"It's over, Death Lord. You've lost the Great War. Your clan has been wiped from existence, and you will soon follow."
The words were spoken by a blind, bald man clad entirely in black, standing calmly in the center of a ruined battlefield that stretched as far as the eye could see. Broken weapons lay half-buried in ash, and the ground itself seemed exhausted from bearing so much death.
"Give up, Death Lord," said another man beside him—black-haired, dressed in white—his sword pointed straight at the bleeding figure before them. His grip was steady, his eyes cold as he watched crimson drip onto the shattered stone.
'I'm completely surrounded. Five to one.'
'I just need time… just enough for that ability to activate.'
The Death Lord stood tall at 1.9 meters, dark hair matted with blood, dark clothes torn and stained. Four men and a woman closed in around him, their presence forming a tightening noose.
"You're all fools," he said, his voice low but unwavering as his gaze swept across them. "This ends when I decide it does. No one else gets that privilege."
"Is that so?" the blind man replied, a faint smile touching his lips. "Then let us see how long your will can resist steel."
He attacked.
The blind man surged forward, sword cutting through the air. The Death Lord cursed under his breath and sidestepped, boots scraping against rubble. Before he could recover his footing, killing intent flared behind him.
An arrow.
He barely caught a glimpse of the shaft streaking toward his head. He raised his arm on instinct, blocking it at the cost of flesh and bone. Pain exploded through him as blood spilled freely.
'Three…'
'Two…'
'One…'
The blind man lunged again, his blade arcing toward the Death Lord's neck. At the exact instant the cold edge touched his skin, the long-awaited ability finally activated.
The Death Lord's head struck the ground with a heavy thud, blood splashing outward. Those gathered did not stop. They struck again and again until the body before them was reduced to nothing more than broken meat.
---
---
On a white wooden bed built for two, a young boy suddenly awoke.
He shot upright, breath sharp, eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. The space was small—barely two meters squared. A bed and nightstand occupied the left side, a single mirror hung on the right wall, and wooden flooring creaked beneath his feet.
'I must have reincarnated.'
He looked down at his body, flexing his fingers before stepping toward the mirror. He touched his face slowly, studying the reflection. White skin, black hair, brown eyes. His height was around 1.76 meters, his build average—neither bulky nor frail.
'This body can't be more than sixteen years old.'
He turned toward the door and opened it. A narrow corridor stretched ahead. From downstairs came the faint rustling of movement.
He walked toward the stairs to the right and descended. Below, he saw a beautiful girl about 1.68 meters tall, blonde hair smooth against pale skin. She wore a simple dress and apron as she cleaned the wooden floor.
She looked up for a moment, frowning slightly.
"You usually don't wake up until two hours later. Why so early, Arai?"
'I see. So this body's name is Arai. But what about hers?'
"It's just…" he said carefully, "I realized I never asked for your name."
She stared at him. "Did you hit your head?" She tilted her head. "I'm Gloria Lain. Your fiancée."
'Damn. This guy really had it good.'
'Too bad he died due to my reincarnation.'
"Oh. Right," Arai replied. "Then tell me—what year is it?"
She laughed. "I didn't know you could joke."
'I'm not joking.'
"I'm serious," he said flatly. "What year is it?"
Her laughter faded. "It's the year 3000 of the Alarian calendar."
'I reincarnated five hundred years into the future.'
"And where exactly are we?" Arai asked.
Gloria hesitated before answering. "High in the mountains near the city of Yuara. Kingdom of Valen. Village of More. This is the Lain family smithy."
'Alright. Different land. Different system.'
'So clans have been replaced by monarchies.'
'This must be the house of her father than, based on the fact that she doesn't look like a blacksmith'
"I see. Then where is dear father?"
"In the smithy," she answered, cheeks flushing as she looked away. "Where else would he be?"
Arai was about to respond when he suddenly froze, looking below at a dragon who was out for vengeance.
'Damn it.'
'I underestimated this body's instincts.'
He quickly covered himself and turned away. "Excuse me."
Before Gloria could say anything, he sprinted back to his room, leaving her standing there, stunned and red-faced.
Inside, Arai shut the door and changed his clothes, trying to calm the furious dragon in his room.
He changed to a more suitable attire and looked at the mirror as he thought
'Alright. Five centuries into the future.'
'A new body. And a changed world.'
A faint smile curved his lips.
'My road to the pinnacle of power… is going to be very interesting.'