"Ugh, that hurt!" Xiao Yun slowly woke, only to find himself wrapped head to toe in white bandages like a mummy. The air was laced with the pungent smell of medicine.
Enduring the pain coursing through his body, Xiao Yun surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings before him.
It was a low stone house, extremely crude in appearance. There was scarcely any furniture inside—only a bed, a table, and a chair.
It seemed to be around nine in the morning. A ray of sunlight streamed through the broken window and fell upon an iron sword on the battered table, reflecting a glimmer of cold light.
The sword was nothing more than an ordinary iron sword, roughly one meter and ten centimeters long. There were no patterns on it whatsoever, and its hilt was a rough wooden one. An old scabbard lay beside it.
"My chest, both arms, and both legs all seem to have suffered severe sword wounds. The key is... this body of mine..."
Xiao Yun examined the state of his body. Though he had lost his immense power, his separated soul was still exceptionally strong, giving him formidable spiritual power and a degree of inner sight.
But this body did not seem to be his. Had he borrowed a corpse to return to life?
This seemed different from entering the Primordial World.
Xiao Yun sensed the fragments of memories lingering in his mind. They should have been memories left behind by this body's original owner.
The man was named Hill, a seventeen-year-old blond youth. His parents had already passed away, and he had only a fifteen-year-old younger sister named Xiya. The siblings had always depended on each other for survival.
A month ago, in order to earn money, Hill had followed Baron Raik, the local lord, onto the battlefield before