Chapter 17 – The Desire to Be a Human and a God
The night was quiet.
Alein lay on his back, staring at the cracked ceiling above him.
The dim light flickered gently, casting soft shadows around the room.
His body, once wrecked and broken, now felt lighter—thanks to Serah's healing.
It wasn't a full cure, but it was enough to breathe without wincing.
"It's been almost a week since I arrived here," he thought.
This world—strange and beautiful—was nothing like the one he left behind.
Back on Earth, he had died from a mix of exhaustion and bad timing.
A truck… and years of overworking a tired, unloved body.
He had been a 9-to-5 office drone, and a part-time writer. A decent one, too. His stories had heart, but never quite clicked.
That's probably why money was always just enough—never more.
And now… here he was.
Reincarnated in a body that couldn't walk, in a world filled with magic and wonders.
His eyes shifted toward Serah, who was peacefully asleep beside him.
Her face was soft in the moonlight, almost glowing. Alein blushed lightly.
There was only one bed in this old, falling-apart house.
Not exactly the dream start to a fantasy life.
Still… he sighed and closed his eyes, calming himself.
"Yeah, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted," he admitted to himself. "But I've got my rules."
No shortcuts. No forcing affection. If she ever liked him, it would be real.
He'd been given a second shot at life—and this time, he wasn't going to waste it.
He wanted it all. The best foods. The best drinks.
The thrill of flying through the sky. The joy of walking beside powerful people—and maybe lying beside beautiful ones.
But first, he had to fix this broken body.
Serah could heal wounds, but she couldn't fix the root of his condition—the strange disease that blocked his mana and Qi.
"I guess I've got to make her stronger," he thought.
"Strong enough to heal what even nature says can't be healed."
He smiled faintly at that idea. He wasn't just trying to recover.
He was going to walk across this world with his own two feet again.
And while he did, he'd keep doing what he always loved—
Creating characters.
Masterpieces. Souls that felt real. People who could move others, maybe even himself.
The silence of the night wrapped around him like a blanket.
For the first time in a while, things felt... clearer.
"Yeah," he mumbled, eyes heavy. "I'll start working on it tomorrow."
And with that, he finally let sleep take him.
----
Ashen woke to a dim, sterile ceiling and the quiet beep of a monitor somewhere to his right.
The scent of blood and disinfectant lingered in the air.
His eyes slowly opened—one glowing gold, the other a deep, ink-like black.
Heterochromatic and sharp, they flicked around the unfamiliar space.
"…Where am I?"
He tried to move but winced as a dull ache pulsed through his chest.
Bandages were tightly wrapped around it. He sat up slowly, body stiff but responsive.
His hands settled into a familiar mudra as he circulated his Qi inward.
"…Stable," he noted.
His core was intact. The energy pathways were flowing, though slightly strained.
Whatever damage the Howler Monarch left behind had mostly healed.
His thoughts returned briefly to that battle. A tide of beasts.
A dance of death. And then—darkness.
Before he could reflect further, the door opened with a soft click.
A man stepped in, dressed in a clean black suit and deep-blue tie.
He looked young—mid to late twenties—but there was weight behind his gaze.
Like someone who'd seen things and learned to stay composed through them.
Ashen's eyes locked onto his immediately.
The man didn't flinch.
"Good. You're awake," he said, voice smooth and formal.
"I'm Ryven, from SNEIAS—Supernatural Events Investigation and Analysis Section."
Ashen stayed silent, his gaze steady.
Ryven continued. "Normally, I'm only called in for high-level incident analysis.
But this time, it was different—a Tier 1 Beast Tide targeted this city. A full emergency."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a black ID card, flashing it briefly.
"I was sent as one of the reinforcements. But when I arrived, the fight was already over."
Ryven's lips curved slightly.
"Apparently… thanks to you."
Ashen tilted his head slightly but said nothing.
"I've already sent the report to HQ. Don't worry—you'll be rewarded accordingly.
Funds. Medical coverage. Potential access to local cultivation facilities."
He handed over a sleek black card.
"My contact. In case anything… strange happens again."
Ryven studied Ashen for a moment longer.
"Now, onto the real reason I stayed behind."
He stepped closer and spoke with more gravity.
"I noticed something during the battle analysis. You have Sword Intent."
Ashen blinked, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"That's not a small thing," Ryven continued.
"Out of every million sword cultivators, maybe one glimpses true intent.
And even then, it's usually accidental and fleeting."
"But you… you wield it instinctively. That's potential worth investing in."
He turned, walking to the corner of the room.
From a case leaning against the wall, he pulled out a long, vertical box—matte black with faint silver etchings.
Almost as tall as Ryven himself.
He placed it down near Ashen's bed.
"I don't give away favors lightly.
But something tells me you'll need this sooner than you think."
Ashen glanced at the box, then at Ryven, still unreadable.
"Consider it a gift," Ryven said with a smirk, already turning to leave.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Ashen stared at the box for a long moment, his golden and black eyes reflecting its dark surface.