When he was twelve, he ran away from the orphanage, where he had been beaten since he was very young, to live on the streets. He also stopped going to school so they couldn't find him anymore, and from that point on, a new life was waiting for him. He was agile and fast, quickly making a name for himself on the streets; he could steal anything from anybody, and he never got caught.
He learned at a young age that there were two very different worlds: the world where normal people lived, ruled by those with money and power, and the shadow world. The shadow world was his realm, where those with talents and those willing to do anything for money could become more powerful than those who ruled the world.
By eighteen, he had become one of the five best assassins in the shadow world, and he had amassed more wealth than he could have ever imagined. By twenty-five, he had become the best assassin and created a small empire for himself. By twenty-eight, he had grown too powerful, making him a threat to those who ruled the world; he had become the man to kill.
Whether it was politicians, military leaders, or even those in the shadow world, they all wanted his head. Thanks to his network, he managed to evade them for five long years, but every time he thought he was safe, they always found him.
Then one day, what had to happen when everyone was against you finally occurred: he was assassinated, he, the best assassin of all time. As life slipped away from him, he vowed that if he could have another chance, he would become even more powerful. He would become so powerful that no one could ever reach him again, and he would never live the life of a fugitive again.
He had changed his identity so many times over the past twenty years that he couldn't even remember his real name. If given another chance, he would cherish this new identity and never change it, no matter what. But that was just wishful thinking for a person who would soon be dead.
As his last fight ended and he had just killed fifty elite soldiers, his body was riddled with bullets, and his vision gradually darkened. The man responsible for hunting him down approached and crushed his chest with his foot, this sudden pain giving him a rush of adrenaline.
The man wore a satisfied smile, and he saw him move his lips. He couldn't hear anything, though; there was only hissing in his ears, and despite having been taught to read lips at a young age, he didn't understand the words. He smirked as well; that searing pain in his chest had given him enough energy to kill this asshole before he died.
He said to him, "Do you know why I was the best assassin? Because I could kill anyone with just one hit." The man, probably curious and wanting to mock him, leaned forward. He must have thought that with so many bullets in his body, he was now harmless; that was his last mistake.
He grabbed one of the man's wrists and pulled him toward him with all his might. With his other hand, he used the blade he always kept tied in the crook of his wrist and thrust it into the man's chin. The blade was long enough to cause instant death—"Game over, motherfucker"—that was actually his last thought just before he died.
...
When he woke up, excruciating pain was tearing his head apart. First, the man whose body he had taken had just died from that blow to his head, and second, he was now absorbing all the memories of that person, which hurt like hell. His name was Kevin, and like him, this young man was an orphan. He had just been kicked out of the orphanage upon turning eighteen and was heading to the main square to try to get recruited by the Sun Sect.
On the way, he had bumped into someone in a moment of inattention. That man was a big bully who saw that Kevin was alone and seemed weak despite his tall size. The bully took the opportunity to lead him into an alley and brutalize him to strip him of all his meager possessions.
So there he was; Kevin's skull had just hit one of the walls in that alley, and his attacker was complaining about his loot. Well, it was time for him to take matters into his own hands. He got up, wiped the dust off his clothes, and checked the wound on his head; it seemed that the bleeding was over.
He said to his attacker, "Give me back my magic bag and give me yours. If you kindly obey, I might spare your life… maybe. I don't promise you anything; I had a rough day, and I'm really not in a good mood right now."
His attacker wondered where the crybaby who had been in front of him a few seconds ago had gone, but he didn't think too much about it. He took Kevin by the collar of his shirt and said, full of anger, "Who do you think you are, you filthy brat? I will make you pay for your insolence."
Kevin smirked and replied, "Good luck then!" He immediately struck him with exactly two blows. With his right hand, he hit him in the throat, preventing him from breathing or screaming, and with his other hand, he struck close to the heart, causing cardiac arrest and nearly instant death.
Kevin was a little upset to find himself in such a weak body; he was going to have to work on it. There was no way he was going to remain at the mercy of anyone. Luckily for him, that body was tall and slender; all he needed was better nutrition and hard training.
He retrieved his magic bag and took his attacker's as well. He also searched the corpse and took the jewelry the bully was wearing, which he could resell to make some money. According to Kevin's memory, the magic bags were extremely useful; it was like a room where you could store your belongings and always carry them with you—really too cool.
He quickly looked at what was in his attacker's magic bag and found 150 gold coins, a sword, two daggers, a change of clothes, and some food.