The lie that sets me free. Cale Henituse X Intkot

1.

“…Fine. The deal is made.” Deon nodded, extending his hand.

“Then let’s begin, Deon Hart.” The God of Death smiled, clasping the offered hand. “You still have much to change.”

And with that, the deity clapped his hands, preparing for the immense expenditure of power required to rewind time for a single world —  transferring the soul of his chosen one into a new, waiting vessel.

°°°

Cale opened his eyes and immediately felt that something was wrong. The damp scent of fabric and sweat, the rough weight of a blanket over his body — sensations he hadn’t experienced in years since becoming Cale Henituse. And the faint hum of voices somewhere distant, muffled... but not by walls. By fabric?

He stared silently at the ceiling, realizing that his body felt foreign. Again.

There were no memories. Not a single one. He didn’t know who this person had been before him, but one thing was clear — this wasn’t his body. He had been thrown into another place. And judging by the surroundings, it wasn’t a comfortable, luxurious room this time. He was in a tent. A shared tent.

"Not red."

Lifting a hand, he touched his hair. Short. Unfamiliar, rough texture. No hint of his previous color, as if it had been bleached and cut.

His fingers curled into a fist. A child’s hand... Was he a child?

His body felt tired but not deathly weak. That meant whoever had been here before him wasn’t on the verge of dying. A good sign.

Slowly sitting up, he scanned the tent. Soldiers—judging by the cloaks and the tent itself—were sleeping, their faces tense even in rest. Scarred skin, heavy breathing. People accustomed to war. But since his movements hadn’t woken them, it suggested the war had only recently begun. A year at most.

Outside, beyond the thick fabric, he could hear footsteps. Night watchmen patrolling the camp. Somewhere, a fire crackled.

Thud.

Cale’s gaze shifted to a small book at his bedside, its cover dark. It gave off a faint, barely perceptible aura.

The energy of death.

He picked it up, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. An unfamiliar language, strange symbols—but the moment he opened the pages, everything began to make sense.

His Recording ability activated instantly, embedding the words into his memory, forming a clear picture. There was no chance of forgetting even a single letter now.

"Aigoo..."

The more he read, the more annoyed he became as the weight of the situation settled in. The world he had been thrown into. Another war, one that had only just begun. The fate of the person whose body he now inhabited.

Deon Hart.

A child thrown into the meat grinder of war. Someone destined to endure eight years of hell, become a "hero," a double agent for both sides, only to...

The book cut off at the final chapter. Torn-out pages, leaving no way to know what had been written. Only a single word remained on the last scrap of paper.

Catastrophe.

"...Damn you, God of Death."

Cale slowly closed the book. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he suppressed an irritated sigh.

Fantastic. The gods had dragged him into yet another catastrophe. Another war, another conflict that had nothing to do with him. And what would he get in return?

Once he found a way back... Oh, he’d show that bastard exactly what happens to those who try to use him without permission.

That God of Death better start preparing a worthy sum to compensate for this mess.

Someone passed by the tent outside, their footsteps loud against the packed earth. It was only then that Cale realized how noisy this world was. The rustling of weapons, the crackling of fire, the hushed conversations of patrolling soldiers. It all blended into one, creating the constant background hum of a war camp.

He knew that by morning, he’d have to pretend that everything was fine.

That he was Deon Hart — the boy forced into the heart of a bloody battlefield.

Well, playing a child wouldn’t be too difficult. It was definitely better than ending up in the body of someone in their twenties. That would have required far more effort to avoid suspicion.

"Damn you, GoD."

Cale laid back down, closing his eyes with a weary sigh. He needed to sleep while he still had the chance. Who knew when he’d get another moment of rest, given where he had ended up... and in what cursed time.

___________________________________________

This is a trial version since the author just couldn't get this idea out of their head and had to write it down. If it turns out to be popular enough, I’ll continue and also look for a beta reader or co-author. (After all, when it comes to the manga/novel I'm Not Talented, there are some parts I'm not too familiar with.)

But to be honest, I'm not sure if others will like this fanfic. For the first time I feel doubts, and I don't like this feeling. Maybe it's because the chapter was too short? Or there isn't enough idea?