The whistle of a shell would slice through the air, followed by a deafening explosion that ripped apart the battlefield, devouring everything in its path.

  However, amidst this chaotic battlefield, Elo's mind was exceptionally active, having already processed a vast amount of information in just a few seconds.

  An ordinary person's brain could never process such an enormous amount of data in such a brief period, but a Transcendent's abilities far surpassed those of ordinary humans. They could process complex information in a short amount of time.

  Although Elo was once an ordinary man, at this moment, he was able to clearly harness this Transcendent mindset.

  This was all thanks to the system activating [Heart of the Strong Lv1], which enabled him to adapt to and control this entirely new mode of cognition.

  Suddenly, a putrid stench sharply entered his nostrils, thick enough to make him nauseous.

  It was a viscous mixture of sweat, dirt, blood, and decaying matter, suffocating and overwhelming.

  Elo slightly furrowed his brow, then realized—once again, the system was intervening with his senses.

  Though displeased, Elo didn’t speak a word.

  He shifted his body slightly, and his damp, sticky clothes clung to his skin, instantly making him aware that one source of the smell was himself.

  He raised his palm, which was covered in thick, calloused skin, with dirt and blood caked between his fingers, embedded in the cracked lines of his skin.

  He gently bent his knuckles, the aching sensation reaching him, like a long-forgotten iron lock that had not been loosened in years.

  He lowered his gaze to inspect his arm, which was nothing but skin and bones, thin yet scarred.

  Old wounds had scabbed over and cracked open, revealing unhealed flesh underneath.

  Fresh wounds were still oozing blood, which mixed with dirt and appeared dark red.

  Some of the wound edges had already started to fester, emitting a faint, rancid odor, indicating long-term infection.

  As for the clothes on his body? They were nothing more than scraps of torn fabric hanging from him.

  The fabric was coarse and clumped together, as if it were soaked with sweat and dust, sticking to his skin, causing an itchy discomfort.

  His skin had an eerie hue—neither the healthy wheat color nor the pale yellow of malnutrition, but a waxy, grayish-black tone from overwork.

  He lifted a strand of hair, which fell messily, and with a slight pressure of his fingertip, he felt fleas hidden within the strands.

  He reached up to touch his cheek, the skin rough and cracked, like dry leaves that had lost their moisture—stiff and fragile to the touch.

  Deep wrinkles crisscrossed his face, each one like a poverty mark etched into his skin, heavy and inescapable.

  His bones protruded sharply, supporting a gaunt face, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes, as though slowly eroded by time.

  His chin was covered with stubble, the short, stiff bristles pricking his fingertips, leaving a faint rough sensation.

  He knew that the lice were still endlessly gnawing at his skin, and within him lurked countless parasites.

  Logically, he should have felt disgust, fear, or even an insane urge to struggle, but at this moment, his mind was unusually calm.

  Elo was fully aware of the filth clinging to him—he could feel the piercing itch, the tearing pain, even the deep, dull ache and numbness buried within his muscles.

  Yet, none of these could disturb his inner peace—because [Heart of the Strong Lv1] was quietly taking effect.

  This was not the disappearance of pain, but rather, his will had already transcended the constraints of his body.

  Filth, excruciating pain, foul smells, and even the wriggling parasites within him—they still existed, but they could no longer touch the tranquility of his heart.

  This was not his instinct, nor was it his talent, but rather, the ability granted by the system—[Heart of the Strong].

  Elo's gaze slowly swept over every detail of his body—

  It was clear that this form was neither that of a soldier nor a warrior, but rather a humble slave, one whose survival depended on fate.

  Elo’s thoughts stirred slightly, and the system interface appeared before his eyes.

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  A strange figure appeared, one that was not his original body.

  He furrowed his brow, a flash of instinctive resistance crossing his eyes.

  He was not fixated on having a handsome appearance; what he liked was the familiar body, the image that belonged to "him."

  Not because it was perfect, but because it was the self he was accustomed to and identified with.

  At that moment, a system notification suddenly popped up:

  [Game character has been synchronized. After logging out of the game, you will automatically return to your original body.]

  Seeing this prompt, Elo felt a slight sense of helplessness.

  Though he had always hoped that his life could be filled with adventure and excitement like a game, he also knew:

  —Reality was not a game, and the people before him were far from simple NPCs.

  Because of this, he could not fully treat everything as a game, nor could he truly remain a detached observer.

  Even so, he still chose—to regard himself as a player in the game, accept the current character’s setting, and proceed with the journey.

  Because this mindset minimized his burden and allowed him to continue moving forward in the harsh reality.

  The sound of cannon fire erupted once again, shaking the earth and pulling Elo's thoughts back to the battlefield before him.

  He looked around the trench, where, whether soldiers or slaves, everyone was desperately trying to avoid the relentless barrage of shells.

  Some were thrown into the air by the shockwave of an explosion, crashing heavily into the mud and struggling to rise;

  Others clutched their torn wounds, lying at the bottom of the trench, groaning helplessly;

  Some simply curled up in corners, motionless as if dead, waiting for the next round of shells to fall.

  Here, there were no true enemies, nor were there any winners—only beings forced to await death.

  This was a cold and ruthless battlefield, a place of indiscriminate slaughter.

  Elo lowered his head, unwilling to look further—

  Not out of fear, but due to a deep sense of shame.

  Because he knew full well—he had the power to end all of this.

  He could destroy the artillery positions in one strike, and make that hopeless sound of cannon fire cease forever;

  He could also end this senseless war, shatter the chains on the slaves' heads, and allow the weary soldiers to lay down their weapons.

  Then, standing before everyone, he could solemnly declare:

  —The war is over. You can go home now.

  And this was not only Elo's political ideal but also one of the core values of the Empire.

  —Make this world a better place!

  But if, merely because he witnessed suffering, and driven by a political ideal, he tried to change the entire world’s order…

  —Is this really the right choice?

  Elo knew full well that the rules of the world were far more complex than they appeared on the surface.

  The establishment of any society, civilization, or nation, any form of order, was never accidental.

  It was a product woven together by history, culture, economy, technology, power structures, and even the deep-rooted fears and desires of human nature.

  A seemingly cruel system might actually be the pillar that holds a society together.

  Once forcibly toppled, the consequences could be more than just the collapse of chains, but the entire order that people depend on for survival might come crashing down.

  Therefore, without a complete and mature alternative, overthrowing the old order might result in chaos and disaster.

  More importantly—did Elo truly have the right to decide the future of this world?

  He came from another world.

  His values, beliefs, and so-called "justice" were all products of a different world.

  Were the political ideals he held really suitable for this world?

  Would the people of this world accept him?

  Or, could they even understand the ideas that came from a different world?

  Moreover, what did it really mean for an outsider to shape or forcibly change the future of another world?

  Elo already had the answer in his heart:

  —Invasion, conquest, colonization.

  No matter how noble the reasoning sounded, once all the layers were peeled away, it was nothing more than that.

  And he did not want to become that kind of person.

  He did not want to act in the name of salvation while practicing invasion, nor did he wish to stand on high, changing others' fates with a charitable attitude.

  At the same time, he did not believe he needed to invade or conquer anyone.

  Land, wealth, power, glory…

  These things, considered supreme by countless people, held what value for him?

  For that, Elo’s answer was clear and resolute—none.

  He had never longed for these things, nor would he ever want to climb to the so-called peak by stepping on the blood and tears of countless people.

  He firmly believed that any imposed "redemption" was fragile, and that no external "gift" could truly take root in this land.

  Only a transformation born from the people's own awakening possessed true vitality, capable of standing firm against the torrents of time.

  He knew that the path of any revolution was bound to be thorny, inevitably accompanied by the sacrifice and suffering of countless individuals.

  However, those lost lives were by no means meaningless.

  They were not driven by fate toward death; rather, they embraced death with clear will, choosing to defend their ideals and beliefs with their own lives.

  It was the courage and tenacity of these individuals that formed the cornerstone of the path to a new world.

  Every drop of their sweat, every cry of resistance, every battle against the darkness, all came together to create an earth-shattering epic.

  This song did not arise for gods, nor would it be passed down for kings.

  It belonged to every soul that refused to sink into despair, to those who, even trapped in the muck, still gazed up at the stars.

  —This is, indeed, the hymn of humanity!

  So...

  Elo was not ignorant of these grand principles. In fact, he understood the weight and significance behind them better than anyone.

  But, when suffering truly happens before his eyes, when those heart-wrenching cries echo in his ears—

  Can he really use these rational arguments to convince himself to remain indifferent?

  —No.

  He is just a man, a living, breathing, emotional being, not a cold, heartless observer.

  He cannot turn a blind eye, he cannot pretend that everything has nothing to do with him.

  Some say: The rules of the world are far more complex than they appear?

  —Then understand them, and change them!

  Some ask: Does Elo have the right to decide the future of this world?

  —Yes, because this world displeases me.

  Since it makes me unhappy, should I passively accept it?

  Some say: You are an invader, you are a conqueror, you are a colonizer.

  —So what?

  Elo never cared about those labels, nor did he care how the world viewed him.

  Because he firmly believed that the path he walked was the right one, and that everything he did was in good conscience.

  Perhaps now, no one understood him, and some even saw him as an enemy.

  But he was certain that one day, the fog would clear, and they would understand—that everything he did aligned with the interests of the majority.

  Some say: Real change must be driven by the world itself?

  —That's true.

  But what if the people of this world do not push for it?

  What if they simply have no ability to resist?

  Then, be the one who drives the change!