The world dissolved into the familiar pop of teleportation, and then there was silence, broken only by the wind over unfamiliar, scrubby plains.
Shun stared at the empty sky. "The fuck am I doing?" he muttered to the uncaring air.
A wave of self-recognition, cold and stark, washed over him. "Trying for a high-school romance in a world of pirates and emperors… and getting rejected." The sadness was there, a dull ache in his chest, mixed with a sharp sting of foolish pride. He wanted to be alone, somewhere no one could see this unbecoming vulnerability.
The urge to flee was instinctive. He didn't care where. He just needed away.
Another pop—this one unplanned, fueled by raw emotion—and the landscape rippled and changed. The salt-scented air of the New World was replaced by something dustier, drier. He stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking a sparse woodland.
"AHHH!!"
The scream was raw with terror, shredding the quiet. It was a man's voice, pitched high with agony.
Annoyance flared in Shun's gut, hot and immediate. "That's annoying," he hissed, his voice low. "Read the room, you bastard."
His gaze snapped toward the commotion. Below, a disgusting scene unfolded. A pack of armed brutes, their laughter lecherous and cruel, chased a fleeing couple. The man, dressed in torn noble finery, was a ruin. His left arm was gone, his leg nearly severed, and his back was a canvas of deep sword slashes. He stumbled, barely alive.
The woman he was trying to shield had fiery red hair and a striking beauty, now twisted with panic. The intent of her pursuers was hideously clear.
Shun observed the dying man's final collapse with a detached clinicality. "Sigh. He's gone. You're really unlucky. I was in a bad mood. Otherwise, you might have made it."
His feet began to move of their own accord, carrying him down the slope with deliberate, echoing steps. Step. Step. Step.
The marauders—a notorious local band—spotted his approach and roared with derisive laughter. They shouted insults in a guttural tongue, but Shun understood every word. This language, this harsh landscape… it was familiar. This was the war-torn southern reaches of the Central Continent. The very first world he'd ever been dumped in, lifetimes ago.
"Hey, you garbage! That woman is our prey!" one brute bellowed, hefting a crude axe.
Another, with a face like cracked leather, jeered, "You damn loser! You look like you just got dumped by your girlfriend! Hahaha!"
The laughter died in Shun's ears, replaced by a ringing silence. His patience, already worn to a thread, snapped.
There was no dramatic pop. One moment he was twenty paces away; the next, he was simply there, his hand closing around the laughing man's armored forearm. The grip was like a steel vise.
"What," Shun asked, his voice chillingly calm and perfectly fluent in their tongue, "did you just say?"
He didn't unleash his Conqueror's Haki. The sheer, frozen menace in his tone was enough to paralyze the group.
He didn't wait for an answer. With a contemptuous wrench, he swung the armored man like a sack of grain and slammed him into the hard-packed earth with a sickening, wet crunch.
The red-haired woman watched, her initial hope curdling into a new kind of fear. This wasn't a savior. This was something far more unpredictable.
"Get him!" the bandit leader finally screeched.
The remaining twenty-two surged forward. Shun glanced at the groaning figure in his grip.
"Hmm. It's a great weapon."
He proceeded to use the man as a macabre flail. Each sweeping arc shattered bones and sent bodies flying. In less than a minute, the field was littered with moaning shapes. Only two remained standing: the whimpering "weapon" in Shun's hand and the ashen-faced leader.
"P-please! Spare me!" the leader begged, dropping to his knees. "I'm just trying to live—"
Thwump. Shun ended the plea by driving his human club into the man's chest.
"Phew. All done."
He dropped the limp body and calmly sat on a rock, placing a hand on the leader's cooling forehead. His Paw-Paw Fruit ability sifted through fading memories. "Southern Central Continent… right."
A shaky voice broke his concentration. "Y-you! What do you want from me?!"
The red-haired woman stood her ground, though terror was etched on her face. She knew escape was impossible.
Shun looked at her properly. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes. "Hmm. I feel like I've seen you before. Who are you?"
"I am Hilda Boreas Greyrat!" she declared, defiance cutting through her fear. "Who are you? How did I end up here?!"
Hilda? The name connected. No wonder. Eris's mother. His eyes flicked to the mutilated corpse. So that was Philip. Huh.
He felt no guilt. This was a world that had, in his forgotten past, tried to kill him on sight. He got a bit wild earlier but, The bandits' fate had less to do with their accurate insults and more with that old, simmering resentment.
"Greyrat. I'm Shun. Consider me the CEO of SHFC! The world's in chaos right now. A large-scale incident is teleporting people to random places." His explanation was curt, its truth hers to accept or reject.
"Teleport…" Hilda whispered, remembering the blinding light that had snatched her from her carriage.
"By the way," Shun added, tone almost conversational. "Is that your husband? My condolences."
The reality crashed back. "Philip!" She rushed to the corpse, her cries tearing through the clearing as she cradled his ruined form.
Shun watched, a complex knot of emotions tightening in his chest. Eris. My favorite character in this whole world… back when I was reading about her in another life for the first time I was about her age. Now? If I looked at Eris that way, I'd be a predator. The absurdity of it all drew a weary sigh from him.
A new presence, moving at incredible speed, pulled his attention. A bestial aura, approaching fast. Sword King level? Maybe a Vice Admiral's equivalent.
A blur resolved into a panting wolf-beast woman, a sword gripped in her hand. "My lady!"
Ghislaine's eyes took in the scene—Hilda grieving over Philip's body—and filled with guilt, then burning fury. Her gaze locked onto Shun.
"You're mistaken," Shun said, his voice flat. "I saved her."
It was too late. With a bestial roar, Ghislaine shot forward, her blade a silver flash aimed at his neck.
Pop—!
An invisible barrier repelled her with explosive force, sending her tumbling yards away. The sound jolted Hilda from her grief.
'This world's people always attack me on sight even in the memories of my forgotten past. Are they that racist?' Shun thought amusedly
"Ghislaine! Stop!" Hilda's voice was sharp with command. "This man saved me! He avenged Philip!"
Ghislaine staggered to her feet, confusion and shame warring on her face. If only I had been faster…
"Sir Shun," Hilda said, turning to him, her voice deliberately placating. "Please, forgive her impetuousness."
She was shrewd. She had seen how he moved, how he fought. A direct conflict with this man meant death.
"Strong woman," Shun noted, a hint of genuine respect in his voice. To hold such composure while grieving was impressive. "I'll help you bury him."
With a wave of his hand, a pristine shovel materialized from light—his Arc of Embodiment. Hilda and Ghislaine stared, awestruck by the high-tier magic performed without incantation or circle.
"Just who are you?" Hilda breathed.
"For simplicity's sake," Shun said, driving the shovel into the earth, "I am Shun. A Mage God."
The title hung in the air. Ghislaine's eyes went wide.
"Mage God?" It was a legend, a title from the distant past, absent from the current Seven Great Powers. It's been nearly two decades since the Mage god vanished, but this man seemed quite young.
"Mm," Shun confirmed, digging.
Once the grim task was complete, he brushed dirt from his hands. "I'll be leaving soon. But I can offer you a service: I can help you get home safely. For a price, of course."
"Can you truly return us?" Ghislaine asked, hope cutting through her suspicion.
Hilda's question was more pragmatic. "What is the price?"
Shun looked directly at Hilda, his earlier melancholy replaced by a cold, decisive resolve. He was done with hesitant, romantic pursuits.
"The price," he stated, his voice devoid of any jest, "is you. You become my woman."
"You bastard!" Ghislaine's sword was half-drawn before Hilda's hand shot out.
"Wait!"
Seeing her hesitation, Shun pressed on, his logic merciless. "Do you have time to debate? You have a Sword King bodyguard, and you still ended up here, with your husband dead. Your daughter, Eris—where is she? Agree, and I promise to help you find her, safe and sound. If she isn't safely returned to you, our agreement is void."
The offer was stark, a transaction laid bare. No more games. Take it or leave it.
Eris. The thought of her fierce, vulnerable daughter alone in this chaos was the final push. Her maternal fear overrode everything else—propriety, grief, fear of this terrifying man.
"I agree," Hilda said, the words leaving her lips with finality.
"Good." Shun took her hand. It was soft, but he held it with a firm, possessive certainty. If the daughter is off-limits by time and circumstance… then the mother it is.
He glanced at the fresh mound of earth. Philip, I'll take care of your family. Rest in peace.
After all, he reasoned to himself as he began planning their next move, he was fundamentally a nice guy. Wasn't he?