The Free City sparkled beneath the morning sun.
Its spires caught the light like a thousand unsheathed blades, each tower a declaration of ambition reaching toward a sky that seemed almost too blue to be real.
The air itself hummed—not loudly, but with a soft, persistent tingle that prickled against the skin.
Magic.
It was everywhere, woven into the cobblestones, threaded through the breeze, gentle and ever-present like background music to a world that ran on mana and miracles.
Floating carriages zipped between the towers, sleek vessels powered by arc cores that glowed faintly beneath their polished exteriors.
They moved in smooth, practiced patterns, gliding silently through the air as if gravity were merely a suggestion.
Below them, the streets teemed with life.
Merchants shouted beneath enchanted awnings that shifted colors with the sun, their voices competing with the clatter of boots on stone and the distant chime of bells marking the hour.
Children darted across the cobbled streets, their laughter bright and careless as they chased wind-borne illusions—butterflies made of light, dragons no bigger than a fist—conjured by bored apprentices showing off for coins or attention.
It was a beautiful day.
Not just because of the weather, though the weather was perfect. Not just because the city glowed with prosperity and wonder.
No, it was beautiful because today was Welcoming Day.
In the center of the Free City, rising like a mountain forged by ambition and tempered in war, stood Obsidian Fang Academy.
It was a jagged fortress of blackened steel, ancient stone, and power so old it felt like a weight pressing down on the air itself.
The outer walls alone were taller than most city watchtowers, their surfaces etched with runes that pulsed faintly, as if the structure itself were breathing.
The main gates were massive slabs of obsidian reinforced with enchanted iron, closed now but radiating an aura of inevitability.
Obsidian Fang wasn't just an academy.
It was the academy.
Every kingdom, every duchy, every noble house worth its bloodline sent their best here. Graduates didn't just find success—they became it. They led armies. Ruled nations. Rewrote history with their names carved into the fabric of the world.
And today, for the first time in a decade, the gates were open again.
Commoners. Wanderers. Even the landless.
If you had potential, you could walk through those gates.
If you survived what came after.
The outer plaza was overflowing.
Thousands of students packed the marble square in front of the main gates, a churning sea of faces shining with hope, nerves, and barely restrained hunger.
The air itself felt charged, thick with the weight of dreams and the sharp edge of desperation.
A low murmur of anxious voices filled the space, undercut by the faint, acrid scent of nervous sweat despite the cool morning breeze.
Some whispered spells under their breath, fingers twitching through practiced motions as they tried to steady themselves.
Others flexed beneath freshly polished armor that gleamed almost painfully in the sunlight, the metal still stiff and unfamiliar on their shoulders.
A few stood perfectly still, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer to gods, ancestors, or perhaps just their own fragile confidence.
Most, though, just stared.
Wide-eyed. Breathless.
Staring up at the structure that might shape their futures—or break them entirely.
It was, truly, a sight to behold.
Then, without warning, the sky shimmered.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as a massive glowing glyph spiraled into existence above the plaza, its intricate lines burning gold and silver against the blue.
The air warped around it, reality bending just slightly, and from its center, a holographic projection materialized.
An old man.
Bearded. Stern. Draped in robes that shimmered with what looked like living Archive symbols—glowing lines of script that crawled across the fabric like veins of light. His face was carved from stone and authority, his eyes sharp enough to cut through excuses and lay bare the soul beneath.
He didn't need to open his mouth.
A spell carried his voice directly into their minds, bypassing ears entirely.
It was a strange, invasive sensation—like someone whispering right behind your thoughts, an echo that rang in the space between heartbeats.
"Candidates of the 179th Generation."
The voice was deep. Commanding. Absolute.
Silence fell instantly.
"Welcome to Obsidian Fang Academy."
The words hung in the air like a verdict.
"I am Vice Headmaster Revek, and I will be overseeing your entrance examinations this year. From this moment forward, your names are etched into the records of the Archive. Your failures and victories alike will shape the world to come."
His holographic form pulsed faintly, as if responding to some unseen power thrumming beneath the surface.
"You are not children anymore."
A pause. Deliberate. Weighted.
"You are blades in a forge."
His eyes—though made of light—seemed to pierce through the crowd, cutting through flesh and bone to find the trembling, fragile thing beneath. More than one student shivered under that gaze, even knowing it wasn't real.
"Some of you will rise to lead nations. Others will die nameless on battlefields."
Another pause.
"Both outcomes are acceptable."
A ripple of unease passed through the plaza. Some students swallowed hard. Others clenched their fists.
"You will eat discipline. You will breathe pain. You will bleed for progress. If that doesn't sound appealing, you are welcome to leave now. Preferably on foot. And preferably not crying."
His gaze swept across the thousands gathered before him, unflinching and cold.
"Otherwise, welcome to your first step toward power."
He leaned forward slightly, and though it was only an illusion, the pressure in the air seemed to increase.
"Because that is all that matters in this world."
With that final statement, the glyph collapsed inward, folding into itself with a sound like tearing silk.
The projection faded.
The Vice Headmaster was gone.
For a heartbeat, the silence held.
And then the plaza erupted.
Cheers exploded from every direction, a roar of voices that shook the air and sent birds scattering from nearby rooftops.
Students pumped their fists, shouting promises to the sky.
Others embraced, tears streaming down their faces as they clung to friends, siblings, strangers.
One girl near the front fainted outright, overwhelmed by sheer emotion, and was quickly caught by those around her.
It was chaos.
It was exhilaration.
It was the sound of a thousand futures beginning all at once.
But not everyone was celebrating.
At the very back of the assembly, slouched slightly with half-lidded eyes and an expression that could generously be called disinterested, stood a lone figure in dark, common clothing.
The fabric was ill-fitting, clearly secondhand, and bore the faint stains of travel.
His black hair was slightly too long, falling over his eyes in a way that suggested he couldn't be bothered to fix it. His posture was poor—shoulders hunched, weight shifted to one leg as if standing upright required too much effort.
He scratched the back of his neck absently, his gaze drifting over the cheering crowd with the kind of detachment usually reserved for watching paint dry.
"So this is really happening, huh?" he muttered to himself, his voice flat and barely audible over the roar around him.
There was no response.
Just a faint, golden glow flickering at the edge of his vision.
He glanced at it.
A translucent screen hovered there, its text sharp and clinical, glowing softly against the chaos of the world.
[Daily Quest Pending…]
["Smile at three strangers."]
[Failure: Induced nausea for 6 hours.]
Kael stared at it for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
Deep. Tired. Resigned.
He wasn't excited.
He wasn't scared.
He was just… tired.
◆ ◆ ◆
Kael hadn't asked for a second life.
He hadn't even wanted to wake up for the first one.
He had died a brave and noble death.
...At least, that's what he'd tell people if anyone ever bothered to ask.
In truth, he'd gone to bed one night and simply… stopped.
No pain. No drama. No grand farewell.
Just a quiet, unremarkable end to a quiet, unremarkable existence.
He'd been thirty years old.
Wealthy enough to never worry about money.
Comfortable enough to never need to try.
And empty enough that none of it had ever mattered.
He'd spent his days doing nothing.
Reading webnovels.
Sleeping.
Eating when the staff reminded him.
Ignoring calls from his parents.
Ignoring life itself.
And when he died, he'd felt... nothing.
No regret. No fear. No longing.
Just a faint sense of relief that he wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow.
He'd been prepared to spend eternity in slumber.
But the universe—or something cruel pretending to be it—had other plans.
He remembered the fall.
If it could even be called that.
It wasn't like falling through air.
There was no wind.
No sensation of speed.
Just a quiet, stretching pressure, like something was pulling his soul thin, drawing it into something much larger and far more complicated than it had any right to be.
It felt like being unraveled.
Thread by thread.
Piece by piece.
And then, without ceremony or explanation, he woke up.
The first thing he noticed was the sky.
It was wrong.
Not bad. Just... wrong.
The color was slightly off—too saturated, too vivid, like someone had turned up the brightness on reality itself.
The clouds moved differently, slower, heavier, as if they were made of something denser than vapor.
He blinked.
Sat up slowly.
His body felt strange.
Lighter.
Smaller.
The ground beneath him was damp and smelled of earth and something faintly sweet—wildflowers, maybe, or herbs he didn't recognize. The air was cool against his skin, carrying with it the scent of rain that had already passed.
'This… doesn't look like a hospital.'
The thought drifted through his mind lazily, without urgency.
He looked down at his hands.
They were… small.
Smooth. Unlined. The hands of someone much younger than thirty.
'Huh.'
And then he saw it.
A screen.
Translucent. Glowing faintly. Floating directly in front of his face.
Text scrolled across it, clinical and precise.
[Archive Binding in Progress…]
[Analyzing Host…]
[Soul irregularity detected.]
[Initializing with adjusted protocol.]
Kael stared at it.
Then at his hands again.
Then back at the screen.
His expression didn't change.
'...Okay.'
[Primary Objective Assigned:]
["Gain Admission to Obsidian Fang Academy."]
[Penalty for Failure: Loss of Function – Left Arm.]
He looked at his left arm.
Then back at the screen.
Then at his arm again.
"...Okay."
The screen flickered.
[Daily Subtask: Smile at three strangers.]
[Penalty: Induced nausea for 6 hours.]
Kael blinked slowly.
His gaze drifted back to his hands.
'Why do they look so small though?'
A pause.
'...Am I a teen again?'
Another pause.
'Did I reincarnate?'
He sat there for a moment, processing.
Then he sighed.
"Of course I did."
But he remained calm even after realizing the absurdity of the situation, because honestly, what else was he supposed to do?
Panic? Scream? Question the nature of existence?
That sounded exhausting.
He stood up slowly, brushing dirt off his clothes—simple, worn fabric that didn't belong to him—and looked around.
Grass. Trees. A dirt road in the distance.
No signs. No people. No convenient "Welcome to Your New Life" pamphlet.
'Great.'
He started walking.
◆ ◆ ◆
"Alright everyone, time to get down. We're here."
Kael stirred as the wagon came to a lurching stop, wheels creaking against stone.
Around him, other kids his apparent age shuffled to their feet, grabbing bags and stretching sore legs with groans of relief. They'd been traveling for hours, cramped together in the back of a merchant's wagon that smelled faintly of hay and something vaguely medicinal.
He'd wandered for what felt like an eternity after waking up in the middle of nowhere—barefoot, disoriented, and thoroughly annoyed by the glowing screen that refused to leave him alone.
Eventually, he'd stumbled onto a road.
And eventually, a wagon had stopped.
"You lost, kid?" the driver had asked, eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and pity.
Kael had shrugged. "...Yeah. I guess."
"Heading for the Academy?"
'Academy?'
He'd glanced at the screen still hovering in his vision.
[Primary Objective: Gain Admission to Obsidian Fang Academy.]
'Right. That.'
"...Yeah. The academy."
The driver had nodded, unsurprised. "Hop in the back. We're heading there anyway."
Kael hadn't questioned it.
Partly because he had no other options.
Partly because he genuinely didn't care.
'Hope this isn't some kind of child trafficking thing,' he'd thought as he climbed into the back.
But honestly?
Even if it was, he wasn't sure he had the energy to object.
The back of the wagon had been packed with others around his age—silent, alert, eyes sharp with tension. They'd glanced at him when he climbed in, sizing him up, then quickly looked away.
Kael had found a spot near the edge, leaned against the wooden frame, and promptly fallen asleep.
Now, as he stepped down from the wagon, what greeted him left even him momentarily speechless.
They stood on one of the largest bridges he had ever seen.
It was massive.
So wide and long that he'd almost missed the fact that it was a bridge at all—a colossal stone artery stretching toward a towering wall that loomed in the distance like the edge of the world itself.
'What the actual fuck.'
The bridge was packed with people. Wagons. Carriages. Floating platforms carrying goods and passengers. The noise was overwhelming—voices shouting, wheels clattering, the hum of magic threading through it all like a constant, living thing.
And beyond the wall, barely visible through the massive gates, was the city.
The Free City.
Kael stared.
Not because it was beautiful.
But because it was absurd.
Towers that shouldn't be able to stand. Floating structures defying physics. Light bending in ways that made his eyes hurt.
'This is real?'
The thought settled slowly, heavy and undeniable.
'I'm actually in another world.'
He should probably feel something about that.
Fear. Excitement. Wonder.
But all he honestly felt was… tired.
The line moved surprisingly quickly.
Before long, he stood before a checkpoint manned by soldiers in armor so polished it hurt to look at.
Their weapons were massive—halberds taller than a man, inscribed with runes that glowed faintly in the midday sun.
One of them stepped forward, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to come from his chest rather than his throat.
"State your purpose for entering."
Kael blinked up at him.
"Uhm… academy, I guess?"
The guard stared at him.
For a long, uncomfortable second.
Then he pointed toward a shimmering wall of light near the checkpoint, its surface rippling like water.
Kael glanced at the others ahead of him.
They were walking through it without hesitation, their forms flickering as they passed through and vanished.
'Right. Magic checkpoint. Obviously.'
He followed.
The moment he stepped through the shimmering field, he felt it.
A tingle.
No—a pull.
Something latched onto him, invisible and invasive, running through his body like fingers searching for something hidden. It was a sensation of being stretched, examined, and then—just as suddenly—released.
He stumbled forward, blinking against sudden brightness.
And found himself standing in a massive marble plaza.
Thousands of faces surrounded him.
Young. Old. Nervous. Confident. Desperate. Arrogant.
A sea of noise and color and anxious energy pressed in from all sides.
He stood there, blinking slowly, as the sheer scale of it settled over him.
Overhead, the sky shimmered.
A glowing glyph spiraled into existence.
And a voice—calm, cold, absolute—echoed directly into his mind.
"Candidates of the 179th Generation…"
Kael's gaze drifted upward, half-lidded and unimpressed, as Vice Headmaster Revek's holographic form vanished above the crowd.
The screen flickered at the edge of his vision.
[Main Task: In Progress.]
[Subtask Status: 0/3 strangers smiled at.]
His fingers twitched.
Around him, the crowd erupted into cheers.
Kael just sighed.
"So this is really happening, huh?"
The words were barely audible over the roar.
There was no one to reply.
Just the soft, constant glow of the golden screen.
And the faint, creeping realization that his second life was going to be just as exhausting as the first.