Lucian woke up alone beside a crashing waterfall, and the sound told him enough—it was true.
He had been placed in the middle of nowhere, wandering, no allies, no safety net.
The clothes were different, worn like a drifter's, and his hands were older, calloused from a life that he hadn't lived but had inherited.
He stood up slowly, brushing off dirt from a faded samurai garb, and he realized right away—this wasn't Ebonrose, and this definitely wasn't anywhere near the Southern Forest.
The scent in the air was foreign, and the sky above him felt wider, older, and heavier.
He had been thrown into another continent altogether—the Flowery Continent. And here, inside the lands of Dai-Kuni, things were different.
There weren't banners of kingdoms waving in the wind like in Ebonrose, nor were there grand noble families with strong ancestral names.
Instead, there were fractured clans, wandering orders, and regional Lords who upheld different codes.
Religion here wasn't centralized either—people whispered about the "Manyfold Path," a belief that every life, even insects or criminals, added to the balance of the world's story. Justice here wasn't clean, and neither was power.
So this is what the system meant... Wandering Samurai. No castle, no army, no companions. And no one waiting for me to lead them. It's just me.
And yet, Lucian didn't panic. He understood what this life was for—not to win anything, not to conquer or protect or command. This life was about something else.
Knowledge.
If I try to fix everything now, I'll die. So I need to learn about this continent, its politics, its systems, its wars. I need to know what breaks the world before I try to save it.
He wandered for a full week, and though he didn't have a map, the land taught him better than any parchment ever could.
Dai-Kuni was divided into Five Petals, each a separate region with its own dialect, style, and culture.
The Red Petal to the west was known for its mercenaries and exiled nobles, and it was home to the Blood Contracts—binding vows etched into flesh.
The Blue Petal in the north was run by monasteries and old-world scholars who preserved relics and forbidden texts.
The White Petal in the center held the Imperial Capital, though it hadn't had an Emperor in over fifty years. Instead, twelve silent Ministers ruled from behind lacquered screens.
The Green Petal to the east was full of cursed lands and thick jungles, said to be watched over by living spirits. And finally, the Black Petal in the south was the grave of a war that no one remembered, where even the wind didn't speak.
Everywhere he went, Lucian asked questions, sometimes in taverns, sometimes in temples, and sometimes just beside a fire pit with another drifter.
He kept a mental record of political tensions, heard rumors of rogue gods walking among men, and listened to tales about a place called Higan-no-Kai—a hidden region that didn't appear on any map, said to contain the knowledge of the forgotten eras before even the Realms formed.
There's no system here, and people don't seem to know about "levels" or growth. But they do talk about principles... Love Principle, Relentless Principle, even Sadness Principle. And apparently, every person who awakens one walks a unique path. So this is how power works here—through a principle tied to your soul.
Lucian didn't fight anyone that week, and he didn't try to make allies.
He avoided conflict unless it was essential, and he rarely introduced himself unless someone asked.
But each conversation taught him something, and each day made him feel the time pressure of his real goal.
Lucian sat one evening atop a quiet hill, staring toward the distant lights of a city he hadn't entered yet.
Even if this man I've become has no talent, I'll still find a way.
And with that, he stood again. He still didn't know how long he had in this life. But he knew what he was here to do.
He walked down the slope as the early light poured onto the Mirai City—a small, serene city resting at the foot of gently curved hills and winding streams.
It wasn't large, nor wealthy, but it was one of the many quiet, unbothered settlements scattered throughout the eastern regions of Dai-Kuni.
The people here were known for their patience, and more than that, their habit of treating strangers like stray animals—feeding them first, asking questions later.
Lucian—no, Amon—had been resting in the city for nearly two weeks now.
The locals had taken care of him after they found him unconscious near the falls, and though he kept his story vague, the people didn't pry.
They gave him food, a room, and even patched up his coat, calling it 'a wanderer's luck.'
The buildings here were made from light wood with deep blue tiled roofs, and everything smelled faintly of steamed rice and herbal salves.
Small bridges crossed narrow canals running through the streets, and hanging cloth signs marked tea shops, smithies, and apothecaries.
It felt old, and yet... not ancient.
Amon had spent the last week quietly exploring the countryside around Blue Petal.
The land of Dai-Kuni wasn't shaped like the other continents—its terrain was stretched like brushstrokes across rice paper.
There were forest valleys with temples swallowed by vines, and shallow mountains that bent like bows from old tales.
Every village had a story, and every story had a warning. It was a land of names and titles—of clans, of wandering monks, and unrecorded sword saints who once split rivers but left behind only empty graves.
Unlike Ebonrose, this continent wasn't obsessed with crowns. It was obsessed with legacy.
"Oi, Amon!" someone shouted, breaking his thoughts.
He turned. It was Mugi—a round-faced farmer with too much time and not enough harvest. "You still pretending to look like some broken warrior, or you finally gonna admit you're just a lost uncle with no job?"
Lucian raised a brow. "I thought you were supposed to be tilling your fields. Not harassing philosophers in disguise."
"Philosophers? You? All I see is a guy who talks to himself and forgets to pay for noodles."
"That happened once," Lucian muttered, trying not to smile.
"And the bathhouse, and the laundry mat, and—"
"Fine, fine," Lucian sighed. "But I'm leaving soon. I've got roads to walk."
"Yeah, yeah," Mugi said, waving him off.
"You all say that. But, if you want I'll offer you a job."
Mugi hadn't gone far before Lucian called out, "Wait, wait. Are you serious about that job or were you just being your usual annoying self?"
Mugi turned back with a grin that belonged on a drunk fox. "I mean, you're tall, not that old, and got two working arms. That's all I need. I've got weeds taller than me in the backfield. I'll give you ten silver if you help clear them out."
Lucian paused. Ten silver wasn't much here. It barely covered two meals and a cheap room. But he was broke—again. God, I'm living like a roach between empires.
"I don't suppose that comes with health insurance if I collapse?" he said, already walking.
"Nope," Mugi said, slapping his back. "But I've got barley tea."
Just then, the system flickered behind his eyes.
[Side Quest Available]
[Help Mr. Mugi On His Farm]
[Death Limit: 3]
Wait—DEATH LIMIT? ON A FARM!?
Lucian narrowed his eyes at Mugi. "What kind of crops do you grow again?"
"Mostly turnips. Sometimes the occasional bear sneaks in from the woods."
"Bears?"
"It's almost impossible for that to happen."
He sighed. "Let's go before I change my mind."
---
The sun wasn't kind that day, but the field was worse. Mugi handed him a rusty hoe, a rake with three teeth, and a sack full of what he claimed were "spirit beans."
"They don't actually have spirits, right?" Lucian asked.
"Not unless you step on 'em. Then they scream."
Lucian stopped mid-step. "You're joking."
"No."
By noon, they were waist-deep in weeds. Mugi told stories about a girl he liked back in the city—who turned out to be married to his cousin.
Lucian told a lie about being a monk, then changed it halfway through and said he was a wandering philosopher-warrior-mercenary-cook.
"So… you're unemployed."
"Technically."
They laughed. Lucian accidentally threw a beet at Mugi's head. Mugi retaliated by slapping him with a damp cabbage. And by the end, when Lucian's back was sore and his face sunburned, Mugi handed him a small cloth pouch.
"Ten silver. I could've given you five, but you didn't cry."
Lucian raised it up and jingled it. "My dignity's for sale. Apparently, it's cheaper than I thought."
---
He returned to the tavern—The Lantern Root—where the stone floors creaked and the walls leaned slightly as if they were drunk. The receptionist stood behind the counter, scribbling in a ledger with one hand and sipping some suspicious green tea with the other.
"You're back already?" she asked, without looking.
"Yeah, I survived the farm. He made me fight demon vegetables."
"That sounds traumatic.... Want a bandage or a hug?"
"I'll take a room."
"Sure."
He sighed. "What's your name again?"
She smirked. "I only give that out to guests who tip."
He tossed one silver onto the desk.
She flicked it back. "It's not that cheap."
---
That night, he kicked open the door to his room and collapsed onto the bed. The system chimed.
[Quest Complete: Help Mr. Mugi On His Farm]
[Choose Your Reward]
Seven glowing choices appeared in front of him:
Lose Your Virginity To The Receptionist
Have A Harem
Legendary Weapon
Random Class
Unique Relic
3,000 Gold Coins
Get An Army (10 Men)
Lucian stared at the list. His stomach growled. His coin pouch sagged with sadness. And three thousand gold sounded like the only real survival option right now.
Sorry, future harem. I'll buy you all food later.
He tapped the reward.
A flash of light burst in his palm. A pocket stitched into his pants appeared like it had always been there. He reached inside... and his hand came out glinting.
It was full of dense, royal-minted gold coins.
His jaw dropped. "I'm rich!!!"
From downstairs, someone yelled, "Shut up, Amon!"
He didn't care.
He lay back and laughed to himself.