[YOU HAVE DIED]
[Respawning at last visited shrine in 30 seconds... Re... Sys-s-s-tem err-r-r...]
Pain. Real, searing pain jolted Kael awake.
His whole body screamed in agony. Something wet and warm covered the left side of his face. Where the hell was he?
He reached up instinctively, and his hand came away dark red. Blood. His blood.
In the corner of his vision, his health bar pulsed crimson—the unmistakable warning of critical HP. Less than fifteen percent. One wrong move and he was dead.
The UI floating before his eyes was achingly familiar. Twenty years he'd spent in Glory, the full-immersion VRMMO that had become more home than his actual apartment. But the pain... the pain was wrong. You weren't supposed to feel pain like this. Not really.
Did the neural sync malfunction?
Silence pressed in around him. The only light came from distant, flickering flames—torches, maybe, or something burning. The air tasted of copper and rot.
He shoved at the weight pinning him down, rough burlap scraping against his skin. When he finally squirmed free, he found himself staring into the glassy eyes of a corpse. A militiaman, by the look of his cheap leather armor.
Kael was lying in a pile of bodies.
Stay calm. Assess the situation.
He forced his breathing to slow, straining his ears. Somewhere nearby, bones clicked and scraped—the unmistakable sound of the undead on patrol.
His last memory surfaced like a bubble of poison: betrayal. His own allies had sold him out to the Lich Emperor's forces. They'd cornered him in the Godwail Canyon, and a Tier-12 spell—Soul Shatter—had punched through his chest and torn his spirit to shreds.
He was Kael Ashford. Commander of the Sunfire Legion. A Level 140 Legendary Heavy Warrior who'd spent two decades fighting the undead plague.
He should have respawned at the Shrine of the Mother Goddess, wrapped in warm golden light.
Instead, he'd woken up in a charnel pit.
Move. Survive first, questions later.
The corpse beside him wore militia gear—garbage-tier equipment, but better than nothing. Kael gritted his teeth against the pain and crawled over, working the leather vest free with trembling fingers.
Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through his battered body. He bit down on his lip to keep from making a sound.
The moment the armor came loose, pale blue text flickered into existence:
[Sharl Town Militia Vest][Defense: 1][Durability: 3/10]
Kael froze.
Not because the gear was trash—he'd expected that. But Sharl Town. He knew that name.
The Vorn Continent. The Aelindor Kingdom. A small border town in the southern reaches.
His heart clenched with a pain far sharper than his wounds.
Aelindor had been wiped off the map fifty years ago. The Shivan Empire's undead legions had swept through like a plague, leaving nothing but bones and ash. He'd watched the capital fall. He'd watched Princess Freya die on her throne, her blood staining the white marble.
So why was he seeing Sharl Town gear?
Footsteps. Close and getting closer.
Kael flattened himself against the ground, peering through the gaps between corpses.
Two figures approached. Pale. Skeletal. Blue flames flickered in their empty eye sockets—the telltale soul-fire of basic skeleton warriors.
The moment they spotted him, they attacked.
No hesitation. No warning. Rusted swords stabbed down at his skull.
Kael's body moved before his mind caught up. Twenty years of combat instinct took over. He rolled sideways, the blade missing his gut by inches and burying itself in the dirt.
Pain screamed through every nerve, but he was already moving—scrambling toward a corpse with a sword still embedded in its chest. He ripped the blade free and spun, catching the second skeleton's overhead strike on his own weapon.
CLANG!
A perfect parry. Muscle memory honed through millions of repetitions.
But the impact nearly tore the sword from his grip. His arms shook. His stamina was almost gone.
If I was at full strength, I'd have shattered that thing with a single blow.
The skeleton staggered from the deflection. Kael lunged, driving his blade through its eye socket.
CRACK.
The soul-fire guttered and died. Bones clattered to the ground.
The second skeleton was already swinging. Kael blocked, but the force sent him stumbling backward, his hands numb from the shock.
"Damn it!"
His mind screamed solutions—five different ways to end this fight in a heartbeat. But his body couldn't execute any of them. No strength. No stamina. Nothing but desperation.
He dodged and weaved through the corpse pile, buying time, letting his stamina tick back up. The skeleton pursued mindlessly, exactly as he remembered from the early game.
Now.
Kael planted his feet, dropped his center of gravity, and waited for the swing. The moment the skeleton committed, he stepped inside its guard and thrust upward through the ribcage, angling for the skull.
CRUNCH.
The blade punched through bone. He twisted hard.
Soul-fire extinguished. Another pile of bones.
[Skeleton Warrior slain. +6 XP][Skeleton Warrior slain. +6 XP]
Kael leaned on his sword, gasping for breath. His arms felt like lead.
Two trash-tier mobs. The weakest enemies in the game. And they'd nearly killed him.
Wait. Six XP each?
Skeleton warriors gave 3 XP. Always. That was hardcoded into the game's foundation. Twenty years, and it had never changed.
He pulled up his status screen:
[Name: Kael Ashford][Total Level: 1 (Militia 1/15, XP: 0/10)][Unallocated XP: 12][Power Tier: Bronze (Levels 1-25)][HP: 4/23][MP: 0/0]
Level 1. Four HP remaining.
The pieces clicked together with terrifying clarity. Wrong respawn point. A town that shouldn't exist. No logout option anywhere in his interface.
I'm not in the game anymore. I'm in the game. Physically. And this is...
The Aelindor Border Raids. The opening event of Glory's first year. A minor skirmish that every player had ignored—until it snowballed into the Second Mandragora War and the complete annihilation of the Aelindor Kingdom.
This wasn't Year 320 of the Vorn Calendar, when he'd died.
This was Year 270.
Fifty years in the past.
He'd been thrown back in time with twenty years of knowledge, every hidden quest location, every legendary item spawn, every future hero's origin story—all of it locked in his head.
And Aelindor... Aelindor was still alive.
Shouts echoed from the town gate. Combat. Survivors.
Kael forced himself upright and limped toward the sound. Once, he and thousands of players had fought with everything they had to save this kingdom. They'd failed. He'd watched Freya fall, her final words a whisper he'd never forgotten.
"Live. Remember that we existed."
Now fate had given him another chance.
Virtual or real, it didn't matter. What mattered was now.
I'm going to save Aelindor. I'm going to save her.
At the gate, two militiamen were finishing off the last skeleton. One of them—young, eager—spotted Kael and rushed over.
"Brother! Are you alright? We just got back from patrol and found this mess. Was it the Shivan bastards again?"
Kael opened his mouth to respond.
A massive shadow fell from above.
SPLURCH.
A curved greatsword, easily six feet long, cleaved the young militiaman in half. Blood sprayed across Kael's face.
The creature rose to its full height—nearly twice as tall as a normal skeleton, clad in rusted plate armor. Crimson soul-fire blazed in its hollow eyes.
[Elite: Bone Warden LV.15]
Kael's breath caught.
The Bone Warden. Every newbie's nightmare. A five-man party at equal level could still wipe to this thing if they made a single mistake.
And he was Level 1 with 4 HP.
The Warden's burning gaze locked onto him—the only living thing still standing.
Run? No. Undead had infinite stamina. He'd collapse before he made it fifty meters.
Death loomed over him for the second time today.
But something else rose to meet it. Rage. Defiance. Twenty years of loss and failure compressed into a single, burning point.
"You bone-headed bastards," Kael growled, blood dripping from his chin. "You destroyed my kingdom once. You think I'll let you do it again?"
He raised his battered iron sword, the lion crest of Aelindor barely visible on the crossguard.
"I used to be the strongest warrior on this continent. I've killed hundreds of thousands of your kind." He stepped forward, settling into a combat stance he'd perfected over two decades. "This Level 1 body? It's just a setback."
The Warden began its advance, dragging that massive blade behind it.
Kael smiled—a wolf's smile, all teeth and no warmth.
"I'm not trying to prove how great I am. I'm taking back everything I lost. One piece at a time."
He pointed his sword at the monster's skull.
"Starting with you."