Prologue.

~ Volume 1 ~

"I have many regrets in life, they are weighing me down. But i continue to march forward because the ones i love are waiting for Me"

Author: Lux Redhawk.

Translator: R.F. Perfo

*****

   Japan, Tokyo, Suginami City, 22:00.

The sounds of drunken tourists shattered the stillness of the night as I, a lowlife thug named "Omen," conducted my biggest robbery yet. I'm quite proud of myself, to say the least. My friends and I had been planning this store heist for quite a while, with an estimated total value of 10 million yen. Our target is the biggest jewelry store in the district. Quite a haul, isn't it?

As for what I am doing here, well... I was never a good person, always living on what others gave. But I wasn't doing this by choice. Even back in high school, I was a delinquent. As of now, I have quite a laundry list of crimes to my name – sexual assault, pickpocketing, small robberies, and more. I even killed someone once. Life wasn't good; I was miserable, living day by day. I was never caught once in my life. So, when my friend Hideo asked me to join his robber group, I proudly seized the opportunity. We had been undertaking smaller and bigger heists for years, gaining a certain level of infamy, or at least I thought so. Despite the laundry list of crimes I had committed, my foray into organized robbery with my friend Hideo brought a certain sense of purpose to my otherwise aimless existence. We had built a reputation, a degree of infamy marked by gas station heists, but nothing that had attracted the relentless pursuit of the police.

   Yet, here I was, my life hanging in the balance, a circumstance that didn't hold much weight for me. Living on the edge seemed fitting, given that I felt I had no right to a better existence. I was accustomed to proving I didn't deserve more – a nobody, referred to only as Omen by friends, a name that carried the weight of death, strangely cool in its own way. As we entered the jewelry store, our plan appeared foolproof. But a single misstep shattered our illusion of control when I accidentally triggered the alarm, throwing us into chaos. Alarms blared, police sirens wailed in the distance – chaos ensued.

With no better option, I had to run.

RUN.

Leaving everything and everyone behind, I abandoned the diamonds and the so-called friends who never bothered to know me beyond our criminal exploits. As I sprinted through the winding streets, the realization hit me that even if I managed to escape the authorities, my untrustworthy associates might betray me. Alone and with no one to rely on, the question of where to go and what to do loomed ominously. Staying here was not an option, but where could I go? What could I do? My existence had been confined to theft; I had no girlfriend or friends. Trust was a luxury I couldn't afford.

In my frantic flight through the urban maze, questioning the purpose of my turbulent life, I vaulted over fences and darted through alleys, haunted by the relentless pursuit of the police.

So, here I was, a 28-year-old thug running through the streets, jumping above fences, leap after leap, jump after jump, corners after corners. I ran. I ran as much as I could.

"Did I escape them? huh? Did I lose the police... those filthy dogs?" A momentary reprieve allowed the audacious hope that perhaps I had escaped my pursuers, but then…

Approaching my next turn, suddenly... crash.

Out of nowhere, a truck collided with me. I felt nothing. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, my eyes open, seeing nothing but red all over. The impact rendered me senseless, sprawled on the pavement, bleeding and detached from the reality unfolding around me.

Facing the inevitability of my demise, I lay there, accepting the consequences of a life lived on the fringe. Always a realist, I had accepted my eventual death early on, but I never thought it would come this early. Do I have regrets? It didn't matter anymore. Even if I did have regrets, it was all over now. Nobody would cry for me, and I wasn't sad either. Just a pervert, robber, lowlife thug lying here in a pool of blood. As the lights faded around me, I looked at the truck driver who tried to keep me alive. My consciousness faded, lights disappeared, and I breathed out for one last time. "Leave me, let me die," I murmured my last word to the driver who held me up.

At 22:34, in the heart of Tokyo's Suginami City, the notorious Omen met his eventual end at the age of 28.

... Or did he?

*****

"Taking a step forward is the hardest, for a hopeless person"

   Gradually, my vision began to clear, and consciousness slowly returned. The first thing that greeted my awakening was an unfamiliar ceiling, "Shiranai tenjou" as one would say, but it wasn't the ceiling of a hospital room. Instead, it was the vast expanse of the night sky adorned with countless stars, stretching out as far as the eye could discern. Blinking away the haze, I tried to make sense of my surroundings in the quiet of the night. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized I was lying flat in the back of a wooden carriage, pulled by a horse. To my surprise, I wasn't alone. There were two older individuals who shared the ride with me, they were sitting in the corner, their appearance reminiscent of beggars clad in worn and tattered robes. Though they appeared to be around fifty years old, the harshness of time had etched deep lines on their faces, telling stories of a lifetime of struggle. Suddenly aware of my presence, I inadvertently bumped into the legs of the older man beside me, earning a swift kick in response.

   "What an unfriendly old man," I mused, a touch of irritation coloring my thoughts. Meanwhile, the other beggar, undeterred by the abrupt awakening, offered me a weathered but friendly smile.

   "You, finally awake" he grumbled.

His voice carrying a hint of weariness and mystery that hung in the cool night air.

   However, his words initially registered as an odd, indistinct murmur, making it challenging to discern their meaning. Shaking my head in an attempt to dispel the remnants of sleepiness, the fog lifted, and the words crystallized in my mind. I found myself questioning the language he spoke—was it Japanese? It lacked the familiar cadence, yet I comprehended it with surprising clarity. The confusion deepened as I grappled with the surreal nature of the situation. Just Where was I? The elderly man's utterance, which I failed to catch, left me speculating.

   "He probably said some insult, I am sure of it," I mused, suspicion coloring my thoughts. Determined to unravel the mystery, I sat up and confronted him.

   "Who are you, and where am I?" I queried, my tone a blend of curiosity and assertiveness, attempting to pierce through the enigma surrounding my abrupt awakening.

Perplexed, I mumbled to myself,

   "Huh, what was that? That wasn't 'Anata wa dare, watashi wa doko ni irasshaimasu ka?' as I used to say back in Japan."

The familiarity of the Japanese language felt like a distant memory. I shook off the confusion, attributing it to the disorientation of the moment.

   "Nono, that can't be right. Perhaps I'm stuck in a coma or lost in some fever dream, entertaining myself with delusions," I speculated, attempting to rationalize the inexplicable. In a bid to dispel the unsettling thoughts, I decided to make another attempt.

"Let's try this again," I murmured, taking a breath.

"Hello! I am Omen."

As the words escaped my lips, a stark realization hit me. This wasn't Japanese. It was an entirely foreign tongue; one I had never encountered in my 28 years of living. Learning a new language had never been on my agenda, and yet here I was, grappling with the inexplicable. I spoke words I have never heard. The peculiar situation left me contemplating the mysteries that seemed to be unraveling around me. But suddenly, one of the old men sitting next to me responded:

   "Good morning, Omen. I am Dole, a retired mage," the gentle old man greeted with a warm smile, revealing his name.

   "Hmm, so 'Dole' was his name. Wait. Huh? What was that?" I thought in confusion, the mention of 'mage' catching me off guard.

   "MAAAAGEEEE?" I shouted awkwardly, a mix of surprise and confusion coloring my tone.

   "Don't shout you drunkard" grumbled the man who kicked me previously.

   "Yes, I am a priest mage" Dole confirmed, unruffled by my outburst.

   "The situation is that Jess and I were in town picking up new books when we found you collapsed on the street, reeking of alcohol. So, we decided to lend a hand, put you on this carriage, and transport you to our church, where we can treat your hangover," he explained patiently.

   „So, they are priests. That's a relief. I wasn't exactly a believer in fate, but I trusted their kindness," I reflected. Despite my questionable habits, I prided myself on knowing my limits when it came to drinking. Collapsing on the street was not my style, but I appreciated their assistance, nonetheless.

A revelation struck me like a sudden gust of wind. Priest mages? My speech no longer in Japanese? And the assertion that I drank excessively? This couldn't be right; it didn't align with the person I knew myself to be.

   "This can't be! This isn't me anymore," I mused, grappling with the surreal nature of the situation.

In a moment of clarity, I acknowledged the profound shift within me.

I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but by this point, that could only mean one thing: I wasn't on Earth anymore; I was in a different world. A world of swords and sorcery.

Fixing my gaze on Dole and Jess, the retired mage and his companion who had, in some inexplicable way, become integral to this newfound chapter of my existence.

The surreal scenario unfolding before me triggered a wave of memories from my high school days, where I immersed myself in the enchanting worlds of fantasy stories. Back then, the notion of becoming a character in those tales felt unattainable. My yearning to escape the confines of school and the complexities of my family led me to bury myself in the realms of sorcery and magic. It was my way of evading the harsh realities of Japanese society, much like my recent attempt to elude the relentless pursuit of the police during our ill-fated heist. Yet, in this moment, the motivations behind those escapes seemed inconsequential.

   Here I was, situated in the middle of nowhere, transported to an unfamiliar realm in the early morning. In the back of a horse-drawn carriage, accompanied by two enigmatic figures who identified themselves as "Priest Mages." The stark contrast between the fantasy I sought in high school and the fantastical reality now surrounding me left me contemplating the unpredictable twists life could take...