The roar faded.
The scorching heat that once devoured the battlefield slowly died down, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence.
"…I never thought it would come to this."
Noah Walker collapsed onto the ground, his body refusing to obey him any longer.
Beside him lay the corpse of the evil dragon—its massive body reduced to a lifeless heap, pierced by countless magic swords.
A weak, bitter smile crossed his lips.
"With wounds like these… I suppose I'm finished as well."
He had won.
But victory had come at a price too great to ignore.
A fatal one.
In his prime, such an outcome would have been unthinkable.
Once hailed as a hero who had repelled countless calamities, Noah was now an old man of eighty. His body, worn down by time, had finally reached its limit.
Yet, despite everything…
Fighting had never truly been his desire.
What Noah Walker loved—what he always loved—was creation.
Not glory. Not recognition. Not even the idea of saving others.
He simply wanted to craft.
To forge tools no one had ever imagined.
To breathe life into ideas through enchantment and alchemy.
That was his purpose.
And yet, the world had never allowed him to live that life.
He fought not for justice, but to protect the only place he cared about—his workshop.
Still, society saw him as a hero… and forced that role upon him.
Eighty years.
Eighty years of being admired, envied… and used.
To others, it may have seemed like the perfect life.
But to Noah—
It was nothing more than a cage.
A life lived as a slave… under the name of "hero."
"…How ironic."
His vision began to fade, colors draining into darkness.
"Guess… I'll have to rely on that thing after all."
With trembling hands, he reached into his inventory and pulled out a sword.
An unnatural blade, wrapped in a faint, ominous aura.
—The Sword Beyond Reason.
A weapon capable of cutting through anything.
Even the laws of the world itself.
Noah hated it.
To him, it was a failure—an accident born from a flawed forging process.
As a craftsman, he could never accept that such a thing might be considered his greatest creation.
But now…
He had no choice.
"…I'm leaving it to you."
Gathering the last of his strength, Noah forced his body upright.
If the sword could defy reason…
Then perhaps it could even break the law of death.
Yet—
His hand trembled.
He hesitated.
Not out of fear of death…
But because, at his core, he was not a warrior.
He was a craftsman.
And unlike warriors, craftsmen do not gamble with their own lives.
"…Damn it."
With a sudden burst of resolve, Noah drove the blade into his own body.
A blinding light engulfed him.
And then—
Darkness.
"…What the hell is this?"
Air rushed violently into his lungs as Noah's eyes snapped open.
He gasped.
This wasn't the battlefield.
The blood-soaked wasteland… the dragon… all of it was gone.
Instead, he found himself lying in a pristine white room, filled with a strange, sterile smell.
His body felt… different.
Light.
Weak.
Thin tubes were connected to him, and unfamiliar devices emitted faint, rhythmic sounds.
"…Appraisal."
Instinctively, he activated a skill.
Information flowed into his mind.
Vital Signs Monitor (Medical Device).
"…Medical… device?"
Before he could process it further, a sharp pain shot through his body as he tried to sit up.
"—Heal."
A soft light wrapped around him, easing the pain almost instantly.
But the deep exhaustion remained.
Ignoring it, Noah removed the devices attached to him and staggered toward the nearby mirror.
And then—
He froze.
The reflection staring back at him was not that of an old man.
His blond hair was gone.
His aged face had vanished.
In its place stood a young boy with black hair and dark eyes—deep and unfathomable.
"…What…?"
At that moment, memories flooded his mind.
A different life.
A different identity.
Kamiki Nozora.
A Japanese student.
A low-ranking porter enrolled in an adventurer training academy.
"…Reincarnation, huh."
Before he could gather his thoughts—
"Kamiki-san! Are you awake?!"
The door burst open as a nurse rushed inside.
"I'm fine," Noah—Nozora—replied calmly.
"What are you doing out of bed?! You were on the verge of death!"
"I've already recovered. I was just about to leave."
"…Excuse me?!"
What followed was a long and strict lecture.
As time passed, the memories of Kamiki Nozora became clearer.
Year: 2085.
Location: Japan.
A world different from Noah's original one.
A world where, decades ago, mysterious "Gates" appeared—bringing mana and monsters with them.
Humanity adapted.
Magic tools replaced technology.
And those who could wield mana became known as Explorers—individuals who ventured into the Gates to fight monsters and secure resources.
Nozora… had no talent for it.
He was weak.
A mere porter.
Someone who carried equipment while others fought.
The injury that brought him here was proof of that—he had nearly died protecting others during training.
"…Pathetic."
Yet among those painful memories…
Something caught Noah's interest.
This world's technology.
Devices beyond imagination.
Tools that far surpassed anything from his original world.
Creating something from scratch to rival them would be difficult.
But—
Recreating them using magic?
Enhancing them with alchemy and enchantment?
"…Now that's interesting."
A slow smile formed on his face.
The knowledge of Kamiki Nozora.
The experience of Noah Walker.
Science and magic—
Combined.
His heart, once buried under eighty years of unwanted duty, began to beat with excitement once more.
"…This time…"
He whispered softly.
"…I'll live the way I want."