Then a new screen flashed.

  AFFILIATION OFFER: THE NEW ROMAN EMPIRE.

  ACCEPT ( Yes / No )?

  That was something new. Not present on earth. System Affiliations. Does that mean it would show up on my system screen?

  The screen sent a shiver down my spine. It felt chillingly permanent, like signing away my soul even after death. Especially for an Empire that was founded in the Afterlife. My finger twitched, hitting the invisible No purely on instinct.

  “Oh, that cretin—!” the Legatus roar of fury slammed into me, louder than before.

  The world dissolved into agonizing static. My body felt like it was being pulled apart, atom by atom, dissolving into nothing. A raw, panicked scream tried to tear from my throat but it came out more like wheezing.

  Then, a small, dry cough cut through the chaos. Cleo’s calm voice followed, “Come on, Marcus. He chose to fight. Cut him some slack. Let the Grims tenderize him first.”

  A sound like an angry snort echoed in the non-space. But the tearing sensation stopped instantly. The pressure vanished.

  Relief washed over me, sharp and sudden. She stopped him. Whatever her reasons, she'd intervened. "Thanks," I mumbled out into the void, unsure if it would reach her but needing to express it.

  And then the world became solid again. My feet slammed onto void, the hard landing shaking me. Air, thick with the smell of lightning and metal, filled my lungs. I was back in control, back in a real place, dropped right onto the front lines, face-to-face with the enemy.

  My eyes scanned the battlefield – a tide of dark figures surged forward, their limbs twisting at unnatural angles, hollow eyes fixed on us. Dozens? No, easily hundreds swarmed the void where I’d landed.

  My fingers clenched around the hilt of the black-edged sword.

  They pulsed, shadows vibrating with malevolence.

  One figure detached itself from the mass, resolving into a shape draped in tattered black robes, clutching a wickedly curved scythe.

  [ [ X ] Grim Reaper Lvl. 5782 ]

  Dark robes. Weapons of bone and steel. Hollow eyes that glowed faintly green beneath their hoods.

  An X Grade? Seriously?

  My chest tightened. I’d heard tales of Reapers, of course, but seeing one… were they like the earthen legends? Harvesters of souls? Are they here for the souls?

  My initial plan – use the chaos to slip away from the Roman legionaries – wavered. Reading that name, seeing that Grade… maybe fighting was unavoidable.

  High level, clearly dangerous, even if its specific level seemed… surprisingly low for its Grade?

  Maybe they have other level system.

  Still, an X Grade creature was nothing to sneeze at.

  The Reaper didn't wait. It lunged, a blur of black cloth and gleaming bone. Instinct took over before thought. My body moved, the black blade swinging up to meet the scythe in a jarring screech of metal on metal.

  I cursed inwardly as I twisted, parrying a second, lightning-fast strike.

  But my body moved. One strike met.

  Left. Parry. Step back. Shields up.

  Two strikes evaded.

  A second Reaper lunged from my flank.

  Thrust. Dodge. Kick.

  My foot connected with something yielding yet hard beneath the robes.

  After clashing with a few more, a pattern emerged. They fought almost mechanically, all frontal assaults and telegraphed swings. No subtlety, no feints, just relentless, straightforward aggression. Okay, Marcus wasn't wrong, I conceded mentally, these Grims really don't seem very bright.

  Fighting with this soul body was… different. Actions felt instantaneous, the lag between thought and motion erased. Smooth, yes, but unnervingly so.

  After fighting for a hundred moves, my body shifted into a strange autopilot. The movements felt fluid, almost too natural, yet distant, as if I were watching myself fight. My limbs and instincts worked in perfect harmony, driven by something deeper than conscious thought.

  I’d fought before, plenty of times, but never quite like this. Soul attacks from the living world were usually about range, about focused will and mana manipulation. Close-quarters combat in this void relied on honed reflexes, yes, but this felt… primal. Effortless in a way that was deeply unsettling. Am I adapting to this new existence?

  Almost too natural.

  Pivot. Sidestep. Blade up. Slash. The edge of my sword bit deep into the cowl of a Reaper, shearing through fabric and whatever lay beneath.

  The creature I struck collapsed, its form dissolving rapidly into a single, pulsing black bead that hovered faintly in mid-air. My hand instinctively reached for it—

  Fwump! A sudden suction force yanked the bead sideways and away. My head whipped around. One of the roman legionaries – his face still an indistinct blur behind his helmet – casually threw the bead to an centurion in the distance before turning back to the fight.

  What the hell was that? My scowl deepened. Some kind of resource? A soul fragment? Energy core? Whatever it was, they were claiming it. The legionary didn't even glance my way.

  My gaze flicked towards the disciplined line of Roman legionaries carving through the Reapers behind me. Confronting them wasn't an option, not while they were clearly stronger and better equipped. Best keep my head down.

  I refocused on the battle, trying to ignore the legionaries and the hazy figures of the others fighting nearby.

  Their forms remained indistinct, their struggles a blur at the edge of my vision. Not like the Romans that I could easily observe with a little focus. Whatever they were, they clearly formed a different group. A third party.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The rest of the fight became a monotonous rhythm of parry, dodge, strike.

  The Reapers never changed tactics, never adapted. Their predictability felt suspicious, almost like puppets controlled by a single, unimaginative mind – disturbingly similar to how those Romans seemed to command the new arrivals.

  The battle ended as abruptly as it began, a sudden cessation of the onslaught, leaving me no chance to examine another fallen Reaper or its bead.

  A horn blared.

  The sound vibrated through his chest, setting his soul form alight. My body stopped responding to my will, muscles locking. What the? My gaze shifted upward involuntarily thrown back to the staging area.

  The battlefield melted away as the people near me formed their own group. No cannon fodder legionaries were left. Either called back or…

  The Roman legionaries formed a neat line, marching towards the rear.

  The other group, the hazy group of people I'd fought alongside, shuffled towards shadowy silhouettes that followed the same lines as those Suspended Dead people.

  No way I'm joining the Romans, I steered my feet towards the other group.

  Thankfully, no one was paying attention. Not with this hazy shielding that covered everyone in this void.

  We paused near a line of dazed-looking individuals, only a handful left now, converging at the entrance to a narrow bridge suspended over a river with thick, viscous liquid glowing with a soft, silvery-white light.

  They paused beside one of the lines of the dazed group of people. Only a handful of them were left, converging at the entrance of a bridge suspended above a small river flowing with shimmering white water.

  Blocking the bridge entrance stood the woman from before. Cleo. Even surrounded by others, she towered over everyone, easily above six feet.

  Yeah, definitely not human. That was obvious.

  [ [ ??? ] Cleo ??? ]

  This close, details sharpened. Her flowing black dress seemed almost alive, shimmering like silk woven with shadows, overlaid with plates of a strange, dark metal that absorbed rather than reflected light. The emerald flames tipping her black curls danced with unnerving vitality.

  Chains of what looked like polished obsidian wrapped her wrists, gleaming dully. Her gaze, golden and filled with those unsettling miniature galaxies, was cold enough to crack steel as it pinned the poor soul at the front of the dazed line.

  “—nald D'souza. Died at the age of twenty-three,” Cleo's voice was low, smooth as velvet, yet carried effortlessly. “A notorious figure with more than a hundred deaths on your hands. Many curses have been thrown your way. Quite the karmic debt, I suppose.”

  My brow furrowed. Karmic Debt? A cold dread trickled down my spine. If that guy had debt for a hundred deaths... Gods, what did my ledger look like? Thousands? Tens of thousands?

  Am I heading for some kind of hell? An underworld? Or worse? Thoughts spiraled, too fast, too bleak.

  Just as a few haunted scenes of hell played across my mind, a soft sigh escaped Cleo's lips. “Lucky for you, Ronald, this is not the Netherworld.”

  Not the Netherworld? Then where the hell are we?

  No wait. Ronald. Is that the bastard from the lab? I tried to focus on the man, but the hazy silhouette didn't resolve.

  A fist-sized blob of silver water lifted from the river. It pulsed softly as it drifted toward the unlucky soul. He barely had time to flinch before the liquid poured into his mouth.

  [ [ X ] Meng Po Soup of Forgetfulness ]

  Ronald's eyes rolled back into his head. His body went limp, slumping forward like a puppet with cut strings. Unseen hands, or perhaps some force, dragged him onto and across the bridge, where he vanished into the gloom on the other side.

  Cleo's head turned, her star-filled gaze sweeping over our small, apprehensive group. Her smile widened – slow, deliberate, dangerous. "Now... who would like to go next?"

  I took an involuntary step back, my muscles coiling, breath catching in my throat. A cold thought hit me – was this some form of reincarnation? A chance to live again, maybe, but at the cost of memory? I didn't want to lose who I was.

  Everyone beside me seemed to share the sentiment, shuffling back – except for one figure, shorter than the rest, edges blurred and indistinct.

  A distorted, wavering voice rose from our scapegoat. "Th… that wasn’t part of the deal!"

  Deal? What deal?

  My gaze darted towards the others in my group. How many of us were left? I tried counting — one, two… but my thoughts fuzzed, slipping into static after that.

  "Don't worry," Cleo purred, her voice deceptively gentle. "You will only forget the memory of this place."

  A few smaller droplets of the silver river-stuff lifted into the air, floating towards the speaker. His mouth opened, seemingly against his will, as the liquid funneled down his throat. He collapsed instantly. Then, just like Ronald, his body drifted forward as if pulled by invisible strings, crossing the bridge and disappearing.

  A trembling voice squeaked from someone else. "What about… what about the memory of our death?"

  Cleo's smile sharpened, gaining a predatory edge. "That… depends entirely on the strength of your soul."

  A ripple of fear went through the remaining figures. Bodies shuffled, unwilling steps were taken. One by one, they were called, dosed, and dragged across the bridge.

  Until only I remained.

  Cleo's gaze settled on me, and the amusement vanished, replaced by something dark and calculating.

  Uh oh.

  Stars flared behind her pupils – not reflections, but actual shifting galaxies swirling within the golden depths of her eyes.

  "Tristan Von Astar." My name curled off her tongue like black silk, beautiful yet laced with the faintest edge of iron. "You are not supposed to be here."

  A bolt of pure cold shot through my chest. Not supposed to be here? What did that mean?

  "And… is that a problem?" My voice came out too steady, too forced. Keep it cool. Don't show fear. Hopefully, I prayed silently, she's the type who bends the rules.

  Cleo parted her lips, perhaps to answer, perhaps to condemn. "You should ask Marcu—"

  RUMBLE.

  A deep vibration shuddered through the ground beneath my feet, cutting off her words. The sky – or whatever passed for it here – seemed to crack, fissures of light appearing overhead. The stars within Cleo's eyes blazed with unnatural brightness as the warning horn blared again – louder this time, more insistent, urgent.

  A jagged, corrupted system prompt flashed erratically across my vision:

  Yama King &^$#$%#%@#???#@#@# attacking with Battalion *&$%#@&@%$#.

  Please ensure Mission ^#%$@#*%$^#&@#(@#@# completion in 60 Seconds… 59… 58… 57…

  Cleo's gaze flicked upward towards the cracking sky. A thread of something dangerous and excited curled at the edge of her mouth. "Well… that’s unfortunate timing." Her eyes swept back to me, glittering strangely. "Or perhaps… fortunate. Tell me, Tristan Von Astar, how high is your Luck stat?"

  My mind raced. Luck? It was decent, maybe even high, but— "It's one hundr—"

  "Never mind," she cut me off smoothly. "Consider it your fortune for today." More silver spheres rose from the river, drifting towards the handful of dazed figures still waiting their turn near the bridge entrance. But one smaller, faster droplet peeled away from the main group, shooting directly towards my face.

  I barely had time to blink before the liquid hit my mouth, cold and tasteless. A surge of icy numbness poured through my veins. My limbs turned to lead instantly, my thoughts slowing to a crawl.

  "Hey! That one's mine!" The booming voice of the Legatus, echoed from somewhere behind me, filled with indignation.

  "How about a bottle of fine Falernian wine for your trouble, Marcus?" Cleo didn't turn, her voice lilting sweetly.

  So his name is Marcus… A tense pause stretched. Whose side do I want to join? The thought drifted sluggishly through my mind. Both seem like bad news...

  "Two bottles," Marcus's voice finally conceded, grudgingly.

  "Fine," Cleo sighed, her voice turning petulant, as if she were making a terrible sacrifice.

  Did… did that prick just sell me? For two bottles of wine? The thought sparked with feeble outrage before being smothered by the encroaching numbness. Wait… I wasn't even his to sell! My vision blurred, the edges darkening rapidly. The last thing I registered was Cleo's smile – too sharp, too knowing, burning itself into my mind's eye.

  "Until we meet again, lucky boy."

  The words echoed, imbued with an unsettling force that seemed to drill directly into my soul. Was that a soul attack layered onto the dru—?

  Darkness swallowed me whole.