Storms raged above the Northern Wall. Below, the world was drenched in blood and ruin. At the center of a mountain of corpses, the battle had finally ended.
"You monster... what kind of creature are you?" Duke Blackthorne sneered, his ornate sword dripping with Lucien's blood. Then his grin widened. "But at last, the Crimson Blade falls. Did you truly believe your pathetic sense of justice could stand against the tide of destiny?"
Destiny…
Lucien's vision blurred as the word echoed in his mind. Around him lay the bodies of his comrades- Elena, Gareth, Marcus. All dead. All because he had trusted the wrong person.
Truly, destiny changes for no one. He smiled bitterly. I was a fool. I only hastened the inevitable.
Forty-seven years of life… and I learned nothing.
His sword slipped from his weakening grip, clattering onto the blood-soaked stones. The storm above grew fiercer, howling as if to mourn him.
How fitting that my end comes beneath the same stormy skies as my birth....
"The Abyssal Lord rises tonight," Blackthorne declared, turning to the robed cultists behind him. "With the Crimson Blade's death, none remain who can stop us. The Dragon Wars were only the beginning. Now, true power...."
Lucien stopped listening. His life flashed before him, not just his triumphs, but his failures. Every mistake. Every friend he couldn't save. Every regret carved into his soul.
And then, through the blur, he saw her.
You'd hate me if you saw what I've become, he thought. You gave everything… and I still failed you.
Warm tears fell down his blood-streaked face. For the first time in decades, Lucien wept.
If only… if only I could do it all again.
The storm roared one last time. His heartbeat slowed. The light in his eyes dimmed—and the
Crimson Blade fell silent....
***
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.
Lucien gasped, his eyes snapping open. His heart hammered in his chest, a chest whole and unbroken. He sat up in disbelief, clutching the spot where Duke Blackthorne's sword had pierced him through.
"W–what…?" His voice faltered. It sounded wrong, higher, younger.
He stared at his trembling hands. Gone were the scars and calluses of a battle-hardened warrior.
No wounds. No blood. No pain.
This wasn't the Northern Wall.
Lucien blinked rapidly, taking in his surroundings. A wooden dormitory room. A small desk cluttered with books. A rack of dull training swords. Sunlight streamed through a narrow window, casting warm light on the polished floorboards.
This… this looks just like my dormitory at Stormheaven Academy...
Thirty-one years ago...
A wild, impossible thought struck him. Lucien staggered toward the mirror on the wall, heart pounding faster.
The reflection staring back at him stole his breath.
Sixteen. Smooth skin. Unlined face. Dark hair without a trace of grey.
The face of Lucien Stormblade, before the wars, before the title of Crimson Blade.
"This… this can't be real. This is..."
His mind reeled. Just moments ago, he had died, skewered through the heart. He could still taste iron on his tongue. Yet here he was, alive again.
Then came the pain.
"AAAHHHHHHHH!"
Lucien dropped to his knees as agony tore through his skull. His vision blurred. Blood trickled from his eyes.
And then...
Ancient. Vast. Each syllable like thunder shaking his soul.
"You have offered yourself as sacrifice to the gods…"
"The Sword God stirs from eternal slumber…"
"He sends his blessing to you…"
"O Child of fate… receive your divine blessing...."
"Sacrifice? Blessing? What are you talking abou—AAAAAAAAHHHH!"
Lucien screamed as a searing light erupted from within him. Something alien, immense, and divine flooded his being, like molten fire pouring into his soul.
[INITIALIZING: SWORD GOD SYSTEM…]
Golden text appeared in the air before him, visible yet translucent, like light made solid.
###
[SWORD GOD SYSTEM]
Name: Lucien Stormblade
Age: 16
Title: None
Level: 1
Rank: Novice Swordsman
Stats:
Strength: 12 , Agility: 14 , Endurance: 11 , Aura: 8 , Perception: 10
Skills:
[Basic Swordsmanship - Lv. 2], [Aura Sense - Lv. 1] (LOCKED)
Techniques: None Acquired
Titles Available: [Regressor] - Hidden
System Points: 0
###
Lucien staggered back, overwhelmed, and collapsed onto the bed. His mind was a storm of disbelief.
Somehow-impossibly-he had returned. Thirty-one years into the past. Back to the beginning of his training at Stormheaven Academy.
And more importantly… the glowing screen still hovered before him.
"System? What is this…?"
Lucien frowned, reaching toward the golden text. He'd never heard of anything like it. Not even the oldest mages of the Dragon Wars had spoken of such things.
"What were those lines? Offered to the gods? What the hell just happened? A blessing? Don't tell me this… this system is the blessing they meant."
He exhaled shakily, trying to piece together the impossible.
If that were true, then...
He now carried thirty-one years of battle experience. The instincts and muscle memory of a master swordsman. And on top of that… this mysterious divine system.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. A dangerous spark lit within them.
"If that's the case…"
A slow smile crept across his face.
"…there's nothing I can't do this time."
Knock Knock.
The sound froze him. Lucien's head snapped toward the door.
Someone was here.
Another knock echoed, sharper this time. Lucien instinctively reached for the dagger strapped to his leg...
Except there was none.
His hand grasped only air.
"For fuck's sake, Lucien! Are you still sleeping? We're going to be late for Master Vorthan's class!"
That voice.
Lucien's breath caught in his throat. His heart clenched.
Marcus.
He was alive.
The realization struck like lightning. This wasn't an illusion or dream, it was real. Marcus, who had died on the Northern Wall defending him, was alive again.
Not this time, Lucien thought, his expression hardening.
"I'm coming!" he called back, keeping his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.
He reached for the practice sword on the rack. It felt light — almost toy-like compared to the weight of the Crimson Blade he had once wielded. Still, it would do.
A grim smile curved his lips.
Master Vorthan's class…
He remembered this day all too well. In his past life, he had been a clumsy novice, fumbling through the most basic sword forms.
But that was the old Lucien.
"Duke Blackthorne. The Abyssal Cult. The Dragon Wars," he murmured, buckling the sword to his belt. "This time, I'll be ready for all of you. This time… I will not fail her...."
He opened the door.
Marcus stood there, grinning wide , the same easy, reckless smile Lucien hadn't seen in decades.
Lucien's chest tightened. But this time, he smiled back.
This time, I'll protect everyone.
###
[Ding!!]
[FIRST QUEST GENERATED]
###