A black-haired young man was scrutinizing a tall, wooden cross. He slowly ambled around its perimeter, glancing at its every corner.

‘No burn marks, no dried blood, no skewers drilled into its sides.’

He gently slid two fingers onto its wooden surface. It had a wavy and coarse texture with bits of sawdust left on the edges. This gave off a warm, earthy aroma, resemblant of freshly cut wood.

Chekhov narrowed his eyes in skepticism.

‘It’s like that scene never happened. There are no human corpses nor infernos. Other than this wooden cross, this is just a barren, uninhabited wasteland.’

Recalling his past experiences, Chekhov found that he had once forcibly broken out of this domain using his Sacred Gear. Strangely, he had never been able to remember this scene until now.

‘It’s possible that any memories or experiences here cannot be taken to the physical world.’

A golden ring with an embedded black diamond suddenly materialized on Chekhov’s finger. He paused for a while, contemplating on his next steps.

‘I could test this theory and break out of this world like last time. But losing my memories again will do me no good.’

Chekhov was reluctant to give up his memories. While he had the chance, he wanted to explore this world.

‘Perhaps, I can find a way to keep my memories.’

He started his path in a straight line, moving directly away from the wooden cross. Within a few minutes, the cross had gradually shrunk out of view. All that was left in sight was the desolate wasteland.

Chekhov continued along this path for several hours, until the clouds had gradually changed from a murky gray color to pitch-black. Nightfall had arrived.

‘I know that this isn’t my physical body,’ Chekhov pondered as he looked down at his arms and hands, ‘otherwise, I would normally be experiencing signs of fatigue.’

‘Even so, this place feels too real to be a dream.’

Chekhov had noticed that the boy that he first devoured, Kurou, had a peculiar memory about his soul domain. It was precisely the event where a couple hooligans had entered his school and thrashed Ryo around.

This led him to theorize that every human soul could generate illusionary worlds. He guessed that its purpose was to passively influence the soul by subtly engraving distractions, weaknesses, and insecurities into it.

‘In that case, what does this world have to offer me? Is it trying to subject me to my loneliness?’

In Chekhov’s previous life, loneliness was one of his biggest insecurities. He wouldn’t dare to imagine living his childhood without his sister, or his college nights without his girlfriend. But now? Human attention would never hold a morsel of significance in his heart.

While walking, Chekhov glanced around the wasteland once again. Although the sky was pitch-black, he could adeptly sense the cold, hardened ground with his dark energy.

Suddenly, his footsteps came to a halt. He detected faint blur lines in the air, bearing semblance to a clear, jelly-like wall.

Chekhov's surroundings started to become hazily obscure. The landscape was remolding itself with a reddish tint. In the next moment, he found himself in the cozy interior of a small cottage house.

‘Did this happen because I was moving against the world’s will?’

A brown-haired boy, the age of 13, was watching the delicate snowfall from a large window. The view of the dazzling night sky, coupled with the heat from an indoor fireplace, gave the room a relaxing and enticing atmosphere.

‘This…’

The boy’s foggy appearance was displayed within the reflective window. His teal eyes were as calm as the sea, exhibiting an indifferent expression.

‘This scene is based on my previous life. I remember my aunt’s home in Russia.’

“Hey, Chekhov,” a worried voice called out, “are you alright? You’ve been staring at the window for quite a while.”

As the boy turned toward the voice, he noticed a Russian teenage girl a few years older than him. She wore golden earrings, and had long, brown hair tied up into a bun.

‘I couldn’t sense my sister at all. Along with losing my body, I don’t have access to my dark energy here.’

“Yeah, I’m good.” Chekhov gave the girl a warm smile, “I was just feeling a little reminiscent. Nights like these are rare to come by.”

His sister giggled and replied, “You should come sit with me. I’ve prepared plenty of snacks that we can roast by the fireplace.”

‘If my soul domain theory is true, then this world is trying to invoke some feeling in me.’ Chekhov secretly pondered.

The girl turned around with a smile and sat by the fireplace, wrapping herself with a warm, woolen blanket in the process.

‘Companionship and familial bonding? Perhaps I can unravel this place by completely defying the world’s will.’

In Chekhov’s previous life, these two values—companionship and familial bonding—were almost like universal laws that he held dear to his heart. However, no matter how strong they were, these bonds of love, blood, and friendship would never be able to last in the endless sea of fate. Now, without these shackles, Chekhov had no preference nor obsessions in any other human being.

The brown-haired boy followed his sister and excitedly seated himself in front of the fireplace. With fast fingers, he rushed to pick up a campfire s’more. Bringing it too close to the open flame, he started hurriedly rotating and cooking it.

Crackle, crackle, pop.

“Chekhov!” His sister yelped in an anxious voice, “You’re doing it all wrong. You’ll burn it that way! Just let me show you how it’s done.”

The brown-haired girl unwrapped her blanket and leaned closer to Chekhov. She gently plucked the wooden skewer from Chekhov’s hands. She very carefully and softly hovered the tip of the skewer above the fire while rotating it.

“Listen up,” the girl cutely pouted, “Chekhov, you’ve got to hold it up like this. Make sure you gently—”

SHOVE!

At this moment, while the girl was distracted, Chekhov had violently thrusted her into the fireplace with his full strength. The girl painfully plunged on top of the scorching-hot coals.

A high-pitched, shrill scream sounded throughout the cottage walls. As the girl’s delicate, light skin caught aflame, she instinctively tried to jump out. However, she was met with a hard, leather boot to the face.

SLAM!

The young woman was sent reeling back into the flames. Her delicate expression was filled with disbelief and confusion. She was in utter shock, turning toward Chekhov with her moist, trembling eyes. Tears trickled down her soft, red cheeks as she tried to grasp what was happening.

The searing flames urged the girl to escape once again, this time by rolling out into the open.

However, Chekhov was thoroughly prepared. He delivered a cruel frontal kick to her costal cartilage, fracturing her ribs and sending her back into the sharp coals.

Her blood splattered ubiquitously and burned alongside her charring skin. She kept making attempts to save herself, but Chekhov unreservedly continued prodding her back in. He didn’t even place heed in his own body, as his own arms and legs were even burned in the process.

‘If I’m right, this should be able to unravel my soul domain.’

Chekhov indifferently watched with his cold, teal eyes as his sister kept screaming in agony. Eventually, she had been burned into a crisp. Dried blood and ashes were stained all around the fireplace.

For a very short moment, Chekhov’s eyes started to change color, emitting an aura resemblant to the Cosmic Abyss. However, this metamorphosis only lasted for a second. His eyes swiftly regressed back into their original teal shade.

‘Was this not enough? Or is there something I’m missing?’ Chekhov furrowed his brow in deep contemplation.

Shortly after the failed metamorphosis, the fireplace suddenly erupted into an inferno. It engulfed everything around it, including Chekhov.

Chekhov’s entire body was being scorched by the conflagration, but his expression didn’t change. He calmly stood in place, unaffected by the pain as he observed the gradual changes in his body. The fire was slowly melding him into a different shape.

Within five minutes, the flames had subsided. Chekhov, once again, had been relocated to a different world.

‘Was my theory completely wrong? No, I still felt a small transformation in my soul. Perhaps, I didn’t violate the world’s will enough.’

Chekhov noticed that he was in a primitive forest with giant redwood trees. He immediately looked down at his body, assessing his arms and legs.

‘I’m back to my regular body, with my regular powers.’

Chekhov also noticed that he was dressed in a white button-up shirt and black blazer, very similar to his Kuoh Academy uniform.

Suddenly, a booming voice sounded throughout the area, followed by the flutters and wingbeats of fleeing warblers.

“You bastard, Jing Fang! You better get out here this instant! The Wang Clan won’t take no for an answer!”

Hearing the noise, Chekhov paused for a moment. He cautiously released a long stream of dark energy toward the commotion. He was able to discern a rectangular farmland within an open enclosure.

It wasn't long before he silently made his way toward the ruckus.

There was a small crowd of men donned in white traditional robes, surrounding a weathered-down shanty. Most of them were acting in an overbearing manner with their arms crossed and heads held up high. Chekhov decided to secretly observe the racket from the sidelines, poking his head out from a bush.

“Hmph! Jing Fang, if you won’t come out, then don’t blame me for being impolite!” An arrogant young master curled his lips and sneered. He had long, black hair and rough eyebrows, which complimented his sharp and intimidating features.

“Young Master Zhu,” a short servant with a chubby face bowed, “this Jing Fang is a coward. We shouldn’t need to wait any longer.”

“Go right ahead,” He curtly responded as he motioned to the men on his right.

Two muscular men with black headbands stepped in front of the hut’s front door. They both held onto the handles of a 10-foot-long battering ram.

The young master’s eyes flashed with a cruel smile, “Any lowly trash who dares to offend the Wang Clan will ultimately pay the price!”

Thud! Thud!

Through a combined effort, the muscular men reeled back the battering ram and started viciously pounding on the wooden door.

SMASH!

The front door suddenly splintered into pieces, along with chunks of the walls. A spicy and camphoraceous odor of old sawdust permeated the air.

“Heave-ho!” The two muscular men threw the battering ram aside, making a powerful boom in the process.

They leapt over the wooden mess, quickly rushing inside the shanty. A faint clatter of sliding furniture and panicked voices sounded from within the hut.

A few minutes later, two men came out through the front door. They were both holding up a white-haired teenager by the sides of his arms. His hands and feet were both tightly fastened by a double braided, thick rope.

The tied-up teenager’s face darkened when he saw the crowd of sneering men.

“Zhu Wang! You won’t get away with this!” He made an ugly expression and scowled, “If you don’t crawl under my feet and kowtow now, your Wang Clan’s three generations will suffer a miserable fate!”

The young master, Zhu Wang, immediately began to redden with anger. He indignantly roared with bulging eyes and dilated nostrils.

“Courting death! You think you can act like this after your master has died? You’re just a frog at the bottom of a well!”

Chekhov stood motionless from behind the bush. ‘This looks familiar. I feel like I’ve seen this before in my past life.’

In a fit of rage, Young Master Zhu charged forward with an uppercut punch to the gut.

Puff!

After receiving the tight blow, Jing Fang’s body went slightly limp. He scowled in pain and glared back at Zhu Wang with blood-red eyes.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Young Master Zhu held a mocking smile as he pointed his finger in front of Jing Fang’s face.

“After that old fart died, you have no power and status anymore. You’re just a waste that can be disposed of without repercussions!”

However, at this moment, Jing Fang leaned forward and bit down as hard as he could on Young Master Zhu’s finger.

“AAIIIEEEE!!!”

Young Master Zhu broke out in a cold sweat as he started swatting at Jing Fang, attempting to free his finger. Prominent lines formed on his forehead as he clenched his jaw in pain.

“You incompetent fools! Stop standing around, get him off my finger!” Young Master Zhu spat out in a frenzy.

The two men in front of him forcefully pried open Jing Fang’s bloody jaw, releasing Young Master Zhu’s finger in the process.

His finger was deeply gashed. It had two tooth-shaped, bloody marks in the flesh that almost went down to the bone.

“Jing Fang!” Visible tics of anger could be seen on Young Master Zhu’s face. “If I don’t make you suffer pain equal to a hundred black-spotted ants, then my name is not Zhu Wang!”

He ground his teeth, uttering in a low voice, “Beat him. Don’t stop until he is black and blue.”

The two men, who had been holding Jing Fang’s arms, threw him face-first into the muddy ground. The crowd surrounded him and took turns brutally kicking his body.

‘What’s this world trying to convey?’ Chekhov pondered as he spectated the one-sided beatdown with an indifferent expression.

At this moment, a delicate female voice called out from within the hut.

“Senior Brother Jing!”

A beautiful girl, no older than the age of 15, came running out of the hut in a flowery dress. She had an exquisite face with long, golden hair and porcelain fair skin. Her pink lips were slightly open, and her two slightly raised mountain peaks showed that she was still developing.

As she rushed toward Jing Fang’s bloodied and bruised body, the men halted their kicks and dispersed to the side. They anxiously glanced at Young Master Zhu, waiting for an order.

“Sister Xinyue! I told you to stay in hiding and never come out.” Jing Fang weakly mumbled. He rolled his head to the side and coughed out a mixture of saliva and blood as he lost consciousness.

“Senior brother…”

Teardrops formed in the corners of Xinyue’s eyes as she knelt down beside Jing Fang. She placed him on her lap and gently wiped the mud off his bruised cheeks.

She moved closer to him while gently caressing his injured body. She choked in a soft, teary voice. “I won’t ever leave you. We’ll get through this together.”

All of a sudden, their touchy moments were interrupted by an arrogant sneer. “Jing Fang is beyond saving. No one can help him now.”

Xinyue shuddered in fear, embracing Jing Fang tightly as she tilted her head toward the voice.

Young Master Zhu lasciviously eyed the young blonde’s curvy body. He continued with a cunning smile, “But I’m feeling a little generous today. I could give him a quick death if you’re willing to serve as my handmaiden.”

He moved his arm forward, raising Xinyue’s chin up with his finger. Seeing the girl’s innocent expression, he devilishly licked his lips. “There’s no need to think about it. I'll give you a good time you’ll never forget.”

“No!” Xinyue closely held on to Jing Fang and buried her teary face on top of his shoulder. “I will always stay by my Senior Brother Jing’s side.”

Young Master Zhu snorted, “You have no choice in that matter.”

He pushed Xinyue to the ground and jumped on top of her with a half-smirk. The cute, blonde girl started struggling and squealing, but Young Master Zhu’s grin only intensified.

Just as he was about to disrobe the girl and grope her in various areas, he noticed an unusual object protruding from a nearby bush. Upon closer inspection, it was the head of a peculiar young man. He was donned in a strange, black attire which he had never seen before.

Panic quickly settled in his mind as he realized his reputation was on the line. He couldn’t allow anyone to catch wind of this matter.

Young Master Zhu suddenly lashed out toward the bush. He viciously blurted out in a high voice, “Don’t let him get away! One hundred silvers to anyone who captures or kills him!”

Suddenly, a black, crescent-shaped light whipped through the air at a frightening speed.

Pu-chi!

Before anyone could react, the black flash had cut through the neck of a white-robed man. A red streak could be seen in the area where it had landed. As the man's head cleanly slid off, a fountain of blood started to sputter to the side.

“It’s a Qi Master! Run!” One of the muscular men exclaimed in fright.

“He’s not just a regular Qi Master, he should at least be in the Foundation Establishment realm!” A panicked voice sounded.

The chubby servant’s face went pale as he looked at the headless corpse. He displayed a lopsided grimace and asked, “Heavens! How could we ever offend a Foundation Establishment expert?”

By this time, Chekhov had stepped out into the open. He released three concentrated waves in a quick succession.

Pu-chi!

Pu-chi!

Pu-chi!

Three heads fell to the ground, and the crowd instantly went into a state of chaos. Everyone had started dispersing out in different directions.

However, Chekhov was now releasing his black flashes at an even faster pace. Every second, a man’s head would go flying in a fountain of blood.

Young Master Zhu leapt off Xinyue’s delicate body and faced Chekhov with a shaky smile. He frantically shook his hands as he started nonsensically jabbering.

“Y-you can’t kill me! I’m a direct descendant of the Wang Clan!”

Before he could say another word, a bloody stripe could be seen on his neck. Young Master Zhu dropped to the ground with a thud, his eyes lifeless and his body limp.

In less than a minute, Young Master Zhu along with his lackeys were all headless corpses, lying in a pool of blood. Only Xinyue and an unconscious Jing Fang were left alive.

Chekhov turned to the shivering girl, facing her with his indifferent eyes.

‘Defying the world’s will… how should I go about this?’

In the young blonde’s opinion, this handsome young man with sweet, caramel eyes was utterly a bloodthirsty, chaotic monster. He had appeared out of nowhere and slaughtered everything that moved, not even giving an explanation.

Xinyue had only managed to keep her sanity by grasping onto Jing Fang as tight as she could. Truthfully, Jing Fang was her one and only star.

Chekhov stood motionless, his eyes piercing into the little girl’s soul. After failing to unravel a world once, his actions were very deliberate the second time.

‘My past self would likely have been constrained by this world's will. What would I have done back then?’

In his past life, Chekhov believed that little girls were the most important and precious beings, far superior above all other life forms. He felt that they needed to be protected at all costs. His past self would have immediately played the role of a “virtuous hero” to defeat all the “despicable villains”.

However, Chekhov’s current worldview sharply contradicted this.

‘By human instinct, people feel kindness and sympathy toward anything that resembles weakness, innocence, and cuteness—especially human children. Humans recognize these as the most superior characteristics, whereas in the eyes of the universe, there are no superior characteristics. Nature is impartial; nothing is inherently beautiful, ugly, just, nor unjust. It is human emotions that assign these values in the first place. Who’s to say that these emotions are the laws of the universe? Who’s to say that the universe revolves around life, let alone human life?’

Squish, squish, crackle.

Chekhov trod across the bloodstained grass as he approached Xinyue. His eyes lightened up and he gave her a friendly smile.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you nor Jing Fang. As long as you complete my request…”

The young blonde reluctantly tilted her head upward, making eye contact with Chekhov. She lightly trembled as she replied, “I just want to keep Senior Brother Jing safe. I’ll do anything.”

Chekhov lightly laughed, “That’s great! I only have a few simple tasks. As long as you try your best, I promise that I won’t touch Jing Fang at all. In fact, I’ll even treat his injuries!”

Xinyue's cheeks faintly tinted pink as she reached toward her shoulders. She shyly began to unclothe herself, removing her flower-pattern lapels and lowering her dress.

“Silly girl,” Chekhov placed his hand on top of her head, lightly rubbing her soft hair, “that’s not what I want you to do!”

Chekhov rummaged through Young Master Zhu’s belongings, taking out a small paring knife from his corpse. He lightly threw it in an upward curve, landing on the bloody grass in front of Xinyue’s knees.

"For the first task," he gently smiled and said, "I only need you to gouge out one of your eyes. It's your choice, whether left or right.”

Xinyue froze in place. She slowly opened and then closed her mouth, not daring to speak another word.

"Of course, I'm not forcing you to do this." Chekhov apologetically shrugged, "You can always decline, but then it'll come at the cost of Jing Fang's life."

Five minutes passed by in complete silence.

Teardrops trickled down Xinyue’s cheeks, landing on Jing Fang’s unconscious face. She lightly whispered to him, “Don’t worry, Senior Brother Jing! I’ll make sure you survive, even if it means I’ll die.”

With reluctant fingers, Xinyue picked up the knife, holding the blade in front of her left eye. She gritted her teeth and stabbed it as hard as she could, slowly twisting it to start gouging it clean.

She let out a shrill cry when the blade had initially perforated her sclera. However, she continued twisting the knife steadily for two minutes with an iron will. As Xinyue removed the bloody shaft from her eye, a dark red liquid gushed out onto the corners of her pink, supple lips.

At this point, her expression had become devoid of life. She felt apathetic to the world and its matters. All that she cared about was Jing Fang’s safety.

“What is my next task?” She winced and flatly asked.

“You’ve done well!” Chekhov gave her a pleasant smile as he continued, “Now, I want you to sever four of your fingers, two from each hand.”

Hearing this, Xinyue was shocked at first, but she quickly adapted. With a glazed expression, she pressed her right hand against the ground and severed her pinky and ring finger at the same time. Then, using the remnants of her right hand, she severed the same two fingers from her left hand.

Throughout the entire process, she was unhesitant as if she was slicing up carrots.

Clap, clap, clap.

Chekhov applauded her with a smile.

“I just have one more task. Complete it, and both you and Jing Fang can go free.”

Xinyue was quiet. The once innocent girl had attempted to strip herself of her emotions.

 “…Just tell me what I have to do.”

She clearly wasn’t buying into his act. Noticing this, Chekhov’s smile dropped, reverting to his regular cold and indifferent expression.

“Cut out your heart and give it to me.”

Xinyue coldly sneered. She knew that it was physically impossible to do this, but as long as she tried her hardest, this demon in human skin had promised to let Jing Fang free.

Using her half-severed hand, she plunged the knife deep into the center of her chest. Her facial muscles tensed in pain as she twisted the knife up and down.

Cough!

Xinyue spat out a mouthful of blood as she slumped into the muddy ground. She had carved out a small semicircle in-between her ribs before her vision plunged into darkness, for once and for all.

"It's too bad that I don't keep promises, after all."

With an expressionless face, Chekhov laced his right hand with dark energy. He curled the tips of his fingers into a tiger fist and then stabbed his palm deep into Jing Fang's chest. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he ruthlessly ripped out a bloody, pear-shaped organ.

Chekhov flexed his fingers inward, causing Jing Fang's heart to burst into a bloody mess.

At this very moment, his surroundings started deteriorating into black particles. The sky, grass, and blood-filled corpses were all gradually fading away like dust in the wind.

Chekhov’s body was also experiencing progressive changes. His dark energy started melding into his bones, shifting within his skin. More noticeably, his pair of once sweet, caramel eyes had darkened into a pitch-black color. They were emitting a terrifying aura, only comparable to the depths of the Cosmic Abyss.

‘Every human soul is surrounded by an illusionary layer. Its purpose is to passively influence the soul by subtly engraving distractions, weaknesses, and insecurities into it. After unraveling this illusionary layer, my soul is no longer bound by the laws of nature. My Dao Heart has reached an utmost perfection.’