Leonidas had always believed he had time.
Time to pull himself together. Time to turn all those wasted nights of gaming into something more. Time to stop being just another forgotten face drifting through life.
But time has a way of running out when you least expect it.
The day of his death was ordinary, painfully so. Overcast skies hung low above the city, the rain falling in a steady, miserable drizzle. Leonidas walked home from the convenience store, hood pulled up, a soda in one hand and his phone in the other. His headphones drowned out the world as he scrolled through a forum debate about whether Rome or Sparta had the stronger infantry. He barely noticed the slick pavement beneath his shoes.
The light changed. He stepped into the street without looking.
The blare of a horn tore through his music. Tires screamed. Leonidas looked up just in time to see the truck barreling down on him, headlights wide like the eyes of some hungry beast.
He froze.
The impact hit like a hammer. His body flung across the asphalt, bones snapping under the force. Pain exploded through him, then dulled to a distant hum. Blood filled his mouth, coppery and warm, bubbling with each failed gasp.
The world slowed.
Rain pattered against his cheek. The taste of soda mixed with iron. His phone lay shattered beside him, the screen flickering with the unfinished forum post. His vision dimmed, but his thoughts burned bright, sharp, merciless.
So this is it?
All those years… and I never did anything. I conquered a thousand worlds that weren't real, and left nothing in the one that was.
All that knowledge. All that strategy. Wasted.
The last thing he saw was the reflection of the truck's headlights in the puddle beside him. Then darkness swallowed him whole.
---
He woke to silence.
Not the silence of death, but of something vast and waiting. Leonidas stood in an endless coliseum of black stone and pale silver light. The ground pulsed faintly beneath his feet, like the heartbeat of a world not his own.
All around him stood thousands of others—young men and women, late teens to twenties, their faces a mirror of his own confusion. Some wore jeans, some uniforms, others strange clothing he didn't recognize. Above each head floated faint glowing text. Names. Designations.
A voice boomed, filling the space, neither male nor female, but absolute.
"You have been chosen. Your lives were wasted, your potential squandered. But here, you shall fight, rule, and conquer."
The crowd erupted in shouting.
"What is this?!"
"Is this some kind of dream?!"
"Where the hell are we?!"
The voice drowned them out.
"Each of you will select a civilization from Earth's history. You will awaken in that world with two years to prepare. When the First Wave arrives, you will either rise—or be erased forever."
Above the arena, a massive wheel of light spun slowly, inscribed with glowing names of civilizations: Rome. Egypt. Persia. Sparta. Samurai. Norse. Knights of Europe. Mongols. Babylon. Qin. Dozens more flickered like stars.
One by one, candidates stepped forward.
"Rome—Claimed." A tall, sharp-eyed man appeared crowned with a laurel, a golden mantle draped over his shoulders. He smirked arrogantly as phantom legions materialized behind him.
"Samurai—Claimed." A dark-haired girl in lacquered armor placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, her gaze as cutting as a blade.
"Norse Raiders—Claimed." A burly youth with a wolf pelt over his shoulders roared, hefting a massive axe.
Leonidas's eyes scanned the crowd until they froze.
She stood tall among the chaos, radiant and untouchable. Long golden hair spilled from beneath a polished steel helm. Her eyes were cold and sharp, the piercing blue of a clear winter sky. Steel armor curved gracefully over her figure, a crimson surcoat flowing behind her. Beauty and authority intertwined in her posture.
The system's voice thundered:
"Knights of Europe—Claimed by Evelyne."
Leonidas's breath caught. She was more than striking—she was regal, proud, dismissive of all around her. Evelyne's gaze swept across the arena with imperious confidence. For a heartbeat, her eyes locked with his. Cold. Dismissive. As if she were already certain he was beneath notice.
Heat flared in his chest. Rivalry, born in a single glance.
Then came his turn. The wheel hovered before him, names burning with possibility. His heart pounded.
"Sparta," he said.
The light descended, but instead of crowning him with the crimson cloak of a king, something went wrong.
"Sparta—Claimed… Error. Unique parameters detected."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The golden light faltered, dimmed.
"Designation: Peasant. Rank: None. Status: Mortal."
Laughter broke out.
"Did he screw it up?"
"A peasant? He's doomed already."
"Worthless from the start."
Leonidas's fists clenched, but before he could speak, Evelyne's lips curved into the faintest smirk. Amusement. Pity. Dismissal.
The voice silenced the crowd.
"One among you shall begin at the lowest of stations. To test whether true greatness is forged… or inherited. In twenty-four months, the First Wave will come. Prepare. Survive. Conquer."
The arena blazed with light.
Leonidas's body dissolved into it, spinning, falling, until the stone and silver vanished.
When his vision cleared, he was face-down in the dirt of a Spartan farmstead. Calloused hands. Ragged tunic. The smell of sweat, earth, and hunger.
A peasant.
The system shimmered faintly before his eyes:
[Leonidas – Peasant]
Strength: 2/10
Agility: 3/10
Endurance:2/10
Intelligence: 9/10
Potential: A
He drew in a sharp breath, dirt sticking to his lips. Around him, warriors' voices barked orders. Training grounds. Soldiers in crimson cloaks drilled with spears in the distance.
If they want me to start from nothing… he thought, teeth gritted.
Then I'll rise higher than all of them.