Unrivaled in another world

[: 3rd POV :]

Once the last of the masked tormentors were dragged screaming into the depths of the unknown realm, silence fell upon the chamber.

The once-boisterous room, alive with cruel laughter and vile indulgence, had become a museum of broken spirits.

The victims—men, women, and children—curled into themselves, seeking warmth and safety where none could be found.

They held each other, trembling like leaves in the wind, clinging to the only thing left within their reach, one another.

Their gazes drifted toward Daniel. But there was no relief in their eyes.

Only fear.

They didn't know what he was.

What he had done to the masked ones was something they had never seen—something not even nightmares could contain.

Was he a savior?

Or was he another monster cloaked in power?

Daniel took a slow step forward, the shadows around him receding as he suppressed his overwhelming aura.

His eyes were soft now—pained, unsure.

He knelt beside one of the youngest—a girl no older than nine or ten.

Her body was bruised, small cuts and dark fingerprints marred her skin.

Her eyes were red and swollen from endless tears, and she clutched a thin, bloodstained blanket around herself as though it were armor.

"I'm here to help," Daniel whispered, barely able to speak past the tightness in his chest.

"You're safe now. I promise."

He reached out slowly, his fingertips glowing faintly with healing energy—gentle, harmless.

But before his hand could reach her, the girl flinched violently and slapped his hand away.

"D-Don't touch me!" she screamed, her voice cracking with terror. "Don't—!"

Tears poured down her cheeks as she scrambled back, curling into herself, the blanket pulled tightly around her frail body.

Daniel froze.

He didn't react in anger.

He didn't speak.

He simply… stopped.

His hand hovered in the air, trembling.

Not from pain.

Not from exhaustion.

But from heartbreak.

This child—this innocent soul—could no longer distinguish between hands that hurt and hands that healed.

Her dignity had been torn from her.

Her very sense of safety had been shattered beyond recognition.

And now, even compassion felt threatening.

Daniel lowered his hand slowly, placing it on the cold floor.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, voice cracking. "I should've been here sooner…"

He sat still, allowing her the space she needed.

The others watched with wary, broken eyes, some pulling away, others just staring—numb, unsure.

Daniel understood.

He would not ask for their trust.

He would not expect their gratitude.

The silence in the chamber lingered like a scar, deep and tender.

Every breath was shallow, every movement hesitant.

The weight of trauma was carved into every soul, and even Daniel—mighty as he was—stood humbled before their suffering.

He slowly rose to his feet, keeping his voice low and gentle, as though speaking any louder might shatter the fragile hope that barely clung to the room.

"I know," Daniel began, his eyes scanning each of them—children huddled under blankets, women gripping one another with pale knuckles, and men too broken to lift their heads.

"Right now, none of you know who I am. You don't trust me. And… I understand."

His voice wavered for just a moment, but he steadied it, letting compassion soften every word.

"But please… just know that you're safe now. No one will ever hurt you again."

As he spoke, his hands lifted slightly, and a gentle, golden light radiated from his palms—Life Rejuvenation.

A warm breeze spread through the chamber, soft and weightless like sunlight after a storm.

The light settled upon the victims, flowing into their wounds, weaving flesh where there had been none.

Broken bones reformed with a painless glow, missing limbs regrew, and brittle, starved bodies filled out with strength and nourishment.

Gasps echoed throughout the room.

A woman touched her once-maimed hand, now whole.

A boy who had lost an eye blinked, tears falling as he realized he could see again.

One by one, heads lifted, the first sparks of awe igniting behind eyes long dulled by torment.

"H-He healed me," whispered a man whose legs had been crushed beyond use.

"I can feel them again…"

"Is this… a skill?" murmured a girl, barely past her teens, staring at her reflection in a shattered mirror—no longer gaunt, no longer hollow.

Still wary.

Still shaken.

But something had shifted.

Among them, a voice spoke up—small, trembling, yet filled with a flicker of something rare in this place.

"D-Did you really… come here to s-save us?"

Daniel turned toward the speaker—an older boy, perhaps fifteen, trying to shield two younger children behind him despite his fear.

"Yes," Daniel replied gently.

"And there are others. I've already freed many. If you come with me, I'll take you to them. You'll be safe outside this place. I promise."

The victims looked at one another.

Doubt still lingered in their eyes—but it fought a losing battle against something they had nearly forgotten and that was hope.

Some nodded slowly.

Others stood, unsteady but willing.

A few still clung to each other, but their steps fell in line behind Daniel.

One girl hesitated at the back—small, bruised, still clutching her blanket.

Her eyes locked with Daniel's, searching for even a flicker of deceit.

She found none.

"I want to go home…" she whispered.

Daniel nodded softly. "Then I'll get you there."

And so, one by one, they followed him.

Not because they believed in miracles.

But because, for the first time in what felt like forever, they believed escape was possible.

Once the survivors stepped into the open air, a hush fell over them.

They stood still, blinking against the light of the sun—a sky they hadn't seen in days, weeks, some even months or years.

The wind brushed against their skin, and many of them flinched at first, uncertain if this, too, was some cruel trick of illusion.

But then… they breathed.

A few fell to their knees in quiet sobs, others clutched each other in disbelief, and some began calling out familiar names.

Daniel stepped back, letting the moment belong to them.

Cries of joy soon echoed as scattered voices called back—family members, loved ones who had been rescued earlier and now reunited in tears.

Siblings embraced, children buried their faces in their mother's arms, and trembling hands touched long-lost faces.

One elderly man wept silently as he held his grandson. "I thought I'd never see you again…"

Even Daniel, who had seen countless tragedies and triumphs, could not help but close his eyes and take in the fragile peace blooming before him.

But his expression quickly hardened again.

There was one room left, one more door that had not been opened.

"Wait here," he said gently to those around him.

"There's one final room I need to check."

He turned and disappeared back into the compound, stepping through cracked stone and shattered chains, until he stood before a thick steel door unlike the others.

No cries behind it.

No darkness pressing against his soul.

Only silence.

With a flick of his fingers, the door creaked open.

The room inside was sterile and well-lit, lined not with cages or blood—but shelves and locked cabinets.

Papers, scrolls, ledgers, and binders were stacked high, sorted in meticulous rows.

Walls were covered in diagrams, notes, maps of various continents marked with red crosses.

It wasn't a prison.

It was an archive.

Daniel approached the desk and began flipping through the documents—and what he read made his blood boil.

This place… was only one of hundreds.

Across every continent, similar facilities existed.

Hidden from the public eye, protected by layers of corruption and secrecy.

Victims weren't just random villagers or wanderers, 40% were taken from Noble Houses, kidnapped in secret, with plans to blackmail, brainwash, or control them.

His hands clenched tighter with each page.

And worse… some of the Noble Families had willingly supported this.

Supplying funds.

Supplying people.

Even auctioning the children of their rivals.

Daniel's eyes narrowed as he flipped further, his breath growing heavier.

There, on one of the pages, a seal he recognized.

Zero Organization.

The ones behind this.

"It's them again…" he whispered, voice low and venomous.

"Perhaps… it's time I end them for good."

His fury burned, but his expression remained still—like a storm held just beneath his skin.

He moved toward another stack of folders—this one containing photos.

What he saw next drove the final dagger of rage into his chest.

Children—strapped to cold steel tables, their bodies covered in marks from grotesque experiments.

Adults—mindless, drugged, or broken, tested like animals for magical endurance or compatibility.

Faces filled with terror. Eyes void of hope.

And then… one photo stopped him cold.

A young dragon girl—chained, her wings clipped, her expression filled with pain.

A name was written underneath it.

Erina.

Daniel's hand trembled as he stared at the page.

Erina—the little girl he had rescued.

The one who had clung to him, too weak to speak.

The one who had cried without knowing if she had the right to.

And underneath her name… another line.

[: Subject Classification: Imperial. Daughter of the Dragon Empress :]

His vision darkened at the edges.

They had dared to lay hands on the child of a sovereign.

Daniel exhaled, slowly folding the document and sliding it into his coat.

The fire inside him had found direction.

He would not rest. He would not stop.

The Zero Organization would fall.

And this time…there would be no mercy.

"System"

[: On it :]

[: Generating the Highest Ranked Mission...1%...10%...100% :]

[: A mission has been generated :]

[: Elimination of Zero Organization and Abomination Facilities :]

- Zero Organization total members: 0/1,872,728,820,900

- Abomination Facilities: 0/758

Time Limit: 1 year

- Reward: 1 Million Point