Shit!!!!! So this is how I die, huh?
> Death is quiet... when you're used to delivering it.
Arata Shoko's eyes were already half-lidded when the final blade pierced his back.
It wasn't the pain that made his body shudder—it was the silence. A silence so complete, it drowned the screams of the battlefield around him. The roaring fires, the collapsing fortress walls, the blood-curdling cries of his dying comrades… all faded into something muffled. Distant. Like a memory unraveling in reverse.
His gloved hand twitched, slick with blood—his own.
> So this is how it ends.
He had been the best.
A ghost in the dark. A name whispered by kings before they slept, fearing they'd wake to a dagger in their chest. He'd killed archmages, beast generals, even a dragonkin prince once. And yet—
> I wasn't strong enough.
Not against them. Not against the united forces of all seven clans. Mages, Summoners, Elementals… even the Healers came to the slaughter. Arata had watched his brothers and sisters fall one by one, like shadows torn from the walls.
Their legacy—erased.
Their name—forbidden.
Their techniques—banned.
He had no last words. No grand declaration. He simply fell forward, face-first into blood-soaked earth.
And then...
He opened his eyes again.
---
The first thing he noticed was the light—soft, warm, and far too gentle. Like the sun filtering through linen curtains. The second thing he noticed was that he couldn't feel his weapons. No weight on his hips. No hidden blades in his sleeves. No shadow tethered to his breath.
> …I'm alive?
No. Reborn.
He sat up with a gasp, muscles weak, breath shaky. His body was smaller. Younger. His hands—small and uncalloused. His hair? Short and white. Not white from age, but from nature. And across the room, three children stared at him with wide, blinking eyes.
"Umm... are you okay?" one of them asked, a boy with goat horns and a Summoner crest sewn into his tunic.
Arata didn't answer. He scanned the room. Wooden beds. White curtains. A healing crystal humming softly in the wall.
> A Healer Ward?
A woman stepped in next. Middle-aged. Soft smile. Pale green robes—the unmistakable attire of a Healer Clan caretaker.
"There, there," she said gently, rushing to his side. "You gave us quite the scare. Mana shock during your first aura awakening, poor dear."
She placed a hand on his chest. Warmth bloomed through him. Magic—not offensive, not defensive. Supportive.
A healer's touch.
Arata clenched his teeth.
> No. No. No.
Don't tell me…
He looked toward the mirror in the corner. What stared back was not Arata Shoko—the elite killer feared across continents—but a pale boy with calm silver eyes and no hint of malice. Just... stillness.
A name echoed in his mind, foreign yet familiar.
> "Arata Tadano."
That's what the woman called him. That's what the children whispered. That's what his soul answered to now.
Arata Shoko was dead.
Only Arata Tadano remained.
---
Three Years Later
He was eleven now.
Or maybe twelve. The records in the orphanage were inconsistent. He didn't care. Age was a tool, like any weapon—useful in the right context, meaningless otherwise.
He'd mastered most of the healer basics faster than the instructors could believe. Binding wounds? Child's play. Mana threading? Second nature. Poison purging? Cute.
What he didn't show... were the skills he remembered.
The pressure points. The kill zones. The way a heartbeat changes when someone lies. The art of invisibility—not just hiding, but erasing presence completely.
He never used those abilities openly.
Because if anyone found out the last assassin was still alive… he'd die before his second life could even begin.
---
"Arata! You spacing out again?"
The voice belonged to Kaito Ren, the loudest boy in the orphanage. His hair was messy, his shirt untucked, and he had a mana core that barely flickered. A total disaster in training, but an expert in being everywhere at once.
Kaito dropped beside him with a dramatic sigh. "They're saying the Academy scouts are visiting next week. Heirloom Crest. You think they'll pick anyone from here?"
Arata said nothing.
Kaito elbowed him. "I'm betting you'll get in. They're looking for rare cases. And you? You're, like, the 'Mystery Healer Guy.' You don't talk, you don't fight, and yet people say you fixed that noble kid's broken spine last month."
> That kid had internal bleeding. I just redirected it. He'll never walk again in five years. But they'll thank me until he collapses.
"I'm not interested," Arata muttered.
Kaito shrugged. "Then I'll go. Bet they'll let me summon a thunder wolf or something badass like that."
> You'll die in the entrance test if you're not careful.
But he didn't say that.
He just looked toward the distance—toward the glowing capital tower of Heirloom Crest Academy.
---
> If I'm going to kill the clans that betrayed me... I have to go back to the heart of their power.
> Even if it means pretending to heal the people I should destroy.
---
[End of Chapter 1]