Editing User:Shrysha (section)

===Prologue: A Memory From Eight Years Prior===


“Strong…”

Having watched the scene of carnage unfold before him, these were the only words the pale white-haired youth could mutter.  Despite lying collapsed on the ground covered with filth, sweat, and blood, the child’s eyes did not betray even a single trace of fear.

Before the child’s sight was the back of a lone dark figure standing on crimson field.  With a pitch-black cloak shrouding his entire body, it was difficult to determine if he was even human.  And it wouldn’t be surprising if he were in fact a demon.  He carried the overwhelming scent of darkness and death, and he could very well be mistaken for the grim reaper or angel of death himself.

Such a title would be rather justified.  After all, this death bringer was the being responsible for single-handedly having dyed this battlefield with the blood of hundreds of monsters of various races.  Instead of a battle, it would perhaps be better to have described what had transpired as a massacre or a mass execution.

Here, this reaper was the sole judge, jury, and executioner.

Right now, this location was a part of the world where human rules had no jurisdiction.  At this very moment, the only truth here was that power was the only law.  And as a testament to this indisputable fact, there was no one alive left to oppose him.

Well, that was not entirely correct.  After all, the youth was also alive as well, albeit just barely.  Despite what had just transpired, the child still did not fear this reaper.  Rather his eyes only held the greatest respect and admiration for this savior who had rescued him from certain death.

Done with his task, the reaper was prepared to leave to his next destination when he suddenly felt a small tug from the hem of his cloak.  Perhaps having had his interest piqued, or whether he thought it would serve as some small amusement, he turned his head around slightly and waited on the child who had slowly crawled and reached towards him.  To this child who was on the steps of death’s door.  To this child whose life was in the hands of this “god” ruling over death itself.

“… Stronger.”

The child continued to speak while struggling to crawl onto his knees to stand up.

“Please make me stronger!”

(Are you not scared?)

Suddenly a voice reverberated inside the child’s head.  The intensity of the atmosphere suddenly oppressively rose, completely overwhelming the child’s senses.  The child suddenly collapsed back to the ground, seemingly crushed by an immense unknown pressure.  But the child who had nothing left to lose, and nothing left to fear, only stared unwaveringly back.

To stare at death with such resolution at such a young age… the reaper was impressed.

Perhaps at merely just a whim…  Suddenly the crushing pressure immediately ceased, and the child started to cough, realizing that he had earlier been holding his breath the entire time.  The <God of Death> turned around and fully faced the child.

(Those are good eyes.  How amusing… however I cannot save you.)

The child was not deterred and continued to steadily gaze at him, showing his firm resolve.  It may have been just a trick of the mind, but the child thought he felt this angel of death smile for just a moment.

(But power is something I can grant you.  But as with all things, there is a heavy price.  What can you offer me?)

Without hesitation and with a single breath, to pay for the contract with this demon:

“My soul.”