst places, too.

After thinking it over, Abel couldn't help giving a bitter laugh.

Living in Freyvans, known as "White Town," was no blessing. Nearly everyone there had contracted the incurable Lead Sickness, and by his generation, people were dying in endless agony before they even reached adulthood.

Abel looked at the clearly visible white patches on his arm. He knew he was no exception. It seemed that being given a second life had used up all his luck.

Worse still, if he'd arrived just a few days earlier, he might have found a way to escape with his parents and search for a cure.

But now it was too late. To conceal the secret, the World Government had all but let Freyvans be destroyed in the war. His parents had died just like everyone else, beneath blades and bullets.

Then there was the deceived nun, and the innocent children who'd been gunned down...

Even the briefest recollection made Abel clench his fists without thinking.

After all, once the memories had merged, there was no longer any distinction between him and the person whose life he'd inherited. There was only one name left: Gustavus Abel!

He felt everything they had suffered as if it had happened to him.

Someday, he would get justice for his parents and everyone else who had died in Freyvans!

But for now, he had to think things through carefully. At this stage, he simply didn't have the power or ability to do anything about it.

"Right now, the most important thing is to get out of here. I've finally gotten used to the smell, at least for the moment, but if those soldiers find me, I'll probably end up transmigrating again. Assuming I get another chance."

After muttering to himself, Abel immediately tried to roll over and stand up, only to tumble straight off the pile of bodies.

He was already in bad shape. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd eaten, and he hadn't had a drop of water. On top of that, the violent retching had left him dizzy and weak.

"Damn it!"

Abel leaned against a corpse and managed to sit up, gasping for breath. Waves of hunger and weakness battered his nerves.

In this state, trying to slip away unnoticed and cross the Borderline was a pipe dream.

He needed to recover some of his strength first.

But the bad news was that there was neither food nor water here, and the longer he waited, the greater the chance he'd run into those soldiers!

"Damn it! If I've already managed to transmigrate, can't I at least get some kind of cheat?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, a voice suddenly rang out in his mind.

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