He Who Walks the Grave

Kazuya tightened his jaw and clenched his fists as he surveyed the crowd. It wasn't the coin that upset him; he hardly cared about it. What irked him was how easily he had been pickpocketed, leaving him with a bitter feeling. This world was treating him like a fool. 
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to take action. "Fine... whatever. It's just a coin," he muttered. He needed to concentrate on more pressing issues—like finding food, a place to stay, and figuring out how to survive here.

The town around him bustled with life. Wooden stalls lined the dirt streets, merchants shouting over one another to sell their goods—fresh produce, weapons, even strange glowing potions. The smell of roasted meat filled the air, making his stomach growl. He instinctively reached for his pockets, but of course, they were empty.

"Damn it…" he sighed.

A low grumble from his stomach reminded him of his hunger. He glanced around, spotting a bakery stall filled with fresh bread and pastries. The smell was intoxicating. His mouth watered. He had no money, but hunger gnawed at his insides like a ravenous beast.

His eyes darted around. The baker was busy talking to a customer, and his back turned. Just one loaf… just enough to keep himself from starving.

Without thinking, Kazuya reached out, his fingers brushing against a small loaf. He grabbed it and swiftly turned to walk away—

A rough hand seized his wrist.

"Oi! Thief!"

Kazuya's heart plummeted. The baker had moved faster than he expected, his grip ironclad. Before Kazuya could react, another set of hands grabbed him—a guard in heavy armor.

"Caught red-handed, huh?" the guard sneered, yanking Kazuya back. "We don't take kindly to thieves around here."

"I-I just—!" Kazuya stammered, but the guard didn't let him finish. A fist slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.

"Save your excuses," the guard muttered, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him through the streets. The crowd stared, some murmuring, others laughing at his misfortune.

Kazuya's mind raced. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. It was just a piece of bread! He was starving!

The guard hauled him toward a familiar sight—a wooden stage.

His stomach twisted in horror.

A man stood bound at the center, his head forced down onto a chopping block. A second guard raised an executioner's axe high above his head.

Kazuya's breath caught in his throat.

The axe came down.

A sickening crunch filled the air. The head rolled across the wooden planks. The crowd erupted into cheers and gasps.

"No…" Kazuya whispered. "No, no, no—"

"Next thief!" the guard holding him barked.

Panic surged through Kazuya. He thrashed and tried to fight back, but the guards were stronger. They forced him forward, shoving him down onto the bloodstained block. The scent of iron filled his nostrils.

"Any last words?" the executioner asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Kazuya's mind screamed. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was the protagonist, wasn't he?! Where was his power?! Where was his miracle?!

The axe came down.

Pain. Blinding, searing pain. Then—

Darkness.

Kazuya gasped. His eyes snapped open. He was lying on the dirt road again, his body aching as if he had been trampled. The scent of damp earth filled his nostrils.

The sky above stretched endlessly, bright and blue.

Pain.

It was the first thing he felt. Again.

His breath came in ragged gasps as realization dawned on him.

He was back.

Back to where he first woke up in this world.

He had died.

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