GoldenStache

{Author Of Old-World Extra}
"All untainted paths lead to the one truth."
—
There was nothing special about my life... except for how I died.
I went out in the dumbest, most ridiculous way possible; even a dog’s death would’ve made for a better sight.
But hey, that wasn’t even the weird part. Not by a long shot. 
For whatever reason, my soul had gotten ripped out and shoved into the body of some "Villain" in a faraway land.
Yep, you heard that right. A clichéd "Villain." And I’ve got ten days before he’s publicly executed.
This guy—well, I—used to be a Beggar. 
One that grew into a Magi, then a Seeker, then a Professor, and then... 
A Sultan. 
The one ruler of the entire world.
Now? I’m stuck facing the people I used to love, ready to pay for all the “evil” I’ve done.
Fate seemed Hellbent on ending me no matter where I went, but just as I was about to give up...
A Script appeared before my mind’s eye.
{Would you like to witness your real history, your Path?}
{Would you like to make it past your Promised Day?}
{Would you like to become a True King?}
{If so, repeat after me…}
It gave me one word—ancient, powerful, and clear.
“BASSORĀH!”
Many paths came together.
Then, a projection appeared and it began to display... my memories? 
—
This is a story about suffering. Anger. And forgiveness. 

{Volume One, Remember Me: Complete}
{Volume Two, For Whom The Bell Tolls: Complete}
{Volume Three, When the Sparrow Falls: Complete}
{Volume Four, I Saw A Dream: Ongoing}

Extra Tags: Drama, Reaction, Misunderstanding, Transmigration. Time Travel.

Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

{Outside The Projection}

The projection paused, and the crowd was stunned silent.

It wasn't the deal. It wasn't the story itself. It wasn't their origin. The Dark Continent stopped being perceived in such a light long ago. Racism remained, of course; it could never be wiped completely, but it was frowned upon. So no one cared for that. It wasn't Ali Baba swindling his way into a shah's vault. A man able to trade sand for water. His eloquence. Personality. It wasn't the story of a caravan built on a thousand deals, a thousand lies, a thousand nights spent in pursuit of something greater. No. It wasn't their history. It wasn't their legacy, code, or way of life.

"Yeah, like it was just a mild inconvenience!"

"You're joking. He has to be joking."

I Wouldn't Know