Chapter Text
Every so often, some people would get flashes of their soulmate's future, although said soulmate unknowing of when. This was the fact of life, an indicator of those who had a soulmate. For Kim Dokja, this was a rejection from the universe, a quiet whisper that he was unworthy of anyone. Kim Dokja has always seen what he was supposed to see, dreaming or physical. No flashes of someone else's future. In the world he lived in, it only meant one thing: he had no soulmates. Perhaps it wouldn't have bothered him so much if he had been surrounded by a loving family or friends, but the hole in his heart aches and it takes all that he can to simply suppress it.
As an average worker in Minosoft, Dokja’s life was not very interesting. He woke up, went to work, went back home, and pirated the newest book of the series ‘The Supreme King’s Bloody Rule’. It was a long, complex book on Yoo Joonghyuk’s struggle to protect his kingdom and find his soulmates.
But today, Dokja passed by a library, peering at the sad pile of free books on a shelf. An encyclopedia, dictionary, tens of kids books, and—
The newest book of ‘The Supreme King’s Bloody Rule’. For a second, Dokja stands there, floored, because he has never seen a physical copy of the book in his life. It was hardly mainstream and received harsh criticism for how Yoo Joonghyuk acted and the long, unnecessary paragraphs on random details.
Although, he muses, that’s probably why it was on the free bookshelf. He doubted a single person would’ve checked it out anyways. Dokja grabs it and hurries home, ready to make instant noodles, curl up on his bed, and read the newest book. Walking onto the train, he clutches the book tight, tapping his foot as he opened his phone and scrolled through a few forums.
Twenty minutes later, Dokja walks out of the train station, makes a left turn and heads up the stairs of his apartment. In his small apartment, he opens the book, looking at the first page.
Author’s Note:
Hello, my dear reader. This will be the last installment in ‘The Supreme King’s Bloody Rule’. I have struck up a deal with an organization that will pay me, so I will not be publishing anything for some time. Thank you for sticking around, and please read till the end.
Dokja quickly flips past the author’s note, finishing the book in a few hours. He stares at the book, incredulity warring with frustration in his mind. Yoo Joonghyuk had simply slaughtered the enemy army, mindlessly killing before beheading the final villain in the most typical, in-character move the author could've ever written. However, the book simply ended there, with no promise of a sequel or even a horrible prequel that would probably ruin his entire view of the book. Dokja knew the author had probably just signed a contract and didn't have more time, leading to the abrupt and rushed ending, but it just seemed unfulfilling.
So many of the characters had died for Yoo Joonghyuk and the man had simply gone on a rampage and killed a bunch of people? He sighs, putting a hand over his face. Stupid sunfish. At least the author seemed like they would continue writing, just not for some time.
He flips over to check his phone for the time. 3:16 AM. He had work tomorrow, so he should probably sleep. Before he closes his phone, a small notification lights up. Dokja squints against the harsh light, trying to figure out the words before giving up and closing his phone. It was probably something stupid like another one of those unnecessary meetings Han Myungoh liked to set up all the time just to see—
He frowns. See who? Dokja drags his hands over his face, sighing.
“I’m too tired for this,” he murmurs. Placing his phone down, he closes his eyes and falls asleep.
He's sitting on a horse, the clop-clop of the horse the only thing heard through the silence and snow falling. The horse was intricately dressed for an animal, with long pieces of blue cloth with golden designs covering it. The snow clothes bear a familiar coat of arms of a black sword covering a shield, but his vision was too blurry to make it out clearly.
"Evacuate the rest of the village," he orders.
"Yes sir!"
A knight salutes, his back straight. He cut a large, bear-like body, muscular and thickset. His face was friendly and likable, with nice open features despite his serious words. A helmet covered his black hair cut short in a sporty hairstyle. The rest of the knights turn away, marching off as a teenage girl pushes her horse to the front, frowning at the backs of the soldiers.
"Master," she says, hesitation clear in her features. His eyesight was getting blurrier, and he feels nauseous. "I think that--"
The world blurs and shifts as a new scene appears, colors blending together as he opens his eyes again.
She sits at a desk, crossing her legs as she frowns. She (he? something feels off--) aggressively crosses out another symbol on a scroll, holding her head. The woman mutters something angrily before putting down her quill, opening the door, and marching off.
"My lady," another woman says, a gentle and lively look on her. She has brown hair just past her shoulders, her bangs covering her eyebrows. Something about her is awfully familiar. "Perhaps a break would do you some good."
She tsks, turning around in annoyance. "Something is wrong," she says. Her head feels light and she sways, her legs giving out as she crashes to the ground and--
Kim Dokja wakes up with a gasp. He grasps the sheets underneath him, sitting up. He looks downward and scrambles backward, hitting his back against the headboard of the bed. This wasn't his old, ratty mattress back in his tiny apartment. The room he was in was huge- it could probably fit three or four rooms inside. Everything was too soft, and the light flowing into his room by the light, cream-colored curtain was wrong.
What the heck?
Dokja cautiously treads out of bed, staring at the full-body mirror in the corner of his bedroom. He traces his features with one of his hands, staring into the reflection. Dokja pretty much looked the same. A plain, ugly face with a scrawny body. The only thing that had changed was his clothes. He wasn't even taller, he thinks, a little hysterically, and the face that stares back is just as incredulous.
A blank, dull feeling washes over him, and he slightly relaxes.
However, it was clear that he was not in the same body. Dokja's hands were much softer, and the small scars he had gotten from his father's beatings and his bullies had disappeared. Running his hands over his face, Dokja tries to think. He feels oddly refreshed, which would be nice if it didn't feel so off. He hadn't felt refreshed for forever-- he was constantly sleep-deprived from staring at his phone all night.
The book. The last installment of The Supreme King's Bloody Rule. He was isakai'd. Transmigrated, whatever. Dokja makes his way toward the reading desk, grabbing as many books as he could before pouring them underneath the patch of sunshine on the floor. He carefully opens the first book he can find, a journal. The name on the book reads Kim Dokja and he immediately feels the urge to bash his head against the floor.
The bastard son of Duke Gilobat, a man who had made several deals with demon kings, leading to his and most of his family's deaths and the early succession of his son, Dokja. Kim Dokja, the only person who was left alive after the incident was blamed for his family's deaths, and the fact that he was illegitimate made matters worse, as both the blood son and daughter of the late Duke Gilobat and Lee Hei-ryung had been murdered. The premature death of the Duke led the original Dokja to a mental breakdown, and the boy had allowed criminals and crime to stain his land. Eventually, Joonghyuk had enough of the criminal reports made by the people of the Gilobat Complex and paid a visit to Dokja. The newly crowned duke had proceeded to piss off Joonghyuk to the point where Joonghyuk had simply sliced off Dokja's head without saying a word.
It said a lot to the boy's character when the book mentioned that not a single servant or maid had complained or screamed when it happened.
Opening his closet, he stares at the fancy clothes decorating the entire space. There was really only one big problem, which was the fact that he had no idea how to put on half of the clothes. Dokja sighs, eventually choosing a simple dress shirt and trousers, pulling on socks and his loafers. He glances at the calendar, staring at the date in a mix of horror and relief.
It's two weeks after Duke Gilobat's death. While this gave him the perfect cover, as his character hadn't supposedly broken down and he could simply blame any discrepancies between the original character and him on his 'father's' death, Dokja had no idea how he was going to fake his grief. Pushing the problem to a later date, he grabs the cloak hanging on the edge of a chair and puts it over his head and onto his shoulders.
As he walks down the halls, servants and maids flinch, scurrying away to wherever they came from, and he wants to sigh. It was awfully inconvenient that the past owner of his body had simply decided to be a horrible person to everyone, before and after his father's death, because he really needed to figure out what the current state of affairs in this stupid house was.
Everyone was terrified of him, just like his father back at home--
Dokja freezes, clenching his hand to hide the shaking. He rounds a corner and presses his back against the wall, closing his eyes as he tries to remember the name of the original Dokja's servants. He lets apathy wash over him, calming his mind as he sifts through the information he has. It was a good thing that the author of The Supreme King's Bloody Rule was not a typical author, and liked to overexplain every single detail.
He steps out, gently laying a hand on a maid carrying a few bedsheets. "Excuse me," he says, ignoring the heavy flinch he receives, "could you point me toward Yongpal?"
The maid stares at him with wide eyes before quickly adjusting, steeling her face so most of her fear is hidden. "Your personal servant can usually be found in your room at this time, sir," she replies, head bowed in respect (or fear).
Dokja nods, heading off back into his room, slightly annoyed at the short-lived journey he had just made for no reason. Because he was turned around, he misses the look of surprise that crosses the maid's face as the rest of the servants begin to whisper. He opens the door to his bedroom, Yongpal setting up the breakfast on his side table next to the bed.
"Yongpal," he says, and the man whirls around, bending deeply at the waist to give him a respectful bow. Dokja sits down on his bed, grabbing the plate and fork to take a bite out of his breakfast. "Give me an overview of what is currently happening in our territory."
The situation was not ideal, but it was at least salvageable. Dokja sighs, leaning back into the headrest. The whole situation was giving him a headache, and the only thing stopping him from burying under the covers was the dull feeling spreading through his body. Once he got rid of the criminals in his city, he could simply sit back and relax, maybe set up a reliable relative or servant to oversee the territory instead of him. If his entire estate wasn't crawling with criminals, it would also mean that Joonghyuk would have no reason to visit, and maybe he wouldn't need to die...
Wait. He casts his mind back to the strange dreams he had right before he woke up. The coat of arms, the sword, the soldier, and the girl. Oh no. That couldn't be good. The complicated runes on a scroll, the woman who was attending to the mage. He was dreaming about Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung. His soulmates are the High Archmage and the Crown Prince.
Of course, this could still work. That meant he had more sway over Joonghyuk and Sooyoung and could manipulate events so that the war would end quickly so he wouldn't have to think about that. It was simply the damning, cold message in the back of his mind.
「 Incarnation Kim Dokja will be killed by the person he loves most. 」
Shoot. Why did Duke Gilobat have to screw over his son by selling his soul and by extension, his son's soul?
A fate was often paid by the most powerful constellations or demon kings, placed upon incarnations that caught the attention of the gods, often in a bad way. The problem was that Dokja didn't even know who he loved the most. He certainly didn't love anyone back on Earth, and even though he had soulmates now, it was practically irrelevant. They were simply characters in a story, and if he had his way, they would never truly know or love him.
Kim Dokja had spent twenty-eight years without truly loving anyone. He could spend the rest of his lifetime in this world doing the same.