The forest was quiet—too quiet.
That silence was broken by the sound of fists colliding with flesh.
A boy lay curled on the ground, his body pressed against the rough trunk of a tree. His clothes were filthy, soaked with sweat and old grime, the stench clinging to him like a curse. He raised his arms over his head, desperately trying to protect his face as blows rained down from all directions.
Four lads surrounded him.
Their faces were twisted with amusement.
Their laughter echoed cruelly between the trees.
"You're nothing but a punching bag," one of them shouted, driving his foot into the boy's ribs and knocking the air from his lungs. "You homeless piece of shit. JUST DIE ALREADY!"
Another lad laughed loudly, wiping sweat from his brow."This is actually fun."
The boy tried to move.
Tried to fight back.
But hunger had weakened him long before their fists ever reached him. His arms trembled, his body refusing to respond the way his mind begged it to. Every strike blurred his vision further, every kick stealing another piece of his strength.
The pain became distant.
Muffled.
Then—nothing.
His body went limp.
His arms dropped to his sides, no longer shielding his face. Seeing no resistance, the lads unleashed their punches without restraint, fists slamming into his cheeks, his jaw, his chest.
Blood splattered onto the forest floor.
Minutes passed.
Then silence.
One of the lads stopped first. He stared down at the boy's unmoving body, eyes wide, his breath hitching. His legs trembled as fear crept into his expression.
"I… I think…" he whispered, his voice shaking. "I think your words came true."
Another lad, dressed in a green shirt, swallowed hard as he gazed at the blood slowly seeping from open wounds. His hands shook uncontrollably.
"L-Let's… let's run."
Panic overtook them.
Without another glance, the four fled into the forest, their footsteps frantic as they sprinted back toward the village, fear plastered across their faces.
They never looked back.
The boy was left alone.
Unconscious.
Slumped against the trunk of an ancient tree.
The forest breathed once more.
Massive trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling as the wind passed through, whispering a strange, melodic song toward the northeast. Moonlight filtered down through the canopy, illuminating the boy's battered body.
Then something unnatural occurred.
The blood on his skin dried.
Bruises faded.
Torn flesh slowly stitched itself together.
Bone realigned.
As if the forest itself had chosen to cradle him, his wounds healed—silently, steadily—until no trace of the beating remained.
Three hours later.
"…Where… am I?"
The boy's eyes fluttered open.
He lay flat on the ground, staring up at a sky hidden behind dancing branches and towering leaves. For a moment, he didn't move—just listened to the wind, to the distant creaking of trees.
He pushed himself upright.
His body didn't hurt.
That alone sent a chill down his spine.
He looked at his arms.
No bruises.
No cuts.
No blood.
"…What?"
Slowly, memories rushed back.
I was beaten.
His jaw tightened.
Again.
Then—another memory surfaced.
One that didn't belong here.
Streetlights.
Music blasting through earphones.
A quiet road.
A sudden, blinding light.
Impact.
Pain.
Death.
His head throbbed violently as he clutched it with both hands.
"…Wait."
His breathing grew uneven.
"I'm Finne—no… Diego?"
He crossed his arms, staring down at the dry leaves beneath his feet, his thoughts spiraling out of control.
"I remember getting hit by a car…"
His chest tightened painfully.
"…Then I died."
The sensation returned—the crushing force, his ribs shattering, blood filling his mouth. It felt so real that his body trembled.
"But at the same time…"
Another stream of memories surged forward.
This forest.
This body.
The beating.
The hunger.
"…I have memories of being Diego… of being bullied… of losing consciousness here."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"And I also remember being Finne… dying in another world."
The realization struck him like lightning.
"That means…"
His legs shook as he raised his head.
"I—got reincarnated!"
His shout echoed through the forest, startling birds into flight. The sound bounced between the trees before fading into silence.
Fear gripped him.
"Which means… I'm Diego Alis William in this world… but before that…"
He swallowed.
"I was Finne. And I died."
Nothing about it made sense.
"This doesn't make any sense at all…"
He glanced at his hands, then his arms, then his dark skin.
"…My skin tone is the same. Just a bit lighter."
A sudden growl echoed from deep within the forest.
Leaves rustled violently.
Something moved—something heavy.
His instincts screamed danger.
"…Did I attract monsters by shouting?"
His heart pounded.
"Let me get out of this forest first."
Without hesitation, he ran.
The dense forest slowly thinned, giving way to familiar surroundings. Diego slowed to a stop when a small settlement came into view.
Low shelters.
Crude structures.
Buildings barely taller than a wolf.
He stood there, staring at the place he had lived for over a year.
"…Right. I remember."
This was where Diego had survived.
Not lived.
Just survived.
The villagers never saw him as human—only as something useful when needed, and disposable when not.
"I remember now… I have memories of my past life."
His fists clenched.
"Maybe it's time I move somewhere better."
He stepped inside his shelter and began packing what little he owned. Clothes worn thin from overuse. A few tools. A small bag that had seen better days.
As he worked, a thought surfaced.
"Now that my memories have merged…"
He paused.
"…Does this world even have magic?"
He searched through Diego's memories.
No one talked about mana.
No spells.
No miracles.
Then—
Pain stabbed his chest.
A memory surfaced without warning.
A scream.
Blood.
His mother.
An assassin dressed in black.
Afro hair.
"I don't know who he was…"
His fists shook as tears streamed down his face.
"But I'll avenge my parents."
He slammed his fist into the ground, anger surging violently through him.
Then he stopped.
Breathed.
"…No."
He wiped his tears away.
"I won't let vengeance control me."
He finished packing and slung the backpack over his shoulder.
Then he sniffed himself.
"…I smell like shit!"
He tore an old shirt in half, rushed to a nearby stream, and scrubbed himself clean. Cold water shocked his senses, grounding him in reality.
Ten minutes later, he returned, dressed in clean clothes.
He looked back at the settlement one last time.
"Now that I'm clean…"
He turned away.
"…Let's head to the next village. Brenwood."
This place had never been his home.
And he would never return.
I have arrived in Brenwood
Brenwood was nothing like the place I had left behind.
The moment I arrived, my steps slowed—not from exhaustion, but from awe. Wooden houses lined the road neatly, their walls warm in color, their roofs solid and well-kept. A clear river flowed nearby, its surface shimmering under the sunlight as children ran along the banks, laughing and splashing water at one another.
Life existed here.
Real life.
"…Whoa," I muttered under my breath.
For the first time since waking up in this world, something stirred inside my chest—hope.
I continued walking along the pathway that led deeper into the village, my eyes wandering as I took everything in. Shop signs swayed gently in the breeze. The smell of cooked food drifted through the air, teasing my senses.
Then my stomach twisted violently.
My steps faltered.
"Oh… right," I whispered weakly. "I haven't eaten since I woke up."
The realization hit me all at once. My legs trembled, my vision dimming at the edges. I pressed a hand against my stomach as my strength vanished.
I collapsed onto the ground.
No one noticed.
People passed by, busy with their own lives.
"…Just need… fruit," I muttered. "Something from a tree…"
The children by the river blurred in my vision, their laughter sounding distant, unreal. Darkness crept closer as my body begged for energy it no longer had.
Footsteps approached.
I forced my head up.
The steps stopped in front of me.
Through my blurred vision, I saw a man standing there—tall, calm, dressed in blue. He carried a large bag filled with fruits slung over his shoulder. For a few seconds, we simply stared at each other.
Then he moved.
He reached into the bag and handed me an apple.
I took it with trembling hands.
One bite.
Sweetness exploded across my tongue.
Energy surged through my body like a spark catching fire. I took another bite… then another… devouring the apple until nothing remained but the core.
"…It seems you were really starving," the man said gently.
I bowed my head while still sitting on the ground. "Thank you."
He nodded slowly, studying me.
"Judging by your clothes, you must be from the village to the south," he said. "Tell me, young fella… where are your parents?"
My throat tightened.
"…They died when I was six."
The man closed his eyes, his lips forming a small frown.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"…."
I wanted to speak.
I wanted to explain.
But my thoughts drifted to my mother—how she had fought desperately to protect me, how she had screamed my name as blood stained the ground.
"…She tried so hard to save me—"
My voice broke.
The man opened his eyes and knelt down so he was level with me. His gaze was gentle, steady.
"How about staying with me, young fella?"
I froze.
"…What?"
He smiled and reached out, gripping my hand firmly.
"My name's Jack," he said. "Jack Wilson."
Relief washed over me—but my body had reached its limit.
My legs gave out as I tried to stand. The world spun violently.
"Just call me Jack—hey, hey! Are you okay?"
Darkness swallowed my vision.
The last thing I felt was being caught before I hit the ground.
"…He was about to die," Jack muttered. "Good thing I found him."
When I woke up, warmth surrounded me.
Soft light filled the room.
"You're awake," a voice said. "Back there, you were really close to dying, you know."
I turned my head slowly.
Jack sat nearby, smiling.
"How are you feeling, fella?"
"…Better," I whispered.
My eyes wandered around the room.
Paintings.
Books.
Weapons.
Different types of swords were mounted neatly along the walls—some worn from use, others beautifully crafted. This wasn't a normal house.
"Good, Sir—"
Jack laughed loudly. "Ha! Ha! Just Jack. No need for formalities."
"…Yes, Sir Jack," I said quickly. "Thank you for helping me."
He stared at me for a moment, then sighed.
"Your parents… they really died, didn't they?"
"Yes," I replied quietly. "I don't know about my father… but my mother was slaughtered by an assassin dressed in black."
Jack nodded slowly.
"I see… then how about this."
He leaned forward.
"How about I adopt you?"
"…By who?" I asked in disbelief. "I'm homeless."
"By me, of course."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I smiled.
"…Okay, Father."
Jack froze.
"…Calling me father already?" He burst out laughing. "Ha! Ha! Ha!"
He clapped me on the shoulder.
"Very well then. Welcome to your new home, my son. And what's your name?"
"Diego Alis William."
"…You already have a surname?" Jack muttered. "What a bummer."
An hour later, Jack explained everything.
This world was called Aetherion.
Magic existed—and it was common.
The races were many: humans, elves, demonkind, beastkin, and others I had never heard of. Technology was primitive compared to Earth, but magic filled the gap.
Time itself was different.
One year here lasted 1,825 days—equivalent to five Earth years.
I was fascinated.
Motivated.
This world felt like it was waiting for me.
"I want to explore this world," I said firmly. "But first, I want to understand it."
Jack smiled.
"Tell me," he said. "Do you know how to fight?"
"No."
"Then I'll teach you," he replied. "For as long as it takes."
Before training began, Jack stood behind me and raised his hand.
"Check Status."
Light shimmered in his eyes as he stared at something only he could see.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
"For your age, your status is outstanding. Even I wasn't this gifted."
"Really?" I asked, surprised.
"Yes. You're far above average."
Days turned into months.
Months into years.
I trained relentlessly.
Magic.
Combat.
Endurance.
Jack was powerful—both in strength and knowledge.
"Here I come!" I shouted, charging at him with a wooden sword gripped tightly in both hands.
Four years passed.
I collapsed onto the grass, breathing heavily.
"That's enough for today," Jack said, sitting nearby. "You're old enough for the Royal Academy now."
I was twelve.
Father was forty-one.
I had mastered his style—and created my own.
My magic affinity was Water.
The same as his.
Jack stared at me silently.
His growth is abnormal… he thought. If I check his status now…
"I want to become an adventurer," I said, staring at the sky.
Jack smiled. "After you graduate."
"Come on, Dad!"
He stood up. "Get ready."
"But I'm exhausted—!"
I took my stance.
So did he.
"You ready?" Jack grinned. "One… two… three—GO!"
"So fast!" I shouted.
"No time for patience," he said—already charging.