"Can I even still be called the same person?"
The question setlled in slence as no answer came No answer came—just the faint hum of system notifications echoing at the edge of his mind.
Memory was identity.
Memory was the only thing that proved he had ever existed.
And the system and the cruel game world wanted to strip even that from him.
Licht clenched his fists.
"I don't care what this system wants."
"I don't care about quests, or stats, or saving this damn world."
He stared out toward the edge of the horizon, lightning flickering faintly in his irises.
"I will finish this.""I will beat this world to its knees."
His voice dropped to a whisper, venom laced in every syllable:
"I'd rather rot in a nursing home on Earth than forget who I truly was."
Living with a sort of completely different memory, how is that any different from death
