NOTE
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Guys, this is my first work, so please forgive any mistakes. Also, English is not my native language, so I used a translator to translate it into English, so if there are any mistakes, please excuse me.
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DING
"Hmmm… what's going on?"
The voice was hoarse, still weighed down by sleep.
LOADING, PLEASE WAIT, HOST.
The young man opened his eyes calmly. There was no panic in his gaze, only a trace of confusion paired with cold curiosity. His surroundings were strange, to say the least: rotted wooden walls, a rickety bed, and damp air brushing against his skin.
"This isn't my room…" he murmured, slowly rising.
A DING resonated in his mind.
DEUS VULT SYSTEM SUCCESSFULLY LINKED.
He arched an eyebrow, confused but composed. Seeing the translucent panel before him, along with the unfamiliar surroundings, he finally understood his situation.
"So… it happened? I died?" he thought, letting out a bitter smile.
He didn't need to pinch himself or fumble to check if it was a dream—the clarity of his mind and the weight of his body were proof enough.
With a sigh, he leaned against the wall. A wave of melancholy passed, but he quickly recalled conversations at the office. His coworker Joseph, obsessed with novels, constantly joked about reincarnating in another world with a system, living surrounded by beauties and power. The memory made his smile bitter. And now I'm in the very place he dreamed of so eagerly.
The air smelled of old wood and dampness. Moments later, his eyes glimmered with determination.
"If this is my path… I will accept it."
In his past life, he had been a miserable man, struggling every day just to survive. But now, a new opportunity presented itself—one that came with responsibility. Nothing was free.
The mechanical voice rang in his mind again, pulling him from his thoughts.
DING. YOU HAVE THREE BEGINNER GIFTS. DO YOU WISH TO OPEN THEM?
"Open them," he murmured coldly.
DING. CONGRATULATIONS, HOST. YOU HAVE RECEIVED:— Character Template: Griffith at 100%, before becoming Femto.— Hawk's Equipment.— 300 Brothers of the Teutonic Order.
His eyes narrowed at the name. Griffith. The White Hawk. A figure both loved and hated, a symbol of ambition, charisma, and destiny.
"Interesting choice… I hope my path won't end like his," he muttered.
The system's voice vibrated once more.
DO YOU WISH TO INTEGRATE THE TEMPLATE, HOST?
He didn't hesitate. "Integrate."
Pain struck like a storm of steel. Bones cracked like dry branches under a heavy boot, muscles tensed to their limits, and foreign memories flooded his mind.
He wanted to scream, but knew it would only make the pain worse. He gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his forehead, muttering between labored breaths as he focused on anything else to endure.
"If this is the price… then so be it."
Every second was torture, but a fire burned in his eyes—the fire of ambition and desire.
After several agonizing minutes, the pain finally subsided. His body still slick with sweat, he stumbled toward a small mirror. When he saw his reflection, his bright blue eyes widened.
"Is… this really me?" he murmured in disbelief.
His hair had grown to his waist, silver with bluish highlights. His features sharpened into a beauty almost unreal, an androgynous perfection bordering on divine. His once-dark eyes now gleamed a deep ocean-blue.
After examining himself a few more times, he straightened up and murmured in awe:
"So… I am Griffith now."
DING. TEMPLATE SUCCESSFULLY INTEGRATED. DO YOU WISH TO SUMMON THE THREE HUNDRED TEUTONIC BROTHERS?
The young man—now the very image of the White Hawk—waved away the panel.
"Not yet. Let's see what's around us first."
He explored the small, shabby room: a rickety bed, a worn blanket, and a jug of bland wine. The place barely qualified as livable.
Piecing things together, he realized: this was likely a medieval world, or perhaps even the distant past of his own.
After exploring, he approached the open window. A vast, barren yellow land stretched before him. The night sky displayed a massive white moon with stars scattered across the heavens.
A cold wind swept through, chilling his body. He hurriedly closed the window and collapsed onto the hard bed. Exhausted from the integration, his body yearned for rest, but his mind teemed with plans.
With nothing else to do, he closed his eyes and slept deeply.
The next morning, sunlight pierced the worn window.
"Hmmm…" Griffith shielded his eyes with his hand, blinking to adjust. Realizing it was real, he sat up.
He was about to put on his tattered clothes when he remembered the system's second gift.
"System, open the Hawk's Equipment package."
A blinding light filled the room. A curved saber, silver armor with a hawk-shaped helmet, everyday clothes, and a crimson egg-shaped pendant appeared.
Griffith's hands trembled as he held the pendant. A shiver ran down his spine.
The Behelit… I didn't reincarnate in Berserk, right? he murmured.
Cold sweat ran down his back.
DING. DO NOT FEAR, HOST. THIS ITEM IS PURELY SYMBOLIC. IT INCREASES YOUR LUCK BY 20%.
He exhaled, letting out a dry laugh of relief.
He donned the pendant and armor, stowed the rest in the system, and admired his reflection. The Hawk armor was stunning. He placed the curved saber at his waist, held the helmet in his left hand, and stepped outside.
The sun blinded him momentarily. A vast desert stretched before him, the dry air contrasting sharply with the damp smell of his shelter.
Behind him, the small hut seemed impossibly inadequate for survival in such a place. Is this a spawn zone, like in the survival games from my past life?
His eyes landed on a white horse waiting nearby, majestic in mail and silver adornments. The horse neighed as it saw him.
For some reason, he felt a strange familiarity. Gently, he stroked the horse's head. It rubbed against him, swishing its tail in contentment.
"Good boy. Since we're companions, I'll call you Bucephalus. How does that sound?"
The horse neighed in agreement. Griffith smiled slightly, took the reins, and mounted effortlessly. Though he had never ridden before, the Griffith template had granted him the skills naturally.
DING. THIS SYSTEM HAS A UNIQUE FUNCTION: TO HELP THE HOST ESTABLISH THE FIRST CATHOLIC KINGDOM IN THIS PAGAN WORLD.
Griffith frowned. A religious fanatic, then… useful.
TO EARN REWARDS: SPREAD FAITH, PURGE HERETICS, BURN WITCHES, AND LET THE LIGHT OF CHRIST THE KING SHINE INTO EVERY CORNER OF THIS WORLD.
A strange smile crossed his lips. His suspicion had been correct: this system was a true fanatic.
Raising his voice firmly: "Summon the three hundred Teutonic Brothers."
A radiant light filled the desert. Behind him, three hundred knights appeared, perfectly armored on white horses, black crosses emblazoned on their chests, lances in hand, swords at their sides.
The sight was awe-inspiring, worthy of an army sent from heaven itself.
One stepped forward, bowing.
"My lord, what are your orders?"
Griffith inhaled deeply, maintaining a calm but authoritative expression.
"For now, observe. The world will guide us to our first target."
The knights nodded.
Soon, an opportunity arose. Smoke and screams appeared in the distance. A caravan was surrounded by semi-naked barbarians with long braids adorned with bells. Their cruel laughter echoed as they aimed arrows at the terrified merchants. The leader's gaze lingered lasciviously on the women.
"Kill the men and children! The women are our prize!" he bellowed.
Chaos erupted. An arrow pierced a fleeing merchant's skull.
Among them, a young barbarian named Krego remained cold, broad-shouldered, and sharp-eyed.
"Remember to take a woman this time, Krego, or will you stay a virgin?" a companion teased.
Krego snorted. "These city girls are nothing but spoils."
Barbarian laughter was interrupted by a tremor—the ground vibrated beneath hooves.
"Attention!" Krego shouted, turning toward the hill.
A tide of white and steel descended. Horses neighed, lances gleamed, visors closed. The Teutonic knights had arrived.
The barbarian leader paled but shouted desperately: "Mount the horses and charge! Show the great stallion our courage!"
The White Hawk adjusted his helmet, raised his lance, and shouted:
"Soldiers! Purge the heretics! Let their souls be cleansed in the Father's embrace!"
A unified roar surged from the Teutonic ranks.
"Deus Vult!"
The charge began slowly, then picked up pace, finally reaching full speed. Dust rose, hooves thundered, steel clashed.
The barbarians charged, confident in their ferocity.
BAM!
The collision was brutal. Lances pierced flesh and bone. Horses trampled bodies. Shields deflected arrows while swords flashed.
Griffith led from the front, cutting down enemies with his curved saber. Every movement was precise and lethal. His eyes were cold, unshakable.
The Teutonic knights followed suit. Lances first decimated the barbarians, then swords completed the massacre. Those who tried to flee were hunted by the ghostly white riders.
Griffith raised his bloodied saber, impaling the leader's head on its tip. The barbarians felt as if heaven itself had fallen upon them.
"Today, we purge the land of infidels! None shall escape, in God's name!" he roared.
The knights' fervor reached its peak, echoing through the battlefield.
The massacre was complete within minutes. The hundred barbarians were reduced to corpses scattered across the sand. The caravan watched in awe as the men with crosses raised their lances to honor their lord.
Griffith exhaled deeply, eyes blazing with ambition.
A cold smile formed on his lips.
"All for the will of God."
The desert wind carried his words, a sign that this was no ordinary traveler. He was a conqueror in the making, destined to spread the Catholic faith across the world—whether for ambition, destiny, or something more.
The era of the White Hawk had begun.