Return Of The Strongest Player

The Heaven's Spire, a tower that rested at the center of the universe. With a hundred floors, it reached the apex of the universe. Its pinnacle was considered Heaven, and its depth was Hell. It was the resting place of God.

With hopes of being granted a wish from an omnipotent being, millions of 'players' challenged the tower every day. However, in the thousands of years of history the tower had garnered, none had reached its pinnacle.

Today, as rain collided with the skin of a dying man, only resentment remained in its vestige. The kneeling figure of the once tyrannical man seemed pitiful. His back seemed tiny, and his shoulders were drooping.

With countless wounds, scars, and cuts on his tough skin, he was dying.

Several swords impaled his body, speeding the process of his death.

His clothes were tattered, and the squalid scent of blood and smoke emerged from his dying body. His last breaths were strained, and his eyes, which had lost their vigor, only had thoughts of vengeance.

One would scoff at the hopes of a dying man. With no successors, family, or disciples, he was what one would consider a lone wolf.

But even wolves succumbed to the might of tigers.

The Demons and Angels who sat on the ninety-ninth floor of the tower colluded with the players beneath, eventually resulting in the death of Arthur Solace, the Lord of Sins.

Before he could challenge the ninety-ninth floor, he died.

*

[Initiating Regression...]

[Collecting Data...]

[Synthesizing Data...]

[Interpreting Data...]

[Attempting Regression of Arthur Solace]

[1%, 3%, 12%...]

[99%... 100%...]

[Regression Completed]

*

'Where… where am I?' the man wondered as he opened his eyes. Instead of the scent of destruction and the sight of corpses, his gaze fell on hay and cow dung. It was a nostalgic sight he hadn't witnessed in years.

The scent was familiar yet unfamiliar simultaneously.

Instead of the majestic robes he usually wore, the man was currently dressed in attire even a servant wouldn't wear. The shirt he wore was tattered and had burn marks, cuts, and large holes that needed sewing.

He wore shorts that only extended down to his upper thighs, similar to boxers.

His lavish, luxurious, and, most of all, comfortable bed was nowhere in sight. Instead, thorns pricked his back, which rested atop a very thorny stack of hay. Above him was a wooden ceiling that threatened to crush his face at any moment.

It was a weird situation he'd fallen into.

A few seconds ago, he'd been slaying enemies left and right, fighting for his life on a battlefield filled with traitors. Suddenly, he lowered his hand to his waist, but the cool sensation of the hilt of his sword was now gone.

He was disarmed, dressed in tattered clothes, on an uncomfortable bed, and inside a semi-broken home.

'What the hell is going on?' he wondered, gritting his teeth at the thorns that pricked his back. His body felt heavy and fatigued as if he'd fought for several days simultaneously. But he hadn't since he had no injuries.

'Why am I so fatigued?' thought the man. He was Arthur Solace, the Lord of Sins. He commanded an army of millions. What would the other clans think if they saw him in such a condition?

He had to return!

Somehow, after applying tremendous pressure, he finally escaped the thorny bed. As he gazed at the bed, he wondered how it had affected him. His body was tough! How could it be affected by mere hay?

Then again, he was inside a stable meant for horses.

Arthur covered his visible private part using both of his hands before exiting the stable. Immediately, he was met with the gazes of farmers, housewives, and children who roamed around the streets.

The sky was orange, and it was almost nightfall. The breeze was cold… almost chilly.

Arthur gritted his teeth as many gazes fell on him. His cheeks reddened as he hid his private part meticulously. Apparently, it was too visible. Otherwise, why would the 'villagers' stare at him intently?

"Arthur!" a bearded man called out in a voice dripping with concern. His eyes were curled to display his worry. But to Arthur, it seemed fake. Why would anyone be concerned for him? "Have you already recovered? It was a tough day at the farm today. Harvest is coming soon."

'Harvest?' Arthur wondered. 'Why the fuck would I be at the farm, anyway?'

Why was the bearded man worried about him? The expression he directed towards Arthur sent chills down the latter's spine.

"I thought you were sleeping," said the bearded man as he approached Arthur. "It seems like you've recovered. Otherwise, you wouldn't come out so soon. Hey, why are your hands placed on your… thing?"

The bearded man stopped in his tracks. Suddenly, a knowing grin blossomed over his face. "Some girl has struck your fantasy, eh? And you're too aroused to maintain composure. No wonder you came out before dawn."

The bearded man's lewd expression was sickening to Arthur. He gritted his teeth, taking a mental note to dissect the man once he returned to his clan.

He would kill him after killing the traitors of his clan.

It was dusk by now. The gazes on Arthur lightened as many prepared to go to bed. The bearded man persisted, however. "Who is it? Who struck your fancy? I'll convince their father myself if you want. I'm a pretty good wingman."

"Shut your trap, old man," spat Arthur. He didn't know where he was. Neither did he know how to return. Moreover, the bearded man latched onto him like a leech, desperately holding on and unwilling to let go.

At Arthur's words, the bearded man furrowed his brows. "Do not talk to your elders like that. Don't blame me when I tell your parents."

"Parents?"

"Yeah, parents," said the bearded man. Suddenly, he turned around to face three people who were approaching the stable. "Those people."

The bearded man turned to stare at Arthur, but the latter had already zoned out.

Parents?