CHAPTER 2
The process of discovering I had resurrection magic was simple.
On my first day of being transferred.
I was dismembered and killed by a cult.
The place I was transferred to was a gathering place for a pseudo-religious cult.
They were a religion formed by those who had been harmed by Transferees in the past.
Their ideology was not to allow a single Transferee in the 1st World.
And I just so happened to be transferred right into their meeting place.
You can imagine what happened next.
"Kill the Transferee!"
"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"
No matter how much I cried for them to save me, it was meaningless.
In the end, my neck, arms, and legs were all torn off, and I died.
And then I came back to life.
When I opened my eyes, I was in the place where the cult dumped their bodies.
As I crawled out of the corpse pit, rain began to pour from the sky.
And I realized.
My Ability was completely and utterly useless.
What if those cultists had buried me in the ground after I died?
I would have revived underground.
And then, unable to move an inch, I would have died from lack of oxygen.
Then I would revive and die, over and over, infinitely.
For me, death is not a release.
It's a serial curse.
As soon as I realized that, I hid my Ability and lived quietly.
What good is it to be able to revive?
By my rough count, it took at least four hours to come back to life.
If my body gets buried somewhere within that time, I'll have to live in eternal torment.
Still, wanting to protect myself, I even went to the training center run by the Transferee Association.
But I was just a completely ordinary person.
To be precise, an ordinary person with slightly below-average athletic performance.
"The front lines are impossible for you. It seems you'd be better off learning magic. But we don't have anyone who teaches magic at our training center."
Formal magic lessons are expensive.
The association, founded with funds collected by Transferees who had settled in the 1st World, couldn't afford to support formal magic training.
And the informal magic created by shady street magicians was dangerous.
Because the basics of mana aren't properly refined, it can easily lead to a mana overflow.
Of course, even that was out of reach, as the support from the Transferee Association was barely enough for food and shelter.
'That's why I started following Bulldog-ssi around.'
That man, despite his appearance, had learned formal magic.
He was an orphan who got lucky when an old mage took notice of him and accepted him as a disciple.
Although he ended up working as a pioneer after the old mage died, his skills were good. The proof was that unlike typical pioneers who worked in teams, he only took a single porter with him.
And in the end, he died taking only a single porter. Decapitated by a serial killer, a miserable death.
I could see Bulldog-ssi's body, already cold.
I walked over to him and picked up his head.
Four hours had passed since I died.
The serial killer would have long since left to find other prey.
Thanks to that, the night-fallen forest was eerily quiet.
Maybe it's because I trampled over so many corpses climbing out of that pit.
Seeing a dead body didn't make me want to vomit or anything.
Still, a bitter taste filled my mouth.
Bulldog-ssi had a rough mouth, but he was a good person.
I was planning to sweet-talk him later and ask him to take me on as a disciple.
He was the best among the savage This-worlders.
The This-worlders I'd met so far were all the epitome of savagery.
The hateful stares and discrimination against Transferees.
The height of lawlessness, where any incident was immediately linked to a Transferee.
And the ugliness of shouting "by the law" only when it was time to throw a Transferee in jail.
Those damn vermin.
I should kill them all.

For a moment, a deep hatred for the This-worlders surged within me.
"Hoo."
I almost smashed the mister's head on the ground in a fit of anger.
I can't do this.
The mister was a good person.
Maybe it's because of my experience of being robbed blind by street thugs after the cult incident.
This happens sometimes.
'Forget about This-worlders.'
I was killed by a fellow Transferee, a murderer.
People are all the same.
I gathered the mister's head and body.
Then I closed his eyes for him.
Now what?
If I take the decapitated mister back like this, how will the Pioneer's Guild react?
'Ah, the porter somehow survived and even managed to retrieve the body.'
That's not going to happen.
Like the savage This-worlders they are, they'd probably just point at me as the culprit and send me to the gallows.

I wouldn't die from that, but one experience with decapitation is enough.
Should I leave the mister's body here and go? My faint sense of morality and conscience conflicted for a while.
Then, I began to rummage through the mister's pockets.
Soon, I found a silver pioneer's license.
It was proof that the mister was a Silver-rank pioneer.
If I take this, I can at least report his death.
I also diligently gathered the luggage.
I still needed to get paid for today's work.
"Mister, you were the best person among the savage This-worlders."
Normally, I would never say such words out loud.
Saying something like that would be a good way to get beaten up.
But since no one was around, I just mumbled it.
If I don't do this, the stress will make me snap.
"You won't make it to your son's wedding, but he'll have enough money."
It's a good thing the serial killer wasn't interested in money.
From what I saw, that guy is a true madman.
He didn't touch the money and just killed. He must really enjoy killing.
"Psycho bastard."
I finished packing the luggage.
Finally, I raised my hand and covered the mister's wide-open eyes.
I offered a final prayer for him.
May you not be reborn as a savage This-worlder next time.
I prayed with some sincerity.
That is, until a pure white light began to flow from my hand.
"Huh?"
A bewildered sound escaped my lips.
The light spreading from my hand was enveloping the mister.
A large amount of power drained from my body.
I know this feeling.
It's the sensation just before I resurrect.
My mind grew hazy from the feeling of exhaustion.
But still, I couldn't take my hand away.
I wanted to see with my own two eyes what was happening right now.
By the time the white light that had filled the forest finally faded...
I plopped down on my butt.
The tips of my fingers were trembling, I had almost no strength left.
But for some reason, I felt a pleasant sense of exhaustion.
"Uggghhh."
Soon, a familiar voice could be heard.
I quickly directed my tired eyes downward.
At that moment, the mister, whose neck had been severed, opened his eyes, his body fully restored.
He frowned as if feeling a slight headache and pushed himself up.
"What the..."
I was staring at the mister with wide eyes.
He came back to life.
The dead mister came back to life.
Just... like me.
My gaze fell to my hand.
Don't tell me, my resurrection magic...

Does it work on others too?

I didn't know.
Even when I was rolling around in the corpse pit, I never tried to save them.
All I intended to do for Bulldog-ssi was, at most, offer a prayer.
But maybe, deep down, I had wished for it.
In this harsh world.
A small wish that the person who was beneficial to me wouldn't die and would live on.
That wish activated an Ability I never knew I had.
"Harua?"
Bulldog-ssi called out to me, having finally come to his senses. I quickly hid my hand behind my back and shouted.
"Mister, are you okay?"
At my worried words, the mister shook his head from side to side.
"Yeah, I'm okay. What happened? Why was I suddenly passed out?"
"The serial killer, that bastard showed up. Mister, your neck was almost completely severed!"
"My neck?"
The mister clutched his own neck with his hands.
Seeing his expression, his memory was clearly jumbled.
This is my chance.
"You activated a spell at the very end. It exploded, and the killer couldn't finish you off and retreated. After that, I somehow managed to pour the emergency potion you carry on you to save you.
I really thought you were dead. You don't remember any of it?"
"I-Is that so. So I really almost died."
People often don't remember the moments right before death.
The brain temporarily forgets due to extreme stress.
If you plant a memory then, they'll interpret it in a favorable way on their own.
Because usually, no one thinks they've come back from the dead.
"......What about the killer?"
The mister looked around with anxious eyes.
The experience of nearly dying was imprinted on his body, and a delayed fear was setting in.
"The Regular Army, who received a report, arrived just in time, so he fled.
I was stabbed too, so after using what was left of the potion on myself, I was just resting until you woke up."
"The Regular Army, I see. Hoo, those bastards probably ignored us and chased after the killer, right?"

"It happens all the time."
Catching a killer is a higher priority than some half-dead pioneer or porter.
Sacrifice the few for the sake of the many.
It's a common code of conduct for the Regular Army.
"I would've died without that potion. It was a good idea to spend the money and keep one on hand."
Of course, that potion is currently safe in my pocket.
Since I said I used it, there's no way to return it to the mister.
I'll have to use it as my emergency fund.
"Mister, it's getting really late. Are you able to move?"
"Yeah, aside from a slight headache, I feel surprisingly light."
Well, your neck was cut, so blood probably wasn't getting to your head.
The mister got to his feet.
In the meantime, I picked up his luggage as well.
"Can you carry that?"
"Of course. You think I'd let a man who just came back from the afterlife after having his neck half-severed carry luggage?"
"Ha, you brat. You really went through a lot this time. I would've died if it weren't for you."
"If you're grateful, teach me some magic later."
"Geez, still on about that?"
"Mister, you may not be good at other things, but your magic skills are top-notch."
"Top-notch my ass. Compared to the formal mages who belong to the Magic Tower, I'm nothing.
I just somehow patched up the basics so my mana doesn't overflow. To them, I'm no different from a street magician."
Bulldog-ssi has a complex about magic.
That's probably why he's reluctant to teach it to others.
But even so, he was the only person I could learn magic from.
To learn magic at the Magic Tower, I'd have to earn hundreds of times more than I do now, and even then it might not be enough.
"It's enough to get by. And enough to be a father who can provide for his son's wedding."
The mister looked at me for a moment.
He touched his neck; having come back from the dead must have given him a new perspective.
"......Tsk, you brat, you sure have a way with words."
"Were you a little touched?"
"Fuck off."
The mister turned his body and walked away with heavy steps.
"When I was young, the old man gave me a book to study. It's at home. I'll give it to you, so come over for dinner tonight."
"I'll do a somersault of joy."
"If you drop a single piece of luggage while doing that, I'll kill you for real."
Today is a good day.
I may have died once at the hands of a murderer, but I finally got the chance to learn magic.
And one more thing.
I learned that my Ability can save others too.
What I should do with this from now on is something to ponder over time.
It's been a few months since I was transferred to the 1st World.
I can finally see a glimmer of a way to survive.

A word from the author (Author's Note)
All illustrations are being uploaded to the 'Muhwa Kkotran' SNS.