Chapter 1: A Dream Too Heavy to Hold
The young man looked as if the world had already begun to forget him.
He sat in the back of the classroom, thin shoulders hunched, pale hands resting on a desk that felt far too large for him. His body was weak, his breathing shallow, and his eyes—though open—carried the dull exhaustion of someone who had long stopped expecting tomorrow to be kind.
As the teacher's voice droned on, his eyelids grew heavy.
He fell asleep.
---
In his dream, the world changed.
Darkness peeled away like a curtain, revealing a vast, silent space. A mysterious figure stood before him—neither man nor monster, its form wrapped in shifting shadows. From within that darkness, the figure extended its hand.
A gift.
Power surged through him. In the dream, his frail body vanished, replaced by strength beyond reason. He crossed continents, crushed the strongest warriors, and stood at the peak of the world with no one left to challenge him.
He was invincible.
He was alive.
Then—
He woke up.
The classroom was the same. His hands were still thin. His chest still hurt with every breath. And the realization settled in like a knife: it was only a dream.
He smiled weakly, then looked away.
He knew the truth.
Stage‑four cancer.
His life was already nearing its end.
---
School ended quietly.
He walked alone through a narrow alley on his way home, each step slow and measured. The walls pressed in from both sides, damp and dirty, as if the world itself wanted to corner him.
That's when they appeared.
A group of bullies blocked his path. Their laughter echoed in the alley, loud and cruel.
"Look who it is," one of them sneered.
The leader stepped forward—and without warning, kicked him hard in the stomach.
The pain exploded through his body.
He didn't fight back.
He collapsed to the ground, gasping, curling into himself as his vision blurred. Laughter rained down on him.
Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself onto all fours.
"P‑Please…" he whispered. "Forgive me."
The bullies roared with laughter.
That was when he smirked.
In a single, desperate motion, he grabbed a pen from the ground and drove it straight into the leader's eye.
A scream tore through the alley.
Before anyone could react, the world spun. His thoughts shattered, his strength vanished, and darkness swallowed him whole.
He fainted.
---
When he woke again, the world felt wrong.
Too large.
Too bright.
He tried to move—but his body wouldn't listen. His limbs were tiny, weak, unfamiliar.
Voices echoed around him.
"Why isn't he crying?" someone asked.
Another voice laughed. "What if he's frail—but still a barbarian?"
Barbarian?
His mind jolted awake.
So… I was reborn?
Memories rushed in—novels he had read, stories of warriors born with monstrous strength.
Barbarians are strong, he thought. That means… I should be strong too.
Hope flickered.
Five months passed.
That hope shattered.
His body barely changed. He couldn't crawl. He couldn't even sit properly. Meanwhile, children born at the same time as him were already walking.
He was weak.
Again.
---
He learned the truth soon after.
He was the youngest son of a barbarian chieftain.
He had three older brothers—huge, powerful, and brimming with vitality.
They loved him dearly.
They carried him. Protected him. Smiled at him.
But they couldn't play with him.
His body was too fragile.
As he slowly reached his first year of life, one thought echoed endlessly in his mind:
Even after being reborn… am I still destined to be weak?
And somewhere deep within his tiny chest, something waited—silent, heavy, and patient.
Like a hammer yet to be lifted.
By the age of one, the child learned an important truth.
This world was dangerous.
Magic existed.
Aura flowed through living beings.
Outside the tribes spread vast wilderness, where beasts and monsters ruled.
Only the strong survived.
Weakness meant death.
He was born a barbarian.
But his body was weak.
He was small, thin, and fragile.
Walking itself was hard for him. Still, his eyes were calm and sharp, not like a normal child.
One night, he sat outside with his mother under the open sky.
The fire burned quietly.
Suddenly, a beast came out of the darkness.
It was large and terrifying.
Before fear could touch the child, his mother moved.
She stepped forward and punched the beast once.
Crack.
Its skull broke instantly.
The beast fell dead.
The child stared.
He was not scared.
His eyes shone with admiration.
His mother turned and smiled at him gently.
"That was nothing," she said. "Your father is even stronger."
Those words stayed in his heart.
As time passed, he slowly learned to walk.
His steps were weak, his body trembling, but his will was firm.
Seeing his quiet sadness, his three older brothers brought him a gift one day.
A tiger cub.
Small, wild, and fierce.
They hoped he would bond with it.
The cub growled, but when the child reached out, it did not attack.
Something unseen connected them.
Though the child looked weak, something dangerous slept inside him.
That night, he fell asleep.
In his dream, a mysterious figure appeared.
"You want to be strong," the figure said. "But you never tried."
The child was shocked.
The figure laughed softly.
"It's fine.
I'll give you a gift."
Light filled the dream.
The child woke up suddenly.
The night was silent.
But deep inside him,
something had awakened.