(No cp, no routines, no invincibility, no system, no brainlessness, no wisdom, slow-burn epic, strategic wits, group portrait growth, please be careful before entering.)
He died at the age of fourteen. My heart stopped, my breathing stopped. The lord's men dragged him into a ditch outside the village, like a wild dog.
Then he opened his eyes. The wound is closing and the blood is no longer flowing. A voice came from a deep place and said only three words.
He lived.
With an unconscious woman on his back and a cold roasted sweet potato in his arms, he walked northward barefoot. He didn't know who the voice was, or why he was alive. All he knew was to go north.
This world is called Guerna. Humans, elves, dwarves, dragonborn, seaborn, feathered people, machine races, and spiritual races coexist on this continent. The reverberation is hard currency, and the country fights and makes peace, and makes peace and fights again. Anyone at the tea stall can talk about these things for a long time.
But no one knows - the world has been destroyed many times.
He didn't know that at the end of the road, there was a person he once was, waiting for him. Those seemingly accidental encounters were actually arranged by someone a long time ago.
But he will not follow the path arranged by that person.
Because he has one more thing that that person doesn't have.
