The world is an inherently unpredictable place, and thus, everything within it is equally chaotic and uncertain.
Most creatures inhabiting this realm are driven by self-interest; even in acts q as good, a selfish desire often lurks beneath the surface.
And among these, the most selfish creature of all is humanity. The majority of people relentlessly pursue power and money, for these two forces undeniably govern the world. No matter where one goes, this fundamental truth remains constant.
But Veythor is different. Of course, he is a profoundly selfish man, his true nature undeniably evil.
Yet, he cares nothing for the fleeting allure of money or the hollow grasp of power.
Deep within his hardened heart, he yearns for only one thing: destruction. The destruction of the world, the destruction of himself, so that he might finally be free from this eternal, agonizing cycle of suffering.
Bulz, a man whose very presence exuded a repulsive glee, lit a cigarette, the acrid smoke curling around his leering face.
He was clearly pleased to see Veythor awake, especially with the cold, murderous glares Veythor was sending his way.
"Boy, you're giving me death stares? Ohhh, I'm so scared," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, before erupting into a fit of harsh, guttural laughter.
"I believe you have met your two fellow companions in your journey into slavery," he grinned, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement.
"What, still giving me death stares? I like your bravery, but you should be aware of your situation. You belong to me now. You shouldn't have the audacity, but who cares? I like you. Don't worry, I'll sell you at a very high price, hehehehe."
Veythor could do nothing. He held no power, no leverage to retaliate. The bitter taste of helplessness filled his mouth.
"They're Raika and Shimi, but what was your name again?" Bulz asked, a mocking tone in his voice.
Veythor remained silent for a few moments, his face a mask of indifferent calm. Then, with an expression that betrayed nothing, he uttered, "Veythor."
"What? Veythor?" Bulz's brow furrowed in confusion. He pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper, reading something from it. "Brat, why are you lying? "Your name is Mitoma. Your father wrote it clearly."
Veythor's eyebrows raised imperceptibly. So, the owner of this body's name is Mitoma. A very shitty name. But who cares? His soul is dead now, and this body belongs to me.
"My name is Veythor," he stated, his voice firm, unwavering. "It's self-given. It doesn't matter what my name was in the past. It's Veythor now."
Seeing Veythor's unwavering confidence, Bulz let out a low whistle. "Ooooo, very well, Veythor. I get it. Be ready, Raika, Shimi, and my dear Veythor. Customers will be coming tonight."
Then, with a swift, almost contemptuous motion, Bulz placed three pieces of stale bread and three bowls of murky soup on the rusty, black floor. The bowls were filthy, caked with grime. "Eat these, little puppies, hahaha."
He then turned and left the prison-like cage, his laughter echoing in the oppressive silence.
Veythor remained calm, though a deep, primal desire to smash Bulz's face gnawed at him. He suppressed it, the familiar discipline of countless hardships asserting itself. His belly rumbled, a painful, insistent growl, demanding attention. He sat before the meager offerings of food and began to eat like a madman, his hunger overriding all disgust.
The bread was hard, almost petrified, a challenge for his new, weaker body. The soup, a murky concoction, tasted like raw blood, and strands of hair floated within it, truly disgusting. Yet, he continued to devour it. In his second life, he had consumed far worse, things that would turn the stomach of any ordinary man. These meager, vile scraps were nothing compared to the horrors he had eaten to survive.
Shimi and Raika watched him, their young eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. Raika, unable to contain his disgust, murmured, "How can he eat those disgusting things? Eww, I'm not eating those. Is he some kind of wild animal?"
"Raika, stop badmouthing him! He must be very hungry, poor soul," Shimi scolded, her voice sharp with disapproval. Raika rolled his eyes, a childish gesture of defiance, and looked away.
After finishing the last morsel, Veythor finally looked at them, his gaze direct, unwavering.
"Time to make an escape plan," he declared, his voice loud, resonating with an unshakeable conviction.
"Are you insane?" Raika retorted, his anger flaring. "Didn't you understand what we were saying before? It's impossible! Do you have a death wish?"
"No matter the cost, we must escape,"
Veythor said slowly, his tone laced with false concern. "This man Bulz is a very dangerous man. He won't sell us to some paradise. if we don't act now... we're headed straight for a hell beyond imagination."
His words fell like stones into still water.
Shimi's face paled. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "But… how? We're powerless... Helpless."
"Yeah, tell us then, mister genius," Raika snapped, eyes narrowed, distrust evident. "What's your grand plan?"
Veythor's lips curled into a smirk.
"Heh… just wait," he said, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "You'll see soon enough."