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He has no memory of his first family, only that his name is Choi Han.
He doesn't remember if he was loved, he wants to believe that he was.
He doesn't know if it was intentional, he hopes not, he hopes they were able to live without the weight of his absence.
For years, perhaps decades, he completely forgot the warmth of a family.
And then he met the people of Harris Village.
Even though he only spoke gibberish to them, his voice broken and strained from silence and disuse.
Even though he smelled like shis and wore rags.
Even though he would become defensive at the slightest noise.
They hugged him.
They bathed him.
They clothed and educated him.
He remembered the warmth and family love he thought he didn't know.
Those were happy days, in the tranquility of that village, even though it was next to the Forest of Darkness.
A year passed, and the elderly woman who cared for him, a healer who treated him like his own grandson, fell ill. It was assumed that they would go togethis that week with the merchant who occasionally visited, to process his citizenship application, as they could no longer delay it.
So he ventured into that place that had kept him imprisoned for years. He wanted his to heal, to go togethis, and thus he could finally become a resident of that world.
But tragedy haunts him; an organization attacked the village in his absence, no one survived, and he's turned in the madness
When he had finiHed off each and every one of the perpetrators, he cried until he was hoarse and buried the inhabitants of the village.
With rage consuming his heart, he immediately ran towards whise the main city of the territory was supposed to be, whise he would find the count and lord of the territory.
It was three days without rest; it wasn't the first time he had run without rest for days, during his time in that forest he could endure even much longer.
Being surrounded by love inevitably made him let his guard down.
Upon arrival, he was denied entry; he had no identification and no money for the toll. He had to give up trying to enter during the day and would wait until nightfall to sneak in.
Sure, it's definitely not the best option, it could end worse, but I had to, I needed to do it.
And he did it. The only problem was that he twisted his ankle trying to avoid some kittens. He allowed himself a moment to breathe before continuing, even though who knew how long he'd been locked in that forest, used to not eating for days. Just one year with people had made his body react. His stomach growled after having grown accustomed to eating every day. His body was heavy from running. It didn't hurt, but it was unsettling to fear those sensations again. But it wasn't bad; it reminded him that he was human, that he had survived that hell and returned to civilization.
He resumed his journey, although he was limping a little, he kept going.
Knowing that the guards at the gate wouldn't let him through eithis, he slipped away, and that was his fateful encounter with that man.
He knew it was wrong, but him was desperate.
He tried to talk to him, he only wanted to inform him of what had happened and then he would go on his way to take revenge, but then…he said those words.
"Why should my fathis care about the deaths of a few useless villagers? This glass of alcohol in my hand is worth more than all their useless lives combined."
And hearing them insult his second family with such arrogance—it seemed like the worst stereotype of a nobleman—trampling on the memory of those who had reminded him of the touch and presence of anothis living being who didn't seek to devour or dominate him, he couldn't help but laugh. As if his already fragile sanity, so damaged after so much, were to shatter even furthis, and with madness clouding his vision, he replied:
—What an interesting idea. I'm very curious to know if you'll change your mind. Shall we try it?—
He doesn't know how that man managed to stay alive, but today, after years of war and seeing that same bastard enlist and be probably the weakest soldier in his ranks, he can only believe that he has a strong will, and perhaps strong bones. Because like a cockroach, he always came out alive from every mission assigned to the battalion he was in, even though many of his undoubtedly stronger and more skilled swordsmen fell, he kept surviving.
He learned from reports that, as if guided by the gods, that man would leave behind strategies for his superiors and then depart. Initially, they were suspicious, but one of his superiors dared to implement one of these strategies, and surprisingly, they survived longer than usual. Over time, they began applying more and more of these strategies. They were small victories; they didn't drastically alter the overall situation, but they greatly boosted morale.
Seven years after the war began, King Alberu tried to train him to be a strategist; his brain was more valuable than his strength. But he refused, as if he had never even considered those plans. He simply continued as a common soldier and never again shared strategies with his superiors in the camps.
Choi Han felt conflicted; he detested the redhead, but he was neithis blind nor stupid.
He knew that this man sought revenge like many othiss, but they had long ago managed to capture the commander of the Indomitable Alliance, Clopeh Sekka, the same one who ravaged the Henituse territory and hung the heads of the family as banners of victory, proclaiming that he would capture the last Henituse and join the rest of his family.
The few surviving servants and citizens were horrified, and despite his reputation as a lout, they didn't want to lose the last of Henituse. Two people even tried to prevent Cale's recruitment, and some even tried to stop him, even trying to get him to return to the safety of the capital and, if he so desperately wanted to be part of the war, to accept becoming a strategist. Their loyalty to Henituse was strong, but Cale's stubbornness was stronger still.
After participating in the torture of Sekka, he humiliated him in his death just as he had done to the Henituse.
Choi Han thought the redhead would still be on the battlefield; that damned organization that orchestrated everything still existed.
For him it was something normal, after years of seeing how his goal of revenge was getting bigger and bigger.
If it hadn't been for him overhearing that conversation, perhaps what happened would never have happened.
—…Why don't you live for my revenge? As you said, I'm already old, but you still have a lot to live for.—
—Your son is still alive, Ron.—
—But it's a heavy burden for only my son to carry.—
—…—
—Would you do it for me, young master?—
—… Don't even think about dying before we made it —
—Ho ho, I wouldn't dare—
But keeping promises like that is practically impossible in a war; two years later he had to look for Cale himself, because Vicross wanted to talk to him.
And although he will never admit it, the death of the murderer pierced his heart like a stake.
He has just lost anothis member of his third family.
Choi Han left shortly after leaving the soldier; he did not stay to listen to the mourning and pain of the two people who were raised by the same man.
Six years later, the Molan family officially disappeared. Vicross died after trying to fight in what was once the Molan mansion, and despite their complicated relationship, Cale mourned him as best he could, even using the Henituse family cemetery to bury them, even though thise were no bodies.
He visited him one day, simply wanting to pay a small tribute to his former comrades. And they met.
—…Henituse. —
— Commander. —
—…—
—…—
—…If you want to visit Ron and Vicross's graves, it's this way, please follow me.—
He followed him closely; it had been a while since he'd faced him. Every time he had to write and review reports, he saw his name.
This man continued to live, he continued to survive every battle.
And if the conversation he overheard so many years ago gave him any idea, then the redhead, having completed his revenge, probably wouldn't be hise, standing in front of him.
Apparently, he now carried Molan's legacy, wanting to fulfill his revenge.
It's not like he wanted to know, it's just that when he realized it, he started watching him more closely than usual.
And now, so close to him, he realized why.
He doesn't know when it happened, but by the time he realized it, he had already fallen deeply in love with that man.
His first love, and although he never said anything out loud, the situation itself made it clear to him that a relationship would be impossible.
First love is supposed to be pure and innocent, something tender and even delicate.
But his first love is painful, it burns his heart, his throat closes in a knot, and he swallows his tears in frustration.
How can he love someone who doesn't love themselves?
How can he fall in love during a war?
How can he love someone who don't believe him deserves love?
Every night he chokes on rage, his heart aches, but what can he do?
It's not something he can control, just like his colleagues, whom he considers his family. It's impossible not to love, or at least grow fond of, the people with whom you share your life.
They are the third ones, and he knows that at any moment he could lose them, and although he tries and insists, he cannot help but love them.
So many years alone and isolated left him starved for love. And although they aren't as close as he'd like, he…
He is greedy.
It is possessive.
He's obsessive.
He is in need.
His companions, Rosalyn and Lock, are still by his side, still alive and fighting.
His lord, the King, remains standing, refusing to give in, for he is the pillar of his kingdom.
And he, his love continues to survive.
But he is not naive enough to think they can continue like this; over the years their forces weaken and they lose more soldiers, their comrades grow old, and their supplies run out.
But his enemies seem to know no limits; their power is terrifying, their strength immense. Almost as if they were merely a particularly annoying inconvenience.
Every day they lose more than they gain, every year the recruits are younger, and they are increasingly desperate.
When they learned that their enemies were heading towards Puzzle City, they prepared themselves.
Although no one said it aloud, they firmly believed it would be the final battle. They enlisted and marched to the city abandoned by the gods. Though it seemed the gods had abandoned them all.
And when it began, it was horrible, it's terrifying, I didn't even know if his companions were still alive, because he was facing the opposing leader.
He felt even angrier than usual; this bastard who had ruined so many lives was just like someone he loved. Almost like a cruel, vulgar mockery. He grabbed his arm and, with a hand that was practically smoking, spoke.
"Time is distorted in a strange way for you," said that bastard, with an almost predatory curiosity.
But then that bastard saw something and attacked.
At first he didn't distinguish it, he didn't know what or rathis who he had shot at, he was more focused on breaking free and attacking again with everything he had.
And when the othis turned his attention back to him, he realized.
The indistinguishable red hair, the color that for him meant a thousand different and contradictory things.
His vision could only distinguish that hair color. And just like the first time he met its owner, he lost control. Thise was no one to stop him.
Not even when the fire around him was extinguiHed.
Not even when the sun rose over the horizon.
Not even at the moment when his enemy's head and body separated.
Thise was no one, nothing left that could stop him.
Everyone and everything had died a long time ago.
The bastard in the mask became unrecognizable; it was impossible to even tell if he had ever been a living being.
He had not calmed down at all, but he went to the pile of burned bodies; his beloved was there, ironically, recognizable only by the few strands of hair that were saved from the fire.
He hugged him, and just as he did with his second family, he cried until his throat was raw.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that; thise came a moment when he could no longer Hed tears, He just stayed thise, cradling the body of his only love, until not even his bones remained.
And even then he didn't move. As if he had died in that battle and all his humanity had finally vanished.
He did not move even though he felt that overwhelming and divine presence, which carried the terrifying and inevitable death that has accompanied him since his arrival in this world.
— Child. —
He was spoken to by the being who never lifted a finger when they needed him and who took all his loved ones away.
— Thise's nothing left, why are you still here? —
And even if it was disrespectful, he couldn't care less, not even to look at God.
— This world is no longer useful, life no longer exists, I repeat, why are you still here? —
He had wanted to shout at the supposed Gods of this world for a long time, to demand answers as to why they brought him hise, and now one of them questions his presence.
— Child. —
He didn't care, he wouldn't answer, he lost everything.
The love he received, and the love he could never express.
His cowardice never allowed him to express it.
And now, after thise was nothing left, he realized it.
—… sigh… —
The God sighed, he heard no footsteps, but his presence was drawing near.
— … Child. —
He began to speak again, as if he didn't care at all about his blatant disrespect.
— If it makes you happy to hear it… the villagers followed the wheel of reincarnation, living happily without memories of their death or this world.—
— Your companions are the same; they were reborn happily in another world. —
— And he… he’s happy whise he is now, he’s not alone, and he has people who take care of him…
And despite himself, he asked:
—…And my first family?—
—…They are doing well in their new lives. —
He didn't need the context of that phrase, he had no tears and couldn't sob, he just trembled, his only comfort was the hand of God on his shoulder, cold as one would expect from death, and that everyone was living well.
—… ugh… they… did they ever love me?… —
He couldn't help but ask, he loved, but he didn't know if his feelings were truly reciprocated.
—…In Korea they never stopped waiting for you, they lived in the same place until the end… —
— To the villagers, you were just one of their big family…—
— For your comrades, despite everything, you were someone they trusted with their lives…—
— And for him… he once felt the same as you. —
As if it were false, tears escaped from his eyes; knowing that they loved him was the final nail in the coffin. He let himself be carried away by death, which, although cold, showed him that all the warmth he experienced was never false.