Kapitel 1: Chapter 1: To Once Again Draw Breath
A dirty, ragged man found himself waking up in the midst of darkness.
The already little light that bled in through thin cracks above was dim, yet that tiny amount was enough to further impede his rousing from slumber, making him raise an arm and squint his eyes to make the adjustment manageable.
After a short period of time that seemed to ceaselessly stretch on from his groggy perspective, his pupils had dilated and he took the time to look around.
It was soon evident he was on some kind of ship, stowed away in the cargo hold. As to what type of passenger he was, the cuffs around his wrists and the jingling of chains all around him were a ready answer.
He was surrounded by dark figures, some sitting on the floor and others slumped against the wall, all in similar bondage to him. Among those well-lit enough, the facial expressions he saw bore only misery and bitterness.
He was about to ponder his situation when, all at once, memories began flooding through his mind like an endless torrent. The agonizing headache that resulted made him clench his teeth, hard enough that they were only saved from cracking by the weakness and malnutrition that plagued his entire body.
Those memories belonged to two separate individuals: the first being the owner of that body.
It was a man named Garaan, a criminal who'd been exiled from the Kingdom of Hepele for petty crimes against nobility. Chiefly among them, womanizing an Earl's daughter.
He was a rogue who'd gathered something of a small reputation after winning his fair share of duels in the name of adventure and romance, but his failure to recognize lines that shouldn't be crossed found him face-to-face with royal knights, men who were by far his betters in swordsmanship and had little sympathy for forbidden love.
The second was a character that beggared belief.
A martial artist named Murin, a man hailing from the Eastern continents who was known as "Peerless".
His centuries-long life was filled with so much blood and hardship that it'd make a war zone look like a pleasant garden, and his relentless crusade to the top eventually resulted in him being universally acknowledged as the strongest warrior of all; a man who could crush an army like ants before he'd even eaten breakfast.
The two personalities clashed with the body as a medium, lending to it the aforementioned searing pain as the souls battled for supremacy.
Garaan held out for a moment with his home advantage. After all, it was originally his body to begin with. He'd already spent over two decades living with it, and as someone who had been in combat before, his fortitude was nothing to scoff at.
However, his resistance soon crumpled like paper before the tidal wave that was Murin's ego.
The mythical fighter was a man who, with his level of experience and prowess, had outlived multiple generations while surviving innumerable life-or-death encounters.
In a contest of wills, compared to his indomitable spirit, Garaan was merely an above-average man. It didn't take long for him to realize he stood no more chance than a mouse before a hawk.
Before the spiritual tug of war could go on for longer than a minute, his realization proved true as his resistance was brutally pried apart and shoved aside, making way for Murin's soul to mercilessly advance and settle into its new host.
With the resolution of that conflict, the souls assimilated to some degree before the body finally reawakened as a complete being.
When his eyes reopened, the former identity of that man had been known as Garaan. Yet the gaze that peered out, with the blazing intensity of a volcano, was that of Murin.
He opened his palms and gazed down at them, studying the unfamiliar shape and different lines that marked it.
It was an odd situation.
His ego was undeniably that of the great martial artist, but he didn't retain any memories of the former owner's past.
Unbeknownst to him, the ones that had previously flooded in had only been apparent to Garaan himself, while Murin had only just invaded and came to occupy the empty shell in the former's forced absence.
Stranger still, analyzing the hidden energies that coursed through his anatomy indicated that vestiges of the previous soul's self still remained.
In other words, it was a possibility that the internal conflict wasn't over just yet.
Having another soul in his new body was an annoyance to Murin. Other than the endless potential consequences and hindrances the condition represented, he was simply never one who enjoyed sharing.
Despite his qualms about the situation, some time spent examining the fragments and racking his brain yielded no hint of a solution. He concluded that there seemed to be no immediate way to solve the issue before mentally sweeping it under the rug to deal with later.
In his past life, he was the one hailed as the greatest of all combatants, but that wasn't the entire story.
Most of his life had been spent away from his original homeland on a continent that was solely comprised of a monumental upheaval of Earth; a mysterious land that endlessly extended onward and upward towards the skies.
Different people had their own names for it, but there was only one powerful, yet uninspired moniker that was truly common across all languages and cultures: "the Mountain."
The reason being that, aside from the monolithic size defining it as something of a parent to all other mountains of the world, it was a legendary place where endless competition and bloodshed occurred.
Every martial artist, no matter where, knew that it was only there where they could truly test their mettle and prove to their peers the power they held.
In addition, one person who managed to defeat all others that could contest their ascent would, in time, naturally come to occupy the Peak.
Murin was the only being in history to have ever sat on the Peak for longer than a century– over three, in fact. However, after one last close battle to the death with an otherwise unparalleled master, someone he had considered a good rival, the last century of his life had been spent in torturous boredom and isolation.
Hardly anyone bothered ascending to the Peak after that legendary display of combat, and the few that did were overconfident ticks that could do nothing but be swatted.
With the only person he had considered good company and an even better warrior dead by his own hands, he felt like he was losing meaning.
The endless pursuit of the most coveted title in the world of fighting had fascinated him to no end, but achieving it had only granted him an existence that no longer seemed to hold any meaning other than looking down on others.
Wealth and fame held no significance to him; all that had mattered was the thrill of putting his life and glory on the line, and he discovered too late that, in a cruel twist of irony, he'd traded the latter for the former.
Then, as if by dumb luck, he came across a technique that would allow one to reincarnate. To start all over again from a blank slate.
It seemed like a unicorn of a solution, one where he would be able to restart his journey from square one and relive the excitement of the struggle to become the greatest once again.
Of course, the theories held up, but in practice its success seemed far-fetched.
Nonetheless, he mastered it inside and out and had given it a shot to humor himself, but how immense his shock was upon discovering that the technique actually functioned as intended.
He turned over the hand he had been absentmindedly inspecting. Though it was filthy and emaciated, he could tell that underneath, it was somewhat fair in complexion.
It was eerily absent the comforting solidity and piles of scar tissue his old appendages had bore, giving him a deep-seated discomfort stemming from the lack of familiarity as well as the strength he was once so sure of.
He grimaced knowing it was a feeling that would only be rectified by time, and with a great sum of it being spent working his new physique to the bone.
Then, curious about his situation, he glanced around at the surrounding cargo hold.
Like him, everyone else was in shackles, prisoners of whoever it was the ship belonged to.
Unlike him, they also all had sour faces that made them look as if they'd just been force-fed shit, though that much perhaps seemed a bit understandable given the circumstances.
With the nature of their trip, it was doubtful they were heading anywhere fun.
However, Murin was completely unaffected. If anything, the uncertainty and stress made him overjoyed.
After all this time, he was thrilled to finally be involved in something with which he had basically no control, as such situations usually resulted in the most entertainment.
Were it before his reincarnation, there was no problem under the sun he couldn't easily solve with simple, one-sided violence.
It trivialized every possible struggle he could fathom, and had rubbed in his face the irony of his life's joy being sapped by that which he had put more work into than anything else.
Though, after some consideration, he came to the conclusion that perhaps some control was also fine.
The new flesh he'd taken wasn't too terrible, and had some halfway decent ki flowing through it. While the former owner wasn't particularly diligent, at least it had done more than waste away and squander its potential.
Being an unfathomable expert in internal energy, it was child's play to capture the flow of it in his mind's eye and cause it to take form.
It became an invisible force extending out from his index finger. It was incredibly weak, but under his masterful control was also solid and dexterous– enough that undoing the lock of a simple pair of shackles was a paltry task.
Ki, qi, mana, anima, internal energy, the list goes on. Much like the Mountain, people around the world had too many names for the mysterious force that dwelled within mortal beings for anyone to keep track of.
For novices, it was a means to fortify their body and weapons.
For those who went beyond in the pursuit of martial arts, it could be a means to produce all sorts of superhuman phenomena in the form of attack, defense, or any sort of miracle in between.
It was inherent to all living beings, but only a chosen few attained the ability to harness it. Even fewer managed to come anywhere close to mastering it.
Given his finesse with projecting the ethereal force, it came as no surprise when Murin was easily able to make his restraints let out a quiet click. He didn't push any farther than that though, and had them remain closed.
Only a fool would give away the ability to surprise a potential enemy.
He left the lock undone just enough that, even with him being skin and bones at the moment, he needed only jerk the shackles apart in order to snap them open.
Though, it would be a lie to say he didn't regret doing so the moment he started feeling an itch on the back of his head.
Finally, with nothing better to do, he gazed around at his surroundings and mused about what sort of situation he'd found himself in.
"Clearly we're either convicts or war prisoners," he thought.
"Everyone here looks to be from somewhere among the Western continents, but I could never tell those folks apart. Nor does this tell me anything about our captors. That all aside, the real question is where the hell this boat is headed to."
"To your home actually, from what I understand. How lucky!"
A foreign voice suddenly rang out in his head, much to Murin's displeasure. Based on the circumstances, guessing who it belonged to was fairly straightforward.
"The former owner, I take it?" He mentally grumbled.
"Already calling me the former owner, huh. You're quite cocky, aren't you Murin? Though, it's hardly surprising given who you were."
Upon hearing his name being suddenly mentioned, his mild irritation gave way to curiosity.
Rather than a nuisance, his unexpected guest suddenly became a way to further understand what sort of processes their souls had undergone.
"Interesting that you know my name and exploits, yet I know nothing of you." Murin inwardly posited, hoping to prompt the foreigner in his brain to reveal some more precious information.
"Ah, but I know so much more than that! Alas, I'd rather not spoil everything just yet. Garaan, here but most certainly not at your service."
The sarcastic voice invading his mind projected the image of a mocking bow to punctuate the sentence.
Murin's intrigue departed as quickly as it had arrived, unable to bear the ridicule that dripped from every word the man caused to echo in his head.
He wasn't someone that was quick to anger, but with the status he had achieved in his past life, it was impossible for him to tolerate such disrespect sitting down.
"Sorry to break it to you, but losing to me just meant that you were a weakling destined to be trampled by someone else stronger anyway. Better that you suffer this fate and let some form of glory fall upon your existence than being quietly snuffed out for nothing." Murin smugly thought.
"How dare a fucking thief lectu– …wait–"
Garaan attempted to make another venom-filled reply when his ability to communicate with his host was shortly thereafter robbed from him, causing his fury to dissolve into panic.
"Ah, too late! Looks like I already figured out the trick."
Within a few moments, Murin's internal mastery had allowed him to gather all the disparate fragments of Garaan's essence that circulated within, bundle them together as easily as one does with sticks, before severing the mental connection with the entity altogether.
He didn't have the ability to outright rid himself of the smart-ass yet, but at least he now had the ability to freely obtain peace and quiet whenever he chose.
With the newfound silence in his mind, he passed the time by closing his eyes and enjoying the stimulation of senses that being aboard a ship gave him.
The period between his last life and his new one was a void that seemed to last both an instant and eternity, a senseless emptiness that had consumed his conscience until he'd awoken once again.
It gave him appreciation for the small sensations like the rocking of the vessel, the relaxing ambience of the ocean, and the gentle rustling of the wind and sails.
"I wonder how long it had been since I'd seen the ocean…" He nostalgically contemplated, summoning some pleasant recollections of the trip across the seas he'd made in his youth.
It was the allure of greater opponents and cutthroat competition that attracted him to the Mountain, aided by his monstrously fast martial arts growth that was already hitting limits with the lackluster level of fighters in his homeland.
However, aside from relaxing and ruminating, there was nothing better to do.
With his body in such a battered and starved state, training or improving his ki was a strain that would likely kill him on the spot.
The most he could do was stretch and ever so slightly improve his flexibility, since it cost him next to no energy, but the effects were marginal as his physique was already fairly limber.
A full day passed like this before, with no warning, a hatch in the center of the ceiling slid open with a screech.
Suddenly, the previously murky-eyed denizens of the cargo hold became reinvigorated.
Many were busy grunting and huffing from the exertion of standing in their current state while others were already rushing toward the area beneath the opening that had presented itself.
A select few, namely the meanest and most energetic looking ones of the whole bunch, had already been in that area from the start. Their only reaction was to casually stand while looking up with cruel, ugly smirks.
Murin sighed at the obviousness of the whole situation.
He would've rather something more exciting or suspenseful occur to break up the monotony of his journey, but so far everything felt quite mundane.
Given the reaction of all the hold's occupants, it was already clear what sort of clichéd event was about to be carried about.
Then, as if to confirm his disappointment, things promptly played out exactly like he had envisioned.
From the opening in the ceiling, loaves of bread were dumped en masse onto the awaiting prisoners.
Most landed within the desperate hands of the crowd that had gathered under the hatch, a few landed on the floor, and there were even a handful of strays that slammed into the faces of some prisoners who overestimated their reflexes in the midst of hunger.
The bread was surprisingly tough, leaving some of the victims stunned enough that their quarry ended up being snatched by others who didn't hesitate to seize the opportunity.
As for Murin, he was the only one who casually walked forward into the chaotic throng that was deciding in various ways who had rights to the scraps that were tossed in.
There was no shortage of fighting and arguing, but a few of the older and wiser members among them were settling it by some form of gambling.
The only exclusion to this, other than himself, was the group that was previously centered beneath the hatch, who had managed to hoard the bulk of what was dropped.
They looked derisively at the crowd around them, who kept just enough space that they were outside of the group's reach.
There were three of them: two who were of average height and a third who was a hulk that was a full head above his companions.
The leader-looking one of the group was one of the former, a chiseled blonde with features that would be considered handsome were they not twisted in a sadistic smile.
His status was even more obvious when one considered that he appeared to be the only person around that wasn't completely filthy, whereas his two goons were also somewhat cleaner than average themselves yet nowhere near as immaculate.
"Listen up, you mutts. Since I'm feeling generous today, I've decided I can distribute a third of a loaf to each person that pays their respects." The blonde man announced, spreading his arms wide as if his offer was somehow rooted in magnanimity.
"As always, any who pledge their loyalty to me can find much greater rewards waiting for them. Now, and in the future."
Murin rolled his eyes in response.
He couldn't be any less interested in the small-time power gambit happening in front of him, and thus ignored it in favor of immediately sweeping the first bearer of bread he came across to the floor before stealing their precious meal.
The hard landing knocked the air out of their lungs and, with their diminished physicality, left them in a daze, unable to even register what had happened or who had perpetrated the act.
As Murin walked back to the section of the wall he'd previously occupied, he happily hummed a tune from his homeland, completely guiltless in spite of his actions.
From his perspective, not only was taking what he wanted from those weaker than him as natural as the sun rising, but it soon wouldn't make a difference anyway.
Their destination, if Garaan's early squawking was to be believed, was a place with ideals closer to his own than anywhere else in the world; where organizations and entire nations rose and fell at the whim of powerful individuals.
By his estimation, everyone in the cargo hold that he'd seen so far had a snowball's chance in hell of surviving long in that environment.
At best, they could only live at the fringes of the martial arts-based society while surviving off of the scraps of others more capable.
Now having secured his meal, he took a seat and began wolfing it down.
However, it wasn't long before he was interrupted when one of the flies he shared the space with walked over and began speaking to him with a disappointed look.
"I always knew you were a bit devilish, but I'd never thought you would stoop so low as to steal. Has hunger truly gotten the best of you?"
The young man had long, jet black hair as unkempt as everyone else's, though he tried to make it as manageable as possible by tying it back in a ponytail.
The trademark stubble, thorough tan, and numerous scars gave Murin all the signs he needed to know he was being addressed by someone who'd worked as a soldier of fortune for a number of years.
An even greater sign, and perhaps the most defining feature of his face, was the leather patch that covered his left eye, attached to his head by a loop of twine that pressed it tight against the socket.
His remaining light brown eye was turned downward in sadness and shame for a few moments before he recovered enough to look his partner in the eye.
"Garaan, you know we've been together through thick and thin. I've stuck by your side through everything. I even managed to swallow my better judgment and continued doing so when you decided to get yourself involved in some frivolous illegal relationship,"
He took a deep breath before continuing.
"But now, after seeing how much you've fallen, I think it's better for us to go our separate ways. I know exiling us to Heavensway is supposed to be a punishment, but for warriors like us, it could be an opportunity.
"There, I'm going to seek greater heights. So if you wish for us to be companions again one day, I'd urge–"
"Alright, alright, I get it. You got my blessing, so go ahead and do your own thing, kid." Murin nonchalantly replied, waving the dumbfounded man off.
The sellsword was shocked enough that it took him seconds to piece together the mental clarity required to react in outrage to the unexpected reply.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Did someone hit your head?" He snorted.
"Nothing. I'm feeling better than ever, actually. By the way, you shouldn't be so upset, as I'm doing you a favor." Murin stood, finally staring back at the man at eye level.
While his former friend's features looked largely the same, the man couldn't help but notice the smoldering look his eyes emitted.
Whereas his gaze was previously sharp yet interwoven with playfulness, the one he had now was a barely-restrained eruption of fiery intensity.
The mere act of meeting it with his own made him feel as though gravity's strength had doubled, making the act of standing still without nervously fidgeting or looking away suddenly consume a surprising amount of willpower.
Meanwhile, Murin took his silence as an opportunity to continue.
"The land you call 'Heavensway' isn't the sort of place where banding together will do you much good anyway, not for you and not for your growth. You're right, it's a chance."
He patted the bewildered mercenary's shoulder before continuing.
"Take the time to find your way forward and test your limits. Ignore everything else while focusing on that, and you're already ahead of most others who meander their way there, uh…"
Withdrawing his hand, Murin scratched his chin after realizing his body's ex-partner had never given his name.
"What do they call you, again?"
It took another few moments before the blank expression could dissolve off the mercenary's confused visage. His anger had completely evaporated, replaced by a complicated mixture of emotions that couldn't be put into words.
"...It's Banton. Who the hell are you?"
It was a genuine question. He had no other way of expressing the impression that he was speaking to a person completely different from his friend.
Garaan had been conflicted towards the start of their journey to the other continent, but he had still obviously been the same person.
Now, it seemed as though either his sanity had fractured and given birth to a new character altogether, or he'd been outright possessed by some supernatural being.
Both seemed borderline impossible, and yet here he was in this situation, hoping it was all a bad joke.
Hearing the query, Murin incredulously chuckled as if someone had asked him why pigs couldn't fly.
"I'm Peerless."
AUTORENGEDANKEN 
LeKing
LeKing First chapter! Happy to finally get this out on the internet. For anyone reading, I hope you enjoy, and I would love to hear your feedback. Thank you for being here and have a fantastic day!
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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Rangliste 
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Stein