#1 Living in another world 2

Barely a few seconds had passed since Grim closed his eyes when he suddenly heard a voice—a soft, soothing voice, gentle enough to calm even the most enraged soul. Though it was not a song, it carried the same lulling quality as a lullaby. 

At first, Grim dismissed it as an illusion. He kept his eyes shut, convinced that such a beautiful voice could not possibly be meant for a sinner like him. But then, the voice spoke again, asking the same question. 

This time, Grim had no choice but to acknowledge it. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes and sat up. 

What he saw surprised him. 

Before him stood a young girl, appearing no older than fourteen. She gazed at him with a gentle smile. Yet, despite her youthful appearance, there was something about her—an overwhelming presence, a charisma unlike anything Grim had ever encountered in his lifetime. 

It was the kind of presence that made one feel insignificant in comparison, a presence so absolute that it left no room for defiance. 

But beyond that, there was also a strange, unexplainable pull—a calming force that washed over Grim like a warm embrace. It was not the allure of a woman, but something far more profound, something that made him feel at peace simply by being near her. 

"You haven't answered my question," she said softly. "Are you really planning to sleep here?" 

Her tone was not one of reproach but of gentle concern, like a mother speaking to her child. 

"That was the plan," Grim replied. "Is there a problem with that?" 

"It's not that you can't," she said, shaking her head. "It's just… this isn't a place meant for someone like you." 

"I think it's a perfectly fine place for me," Grim said, then glanced around. "By the way… where am I?" 

"This is my home," she answered. 

Grim blinked. 

"Home?" 

No matter how he looked at it, there was nothing here that could be called a home. No walls, no roof—only the endless expanse of mist-like clouds stretching in every direction. 

"Why?" the girl asked, tilting her head. "Do you think this is an unworthy place to call home?" 

"No," Grim said without hesitation. "It's a good place." 

Even if he couldn't see any structure around him, even if he didn't understand why she called this her home, his opinion remained unchanged. 

This place was peaceful. 

There were no battlefields littered with corpses, no rivers of blood soaking into the ground. There was no sound of war, no stench of death. 

For someone as incomplete as himself, this was an ideal place. 

"This is the first time anyone has called my home a good place," the girl mused. 

"Does that mean others have been here before me?" Grim asked. 

Her words made him realize that he was not the first to arrive in this strange place. And yet, out of everyone who had come before, he was the first to see its beauty. 

"There have been a few," she admitted. "But let's not talk about them. Right now, we should focus on you." 

She stepped closer, reaching out a delicate hand. 

Before Grim could react, she gently placed her palm against his cheek. 

"You poor thing," she murmured. "Born incomplete… and forced to die in such a cruel way." 

Her golden eyes shimmered with unshed tears, filled with a sorrow that was not her own. She looked at him as though she truly pitied him, as though she was mourning for him in a way he never could for himself. 

With tender movements, she stroked his cheek. 

To her, Grim's death had been tragic. If she could, she would have saved him. But she could not. 

All she could do was offer him this moment of comfort. 

Grim did not understand why she pitied him. 

But he saw no reason to refuse her touch. 

The warmth of her hand, the soft caress of her fingers—it was more comforting than anything he had ever known in his lifetime. 

Yet he did not want to lose himself in this feeling. 

There were still things he needed to know. 

"What do you mean by 'incomplete'?" he asked. 

Though he was curious about her identity, his more pressing question was why she had called him that. 

After all, weren't all humans born imperfect? 

What made him different? 

Instead of answering, the girl asked her own question. 

"Have you ever felt sadness?" 

Grim fell silent. 

It was such a simple question. 

And yet, for some reason, he didn't want to answer it. 

"You haven't, have you?" 

She smiled—an understanding, almost knowing smile. 

Even without his response, she already knew the truth. 

Grim remained motionless. 

Yes. 

He had never once felt sadness. 

People had always feared him because of it. They had always kept their distance, unsettled by his indifference. 

But Grim had never cared. 

Even if he never felt sadness, it didn't matter. 

Or at least, that was what he had told himself. 

Yet… 

There were moments when he wondered. 

What did it mean to be sad? 

What was the weight of grief? 

He had asked others before. 

But no one had ever given him an answer. 

So, when the First Great War erupted, Grim saw it as an opportunity. 

If no one would teach him the meaning of sadness… 

Then he would learn it himself. 

That was why he took the position of Supreme General. 

With hundreds of thousands—millions—of lives in his hands, surely, he would come to understand. 

Surely, after witnessing so much death, after leading so many to their graves… 

Surely, he would finally feel sadness. 

But in the end… 

Nothing changed. 

Even as over a million souls perished under his command, Grim still could not grasp the meaning of sorrow. 

Eventually, he gave up. 

And when his kingdom lost the war… 

When the Allies demanded his life… 

He did not hesitate.