Witt wasn't alone.

Don't get the wrong idea—it wasn't that he had companions. Someone was secretly tailing him.

In his adventuring career since leaving the village, Witt had never had a companion.

He looked up at the buildings lining the streets.

While houses back home were still low two- or three-story structures, many in Cesecity already scraped the sky—at least to Witt's eyes.

The glass windows amazed him repeatedly. He was shocked such crystal-like treasure was used for mere windows.

Witt stopped and started, sometimes pausing, sometimes spacing out.

Behind him, a dark shadow hid in a corner. Watching his naive gawking, it snorted coldly. "Hmph. Country bumpkin."

"Huh?" Witt sensed something and glanced back. Only a bustling crowd of pedestrians—nothing unusual.

"Weird. I keep feeling someone's following me."

He walked to where the shadow had been. A drop landed on his nose. He touched it and looked up.

Only churning black clouds coiled like a giant dragon.

"Rain?"

Witt wasn't convinced. He scanned the area again and again. Finding nothing, he scratched his head and left, puzzled.

He licked the finger that had touched the drop, scowling. "Cesecity's great, sure—but the pollution's awful. Even the rain tastes salty!"

Directly above, a hooded figure stood on the roof. Watching Witt fade into the distance, they finally exhaled.

"Phew~ Almost gave me a heart attack. He nearly spotted me."

Kaelxi slowly pulled back her hood, revealing a deathly pale face. Golden hair clung to her sweat-soaked forehead. Droplets slid down her chin to the ground.

"Luckily I climbed fast," she thought.

Just moments ago, when Witt turned, his gaze nearly swept over her. Terrified, she'd plopped onto the roof tiles. Her delicate body trembled slightly. Her calves shook uncontrollably.

"What do I do? What do I do!" Her mind raced. An idea struck. She scrambled up the roof in a fluster.

Kaelxi was a Blackiron Rank Rogue. Her supple body let her dodge even between blades.

For a trained rogue, scaling roofs was easy.

But not for her.

She was cowardly.

Really cowardly.

Panicked, she clawed upward. Her hands gripped the chimney—but her lower half dangled wildly, legs kicking in the air.

Cesecity's warmth, plus the full black robe, drenched her in sweat. She looked like she'd been fished from a river.

At the last second—before Witt arrived—she hauled herself fully onto the roof.

A single bead of sweat dripped from her fair, pink-tinged ankle.

That bead was the "polluted rain" Witt had tasted.

"This idiot! Scared me half to death. Just wait—I'll steal your wallet later!"

Kaelxi shook a clenched fist, snarling the threat.

If not for the lingering fear on her face, it might've sounded convincing.

In this swords-and-sorcery world, most professionals lived on the blade's edge—not quite nine deaths and one life, but at least eight deaths and two lives.

Those who tossed their lives away were everywhere. Cowards like Kaelxi rarely came from anywhere but pampered noble families.

But Kaelxi wasn't noble. She only wanted peace.

She was a transmigrator. An extremely life-cherishing transmigrator.

Her past life was an ordinary young man obsessed with soccer betting. One disastrous bet cost him everything—and buried him in debt.

Disheartened, he'd climbed a rooftop. He stared at the steel forest of skyscrapers, watched the endless traffic flow, and vowed never to gamble again. Too late.

Late at night, in casual clothes, he crouched at the edge. Early spring wind cut his face like knives. His brows knotted into a deep frown. Half his hair had gone prematurely white.

He hugged his knees, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Silently, he wondered: "Those who give up life—have they truly let go? Or not?"

No answer came. A debt collector's call shattered the silence. Despairingly, he took one last look at the world—and jumped.

A bird caught the horizon's drifting clouds, flapped its wings, and landed.

The moment he leaped, peace filled him.

"Maybe dying like this... isn't so bad."

Then he regretted it. Concrete slammed into him—and he didn't die instantly.

His hands hit first. Bones shattered, shards tearing through muscle, grinding against unyielding ground.

His organs felt hammered. Ribs snapped, piercing his lungs.

Miraculously, the low height—or his elbows absorbing impact—kept him alive.

"So painful! So painful!" He curled up, grimacing. Pain drowned out everything else. Numbness swallowed all other senses.

His ruined life didn't matter now. "Someone! Anyone! Save me!"

Tears, blood, saliva, and sweat streamed down his cheeks, pooling on the asphalt.

"Head... so dizzy..."

He writhed, struggling to reach his phone. But his hands were just bloody pulp—useless forever.

I'll cherish life, The Divine—I beg you. "Anyone! Please! Save me!"

By day, someone might've called an ambulance. But deep night had swallowed the city.

Not everyone heard his fall's crash. Not everyone cared to investigate.

His breath grew shallow—only inhales, no exhales. His cries drowned under stray cats' mating yowls.

No one came.

He gasped, straining to focus.

Still, no one came.

.......

Two hours later.

His bloodshot eyes fixed blankly on the moon and stars one last time.

"I... want... to live..."

He burned the starry sky into his mind—aching for life, choking on regret. He blinked.

And never opened his eyes again.

The young man made his final struggle at life's end. He died miserably in early spring's biting wind.

Trees sprouted new buds. Spring shouldn't feel lifeless.

But in this other world, winter reigned. Kaelxi—an Elf girl who should've starved or frozen to death—slowly opened her eyes in a garbage pile.

Emerald-green eyes. The color of life.

The color of longing to live.

Buchert Kingdom Trivia: 1 gold = 100 silver = 10,000 copper.