Ron lays on the bed, his back flat on the soft mattress, his hands neatly placed on his stomach.

While Choi Han bolted the door.

They decided it would be best to perform it here, protected by knights and mage's barrier that wrapped around the castle.

Thus, Alberu has led them to one of the hindmost chambers of the said castle, that even servants are unaware of its existence.

The room itself was smaller than the standard norm, yet it's seem far more opulent than the rest.

"What shall I do next." Ron inquires.

Scratching her chin absently, she then waves a dismissive hand. "Nothing, just lie there."

She pulls the chair back beside the bed, and settles herself, while Beacrox claims the seat on the foot of the bed as the others surround him.

"Don't crowd us," she orders.

All of them obliged and made more space for them, except for Beacrox, who remain rooted at his seat.

However, Ron still hasn't spoken a word to him nor spares him a single cursory glance, since they have left Alberu's office.

Cage then took out something from her dress pocket.

It was a silver bracelet with black markings on it.

"What's that?" Rosalyn asked.

Choi Han stands by her shoulder, looking down at it, his expression hard to decipher.

"A bracelet," she says as a matter of fact, but after a beat of silence, she added. "I placed a curse on it."

Alarm flickers through Beacrox's mien, likely to snap at the first provocation. A warning lilts his voice as he called out. "Cage."

She cocks an unimpressed brow at him but quickly assures Ron. "Don't worry this will not bring any harm to you, it will simply put you to sleep, albeit temporarily, just until you return."

Rosalyn tips her head and asks. "Is that necessary?"

Earning a look of exasperated disbelief from the excommunicated priestess.

"I don't think you would assume that our counterparts would be pleased learning their body has been resided by some stranger, much less waking up in an entirely different reality." Cage says, almost laughing, but there is no humor in her tone.

"You mean, they don't know of any of this?"

"Of course not."

Her shoulders hitched. "Shouldn't we inform them before we proceed... We can even ask for their assistance—"

"And if they won't, what happens then?" She asks, cutting her off.

The retort caught Rosalyn aback.

"Don't you think that if they found a way to end that bastard, they wouldn't find a way to prevent us from using them? And who sane person would go to war that isn't theirs, just because someone asks them to?"

"Don't be foolish Rosalyn," she added.

"I'm no fool—and don't mince my words. I never said anything about them going to war for us, but only to help us." She snaps.

Seeing the tension brewing in the air, Alberu decided now to step in.

"It's unfair, I know." Alberu started, as he turns to Rosalyn.

"It's completely and utterly unjust." she hissed.

"They have already gone through war, Rosalyn," Alberu says.

Although his voice was full of compassion, Rosalyn didn't meet his eyes, clearly displeased.

"Although they won, I daresay they wouldn't want to go through another. And aiding us also means risking their lives, that reason alone is enough for them to disagree." Alberu further explained.

"Moreover, they don't get anything but a loss on their end, no?"

After a moment of stillness, Rosalyn heaved a sigh and asks. "Will the spell bring any harm to them as well?"

"It always goes both ways," she says, bringing the tension back.

"But not to that extent of course," she crosses her arms, the bracelet dangling in her fingers as she continued.

"They would only have a headache and might feel a little sore, a cold at most, and of course a gap in their memory, but nothing too alarming or life-threatening."

"Are you speaking the truth?" Rosalyn asks, clearly dubious.

Cage tilts her head in slight annoyance and answers, injecting just enough sarcasm into her tone. "You have my word, princess."

The latter visibly swallowed and clenches her jaw, biting back whatever she wants to say as she shot her a hard stare of annoyance.

But still, she nods her head stiffly in return. She wasn't happy at what the other had addressed her.

Even though she is one, it is obvious it was a mockery rather than a title.

It was not an uncommon occurrence, a princess playing pretend as what the nobles call her, but it brought her displeasure nonetheless.

"We have already wasted a lot of time." She turns to Ron and said.

"Remember, the longer you stay there, the more harm your body will bear. And I can only bring you back once you wish me to."

"Time and space flow differently in that world and in here, so it may take some time for it to reach me—but it will reach me. Until then, stay safe." She added, her tone came out softer at the end.

She then took Ron's hand, and waited for approval, before clasping the bracelet around his wrist.

The bracelet that hung loosely on his wrist, slowly began to tighten, griping him like a vice.

"And before I forget, the God of Death left a reminder; while you may live their present, you can not change their past from the way it is written and you may never covet their future."

It was merely a reminder but it seemed more like a warning to them as she delivered those final words.

"I’ll bear that in mind," Ron says as he retrieves his hand.

He then took a deep breath and made himself lie still, a thousand thoughts went through his mind, and as time goes by further his thoughts spiraled, but only one particularly stayed.

He turned to look at them and spoke. "Look after Beacrox for me."

"Of course," said Rosalyn, almost immediately.

He then heard Cage muttering a long string of words under her breath, chanting phrases over phrases, prickling along his ears like the edge of a dull blade.

Suddenly, his eyes weighed what feels like a thousand pounds and completely robbed him of any thought.

He was aware the others were close, but he couldn't feel them nor hear their breaths.

And for a moment, he saw a figure in front of him, it was a man, an old one, as he saw the grey streaked in the other's hair, but he couldn't make out his face.

A string of light bounded their bodies, connecting them.

He then felt a sudden pull, as though it was sucking his soul, at the same time a strong sense of sensation invaded his body, burning his chest tremendously.

Then the seconds turned into minutes, maybe hours, Ron couldn't seem to keep track, but just as he slipped beneath the tide of sleep he heard a commotion above him.

He stretched alertness back into his frame, and with a wrenching effort he opened his eyes, it sent a stab of pain lancing through his temple when he did so, and his lips pursed in a quiet hiss.

As he gets used to the pain, he then realizes he was now laying on a much bigger bed and surrounded by people dressed in a servant's uniform.

The air is full of the pungent smell of rotting flesh. The smell was so sharp, he could almost taste it.

He let his eyes wander around, and somehow everything around him felt nauseatingly familiar.

Realization alights in his eyes.

This was the place he once called home and the people he worked with.

But this room wasn't his, it was an extravagant bedroom that was only reserved for distinguished visitors.

He tried to stand, but his body had already lost all feeling and couldn't move it. His eyelids were fighting to stay awake as the fatigue overwhelm him.

This may prove more difficult than he thought.

Slowly he turned his head sideways and found his arm had been cut off, a white bandage was covering around his shoulder.

For a practitioner who utilized both hands, he did feel slightly bad for his other self. His arms are one thing he can and at the same time, could not live without.

Although it wouldn't be much of a big deal anymore.

Even though, he felt no pain that is probably thanks to the highest-grade potions this Ron have consumed before his arrival as he spotted the empty expensive vials lying on his bedside.

But he felt on the verge of collapsing.

This Ron was poisoned, and it wasn't anything close to what he had encountered before.

He gritted his teeth as he weakly cursed under his breath.

While the others who heard him didn't find it out of the ordinary, although they never heard the old butler cuss, they simply thought that he was in great pain.

Ron has thought about worse possible scenarios as he tries to plan for all outcomes, but he never expected that it would be this bad.

It appears his other self wasn't as lucky as they assumed would be.

Coming to this world was futile, he can't get any information in this condition, and he should return now before he could bring more harm to his own.

But before he was able to think about wanting to come back, he heard the door opening and saw a red-haired youth appearing before him.

Ron took a shuddering breath. 

It was someone he haven't seen for a long time and didn't think he'd ever see again.

His thin eyebrows were arched towards the center of his forehead, framing two strongly displeased eyes, with an imposing aura around him, that no one would dare to contradict.

But worry and alarm was bleeding through his eyes as the youth traces his face down to his body.

The image of the other made his gut twist with remorse.

"Young master-nim." His mouth moved on his own, it took Ron by surprise, completely abandoning his previous feeling, though thankfully, he didn't show it.

"...Ron," he called him out, and a feeling of nostalgia hit him.

"F, father!" a worried voice followed.

He watched as this Beacrox rushed past Cale into the bedroom.

His eyes met Cale's as he heard the other ask, resisting to flinch when he noticed the distress in his gaze. "...Ron, why is your arm like that?"

As he thought of an answer, again, as if his mouth has a mind of its own, he said. "I somehow ended up like this."

Even his lips turned into a benign smile.

He scowled inside, then for a second, he remembered what Cage had told them.

"While you may live their present, you can not change their past from the way it is written and you may never covet their future."

It looks like he is still in the other's past. He has to wait until the present time to have full control over this body.

"Hans," Cale called out, after a moment of silence, Ron didn't even realize was there.

"Yes sir," he answered.

"Get out."

"Excuse me?" Hans asked indistinctly, surprised at the sudden order.

Cale looked at Hans, as well as the estate's staff and the others, before clarifying. "Everybody except Beacrox and Choi Han, get out."

Ho... He's here too.

Ron glances at the black-haired swordsman from the corner of his eyes.

But he quickly retracted his gaze before the others could notice and watched the others leave, he then spotted two cats looking at him multiple times, worry was evident on their faces.

He then heard him ask. "Do you have enough strength to speak?"

"Yes, young master-nim," he answered.

"Then explain. How did you return like this when you went hunting some foxes," he asked calmly, his gaze piercing.

Foxes... This spoiled young master knew.

How interesting.

He then wondered if the young master back in his world also knew.

But that was most unlikely.

His head automatically moved sideways, despite his discomfort. His gaze landed on his son kneeling beside him as he stared at his now non-existing arm.

"I came across from the Eastern Continent, it was when Beacrox was very young."

"As you already know, I am an assassin. The Eastern Continent's underworld has five famous assassin families. One of them was our family, the Molan family, and I was groomed to become the next head of household."

Unbelievable.

"Father." He heard Beacrox calling out to him.

"Our family was destroyed by an organization called, 'Arm.' Everybody else died while I managed to avoid them and escape over to Western Continent with my son. I had been hiding my identity in order to survive."

"It was because, although this organization called Arm, rules the Underworld, they were just a low-ranking organization. The core of their operation was elsewhere. I felt fear from the strength of this organization that was beyond what I could even fathom. That was why I have been living as a lowly servant."

Ron found himself frowning.

"But I caught onto their scent for the first time in tens of years."

He saw Beacrox flinches at the corner of his eyes, his gaze then shifted past Cale to Choi Han who wore a look of disbelief.

"Choi Han had the scent of, 'Arm,' on him when he first came to the estate." He heard himself continue.

Ron is disbelieve himself, but for another reason.

He couldn't believe the other him is confessing all of this to Cale, those were something he never told a soul about, he never even thought about telling anyone about it, and certainly not to him.

The very idea is absurd, yet here he was.

"Then the assassins I killed in Harris Village?" He heard Choi Han asks, breaking him out of his train of thought.

"Yes, there is a good chance they were from Arm," he answered.

"I was able to figure out that they were stretching their reaches to the Western Continent when I went and investigated in the capital. It was more like a dog walking into a Tiger's Den than hunting foxes."

"However, I then somehow ended up losing my left arm and barely managed to escape with my life."

How brazen... And stupid, he then sighed internally.

Knowing fully well, he shouldn't judge his counterpart's action, though if he was given the same chance he would likely do the same thing.

But that knowledge annoys him even further.

"So you were not able to determine the identity of this organization called Arm?" Cale asks.

"Unfortunately, no," he answers.

Surprisingly, already used to his mouth moving on its own.

"Ron," Cale called out to him, then asks. "Who cut off your arm?"

"...It was a young mage who seemed to be cutting the arms of all enemies."

Ron quickly combed through his memories as he tries to figure out the culprit in this person's demise.

He then thought of a certain individual, who is heavily obsessed with blood and anything akin to its color.

Choi Han flinched and turned to Cale, as the other curses. "Crazy bastard."

"How, how could something like this happen?"

Choi Han clenches his fists on the side.

"What is this rotting smell?" Cale asks.

Instead of answering he felt himself smiling making the other more frustrated.

The red-haired youth hastily walked over and pulled off the blanket covering him, his eyes peering down at him.

He heard a gasp and saw Beacrox in the corner of his eyes, frowning.

He then hears himself say, "I was hit by some poison."

Driven by curiosity, he follows their gaze and found the skin of his torso down to his thigh was beginning to turn black, drenched with slimy fluid.

"...They were the ones who were helping the mermaids."

Ron's eyebrows knit together as he jotted down the newfound information in a corner of his brain.

But needless to say, it wasn't that surprising anymore, with all the history with Arm.

Cale placed the heels of his hands into his eyes as he cursed. "Damn bastards."

An aggravated look plastered on his face, something Ron often saw on the youth, sometimes even directed at him.

But never for him.