"Keep moving! The ores won’t mine themselves," a muscular man shouted at the front of a long line of men carrying a long pole with buckets of mined ores hung at regular intervals.
Lucien had grown up into a frail-looking young man with medium-length, dark hair, and skin so pale that it was comparable to snow.
"He named me Lucien and gave me this red ring. Is it all the effects of the curse, or was he sent for a purpose?" Lucien mumbled, eventually staggering and halting the entire movement.
"Hey, kid! Are you talking to yourself again?" The muscular man, well past his 30s, asked in an intimidating manner.
"No sir, I just tripped on a rock. That’s all," Lucien replied, absolutely disgusted, but given his frail nature, he knew fighting back would only lead to more pain.
"You better keep moving. The rates of curses are rapidly increasing based on what I’ve heard, so we should make as many sales as possible to the rich men before they all die off," the man stated.
"Or before we die off too," another man with a slightly bulkier build than Lucien added. Everyone burst into laughter, some hitting Lucien as a sign of amusement.
Lucien kept transporting the ores, not a single smile forming on his face. "At least these guys get me. We’ll all die soon, hopefully," Lucien thought, finally reaching their destination.
"Alright, offload all the ores into these wheelbarrows here, and we’ll all transport them to the city." The man paused and faced Lucien. "Our buddy here hasn’t had the chance to see the city before. Isn’t that right, Lucien?"
"Uhh... yes, that’s true," Lucien stuttered, being abruptly pulled away from his thoughts. Being born into a poor and unfortunate family in both lives, it was only natural for Lucien to be eager to visit the city.
Still wearing their tattered rags as clothes, all the men, including Lucien, grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrows and pushed them with all their might. Lucien’s messy hair fell occasionally, causing him to constantly stop to arrange it.
"Boy, is your hair more important than tomorrow’s breakfast?" The man pushing the handle next to him asked, his eyes focused on the city ahead.
Lucien looked back at him and then at the distant city emerging within the mist ahead. ’Maybe I can steal a comb and some clothes once I get there,’ Lucien thought, gathering all his strength to push the wheelbarrow.
After what seemed like an hour, the group had arrived at the city. A city that boasted of bustling streets and active neighborhoods was nothing more than a shell of its former self, each house abandoned as though every resident disappeared at once.
Some people were still alive and others, in fatal conditions, but the city still reflected the economic status of those who resided in it. The streets were made of fine asphalt, homes were filled with polished quartz furniture, and the people were adorned with extravagant jewelry.
"Let’s go, the rich man’s processing factory seems to be running today."
Lucien followed the commands, hoping for a means to escape and just as he wished, chaos emerged amongst them. The path to the factory was narrow, and they had to group up into a straight line in order to pass through it.
That was the diversion he needed. Lucien immediately slipped through the chaos and into the main street. He spotted a few abandoned shops with old locks.
"Sometimes, this curse scares me. Is it trying to guide me to a particular event?" Lucien thought, fear gradually building up within him.
He quickly grabbed a stone and hit the padlock continuously. Each strike sent a loud thud throughout the entire neighborhood, but no one lived in that neighborhood.
Or so he thought...
As the lock finally weakened and eventually broke open, he heard silent footsteps approaching him, as though the person was trying to conceal their presence.
Without thinking twice, Lucien forcefully opened the door and leaped into the storage room.
"A comb, some bread. Oh, and some new clothes as well. I’m tired of living in that dumpster village," Lucien said in happiness as he grabbed his items while styling his hair with the comb he had just picked up.
*BANG!*
The sound filled Lucien’s ears: the sound of a gun. Before he had time to react, a bullet had already sunk deep into his back and exited through his abdomen. The destructive force of the bullet left a palm-sized hole on the right side of his abdomen, blasting out his insides.
His blood trickled down his fingers and eventually began spurting out, pooling beneath his bare feet. Lucien forced his head to turn just to register the person who shot him.
It was a masked man, enveloped by a large cloak with a crest embroidered on it.
"Filthy commoner. Didn’t your parents teach you not to steal?" He shouted, drawing the attention of more men in cloaks. "I’d expect your kind to have at least some manners, but I was wrong."
Lucien smiled—his long-lasting dream of departing from the world of the living had finally come to fruition. The men laughed back at him in response, taunting him endlessly.
"Common folk like him don’t even know what to feel in different situations. How simple-minded can they be?" One of the men said, triggering a chain of deafening laughter from the others.
Lucien’s eyes gradually shut, but instead of reliving his memories, he found himself drawn deep into darkness. He felt cold chills, saw the same markings on the crimson rectangle as he did before he got reincarnated, but this time, he couldn’t even forge a thought.
He was dead, yet still living and breathing.
Before him, the entity that cursed him emerged out of darkness in a manner synonymous with their previous encounter.
[It took longer than expected, but I can finally give you a fraction of my power]
Following those words was intense energy that enveloped Lucien. Pitch-black flames rained down on him, filling up every inch of Lucien’s existence. First his toes turned black, then his feet, and eventually, his lower leg.
Instantly, Lucien was pulled back to reality, his hands still gripping his wound. He looked around him, feeling no pain in the region his wound was supposed to be.
A strange energy immediately wrapped itself around him like a flame, stretching across the entire shop. The men’s mouths were agape in shock as they slowly distanced themselves from Lucien.
Slowly, a figure emerged from the flames. Lucien’s wounds had disappeared, his skin slightly richer, his muscles more defined, and most importantly, a red and black robe hung on his body.
With each step he took, his black hair gradually transitioned to white, and his ominous presence grew to the point that the men before him fainted due to its pressure. Lucien looked at his palms before slowly grazing them across his entire body.
"I’m alive?"