Chapter 296: Past and Present Life
Although parts of her body were already inhuman, they were still just "parts."
Despite being critically injured, Esdeath kept pushing beyond her limits, burning the dangerous blood in her veins to gain more speed and power.
But even so—she had no chance of defeating Ryosuke. She couldn’t even... break his defense.
Ryosuke’s developnt was now complete. Every aspect of his strength—chakra, soul, and physical body—had reached a terrifying balance. The once-weak physique that followed the ninja system had long since been overhauled after his arrival in this world.
Esdeath never had a chance to win. Not even a sliver of one.
Maybe it was dozens of punches. Maybe hundreds.
As the ice-blue lines across Esdeath’s body slowly dimd, and her dark blue hair faded into a pale white, her strength began to wane. The dangerous blood within her was nearly gone.
Imperial weapons could be destroyed.
Most appeared in physical form, making them easier targets. But Esdeath’s weapon—the Demon Extract —was carried within her blood. It couldn’t be broken externally, but...
That didn’t make it indestructible. It simply ant only one person could destroy it—the user themselves.
The demonic essence fed off her. The longer she pushed past her limit, the more it drained her vitality and spirit. If its power exceeded the limits of its vessel, it would consu her from the inside.
Now, that limit had been reached.
Her physical strength was fading fast, even more rapidly than ordinary humans. The price of burning her own soul and power was steep.
"Cough..."
She threw one final, feeble punch. It didn’t even reach Ryosuke. Her body swayed and collapsed backward.
Her once-proud, battle-hardened face was now gaunt and aged.
All her wounds—once sealed by ice—had begun bleeding again. The frozen patches of flesh she had created to replace her lost limbs were now vanishing along with the imperial weapon’s destruction.
The gaping wound in her abdon, her missing right leg, the twisted and ruptured organs... the injuries were catastrophic. She could no longer even lift her arms. Her mind was slowly slipping into darkness.
The snow beneath her soaked in blood. The cold, once her beloved companion, now bit at her flesh like daggers.
For the first ti... she hated the cold.
She had experienced too many firsts in this battle.
Once, she believed herself to be the strongest. Now she realized—she was just a frog in a well.
"...Was it worth it?"
Ryosuke stepped to her side and crouched, gazing at the withered expression on her face.
"Ending it here... You could’ve seen more. The world is far bigger than this. Your will, your dreams—they don’t need to die here."
"I can save you," he added, voice calm. "Even like this, I can bring you back."
He wasn’t lying. Despite how far gone she was, Ryosuke had the power to return her from the edge.
"...Ha..."
Esdeath let out a dry, miserable laugh. She didn’t answer his offer. She didn’t plead. She simply stared at the storm above with a hollow look.
"What a refreshing battle," she whispered.
The wind almost drowned her words, but Ryosuke still heard them.
"...Yeah. It was."
He stood up, back turned to her.
"It’s a lie."
Her voice ca again, quieter now. "That wasn’t a real fight."
"You didn’t even take it seriously. And I still fell... ha... hahahaha..."
She laughed. Weakly, bitterly. A laugh full of defeat, full of grief.
Ryosuke didn’t respond. He took a step forward, the snow crunching beneath his feet. Sothing about all this... felt familiar.
"Ryosuke, huh... You’re really too strong..."
Her voice faded with the wind.
And just like that—Esdeath, the Empire’s strongest general, was gone.
The snow swallowed her. And even in death, she stayed true to herself—undaunted, determined, and walking her path to the very end.
---
My na is Boros.
Born into a clan of one-eyed warriors, I was the most gifted child my race had ever produced.
The planet where I was born was cruel. Only those who adapted could survive. Over ti, our species evolved unmatched fighting instincts—inhuman strength, regenerative ability, and terrifying adaptability.
I was the pinnacle of that evolution. My body—blessed with the divine core—could regenerate endlessly. Severed limbs? Crushed organs? As long as my energy core remained intact, I would rise again.
And I did more than survive. I grew. I learned. I thrived.
I beca the strongest on my planet.
But that was never enough.
I left it behind. Ford a pirate fleet. Conquered and challenged worlds across the stars.
Each planet had its own champions—strong, fearless, powerful.
And I loved it.
They were different. Their strength, their will... unique and exhilarating. I devoured them all, broke their pride, and stood above them.
Each conquest brought new limits to break, new heights to climb.
Eventually, I stood at the top. The title of Universal Overlord was mine.
I should’ve been satisfied.
But I wasn’t.
With eternal youth and limitless strength, I should’ve found peace. Instead, I found boredom.
The thrill was gone.
My rivals beca insects. Even if I suppressed my strength, no one could challenge . They all crumbled. Even those who once stood shoulder-to-shoulder with .
They were too weak.
Far too weak.
Even in self-imposed shackles, I crushed them all.
Their bodies were as fragile as paper, their will as brittle as glass.
The enemies I once faced—those conquerors of planets—now seed like re insects.
That weakness... it made forget the thrill of those hysterical, all-or-nothing battles. The kind where every breath could be your last.
The loneliness crept in like a silent plague.
For a long ti, I stopped growing. No matter how talented I was, without a worthy opponent, there was no way forward.
I thought I had reached the end—until...
I t that man.
...
The man in a flimsy red cape and ridiculous yellow tights that offered no protection at all. The bald man—so ordinary it was laughable—yet his power... defied reason.
He looked unremarkable. Completely forgettable.
But when he threw that punch...
It shattered everything.
The strength behind that fist tore through a body tempered across countless lifetis—again and again—until even I, at the peak of my power, was left in ruins.
"Saitama..."
Ryosuke left the world of Teigu in a daze.
There was nothing in that world he needed to linger for—at least, not for now. The only thing he wanted was to return ho. To his room.
The ti limit on the space-ti gate was officially one month. It was set to prevent overreliance on external thods of retreat. But truthfully, as long as the gate was powered, there was no limit to its usage.
He returned ho quietly, the sa way he had the first ti—alone. Like a ghost slipping through ti.
Lying on his bed, Ryosuke stared at the ceiling in silence. His mind was a swirling storm of mories—so ancient, others newly awakened. He needed solitude to sort through it all.
More than that—he needed safety.
"In my past life... I was actually an alien."
Raising his hand, he stared at his palm with a bitter smile. "And not just any alien—the strongest overlord in the universe. Stronger than anything I’ve beco in this life."
The mories flooded him.
A lifeti spent fighting for supremacy. One that dwarfed the ti he’d spent in this world. Tenfold, maybe more.
The One-Eyed Clan had a long lifespan. Far longer than the re century humans could hope for.
And Boros... had shattered his limits again and again in his rise to galactic dominance. His lifespan had reached an unfathomable scale.
Yet, all that power—all that ti—had not overwritten who Ryosuke was.
The mories ca in clearly. Cleanly. Controlled.
They didn’t erase his identity. They didn’t transform him into Boros.
Unlike the chaos he felt when first receiving the space-ti gate’s knowledge—this ti, the mories were neatly organized, safely restrained by his evolved brain.
His body and soul were now equal. He could carry this burden without breaking.
But had these mories awakened when he was younger...
Then, perhaps, Ryosuke would never have existed.
He would’ve beco Boros.
The Ryosuke of today only existed because of the growth, the discipline, and the repeated awakening of his own power during his ti in the shinobi world.
Had his younger self been flooded with all this information, his mind would have cracked—or been consud entirely by Boros’s will.
"So this is why... I was so obsessed with becoming stronger. Why training ca so easily to ."
He lowered his hand, eyes thoughtful.
"But now... new questions arise."
That man—Saitama.
In his past life, Boros refused to accept defeat at his hands. Even now, with the insight of two lives, Ryosuke still couldn’t understand the true source of his strength.
That guy... looked too ordinary.
Even now, thinking of Saitama made his head hurt.
No discernible power. No special energy. He couldn’t fly. He had no techniques. No aura.
His movents didn’t follow any martial arts form, nor did they draw from any known style of combat.
Yet—his fists broke through anything. His body remained unscathed. His speed was unmatched.
And no matter how deep Ryosuke searched through the mories of Boros—or analyzed him with his present knowledge—he found nothing.
"Maybe... he’s returned to the natural state. The stage beyond mastery."
Ryosuke frowned.
That wasn’t the only problem bothering him.
As he reviewed the tiline of Boros’s past life, he noticed sothing strange.
There were no signs Boros had ever been a reincarnator.
He had no mories before infancy.
No strange thoughts, no sudden insights. Nothing to suggest he had once lived another life.
From the mont he began forming mories, Boros was a blank slate. Just another mber of the One-Eyed Clan.
Only later, after proving himself in his teens, did he begin to rise.
There were no shortcuts. No cheats. No mories of future technology. No "otherworldly" advantages.
That doesn’t add up.
If Boros had been reincarnated—if Ryosuke had been Boros—then he should have had mories even earlier than now.
Just like Ryosuke had when he was born into the shinobi world.
Could it be that...
"Maybe Boros isn’t my past life."
Maybe he wasn’t a reincarnation of Boros at all.
Maybe... he simply inherited Boros’s mories.
Ryosuke sat up slowly, rubbing his temples.
"So many answers... and even more questions."
The boundary between death and rebirth in his mories was murky.
Too murky.
He couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
There was a real possibility that Boros had never been "him." That perhaps, he’d simply been granted Boros’s life through so unknown force.
The mories were vivid—but they lacked the intimacy of lived experience.
"Maybe I’m just the carrier," he muttered. "The inheritor. Not the origin."
Either way, the truth would have to wait.
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