Chapter 1: The Dice of Rebirth
The world had long abandoned the idea of normality.
Long ago, when the sky split open and the stars fell like shattered glass, humanity awakened to powers they called CRESTS — divine seals branded upon flesh, the proof of one's connection to magic, spirits, or forces beyond reason.
Some were blessed with Crests of Fire or Wind — elemental forces that could tear through steel.
Others wielded rare Crests of Time, Shadow, or even the divine — the kind that could rewrite the laws of nature itself.
But power always came with a price.
The strong ruled. The weak perished. The world had turned into a battleground, and humans, desperate to survive, became monsters in their own right.
Among them was Park Jimsoo — once a Korean military specialist, a soldier who had seen too many deaths and buried too many comrades to still believe in gods or miracles.
Now, in the wasteland of a ruined battlefield, he lay dying.
---
The smell of blood was thick.
Smoke curled through the broken horizon. The wind carried the distant screams of men and beasts alike.
Jimsoo's body was torn apart — his armor shattered, his left arm gone, his right hand clutching a rusted combat knife slick with blood. The crimson moon above him looked like an open wound.
He exhaled sharply, coughing up blood that painted the ground beneath him.
"So this… is how it ends," he whispered, voice hoarse, more to himself than anyone else.
All around him, corpses of both humans and demons lay scattered. His platoon was gone — wiped out by a single creature with a high-tier Crest.
He had fought bravely. But bravery meant little when power dictated life and death.
A faint smile touched his cracked lips.
"I guess… dying on the battlefield suits me better than in a hospital bed."
His eyes fluttered. The world blurred at the edges. He could feel consciousness slipping away, darkness closing in.
And then—
A light.
So bright that it burned through his eyelids.
His first thought was that he was dying — that this was the tunnel everyone spoke about. Heaven, maybe. Or hell. Who could tell the difference anymore?
But then, a voice echoed in his mind.
Not from the outside — but from within.
> "Do you wish for a second life?"
His eyes snapped open.
"What…?" he croaked, his throat dry and bloodied.
The voice came again, clearer this time — calm, deep, almost mechanical, yet tinged with a strange warmth.
> "Do you wish… for a second life, Park Jimsoo?"
His heart began to race.
"What kind of trick is this? Am I hallucinating?"
No answer. Only silence. Then—
> "Do you wish to live again? Roll the dice."
Before him, in midair, something appeared.
A dice. Perfectly carved. Transparent, yet shimmering with faint white light. It floated just above his chest, spinning lazily as though waiting for his touch.
Jimsoo stared at it, confusion warring with fear.
"This… this has to be some kind of demon's illusion," he muttered. "I'm already dead."
But the voice returned, gentle yet commanding.
> "Roll the dice. And decide your fate."
For a moment, he hesitated. His training screamed not to trust unknown entities. His instincts warned him this could be a trap.
And yet, something deep inside whispered otherwise — the faint ember of a soldier's will to survive.
If there was even a chance — one in a billion — that he could live again… then he would take it.
His trembling fingers reached up. The dice was cold to the touch, almost ethereal. He closed his fist around it and took a ragged breath.
"Alright then," he murmured. "If this is fate, let's see how lucky I am."
He threw it.
The dice clattered once against the ground — ting, ting, ting — before rolling to a stop.
The number staring back at him was 6.
The highest roll.
A burst of white light engulfed him — blinding, searing, divine. The battlefield vanished in an instant. The screams faded. The pain disappeared.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence.
Then, darkness.
---
When Park Jimsoo opened his eyes again, he was not lying on a battlefield.
He was lying in a small, dimly lit room — one that smelled faintly of oil and gunpowder. The familiar hum of old electric lights buzzed above him.
He blinked in confusion.
He knew this place.
"This is…" His words trailed off as realization struck him like lightning.
It was the barracks. His old military dormitory. The one that had been destroyed years ago during the Demon Incursion War.
He sat up, breathing heavily. His body — unscarred. His arm — intact. His uniform — crisp and new.
His heart thundered in his chest.
"No way… this can't be real."
He scrambled to the small mirror nailed to the wall. The reflection staring back at him was younger — easily ten years younger. His face, once hardened by battle and age, now smooth and sharp with youth.
"...I went back in time."
The realization made his knees weak. He sank into the chair, gripping his head.
"I actually… came back."
But before he could process it further, a sharp pain flared in his right hand. He winced and looked down — only to see a faint mark glowing on the back of his palm.
A Crest.
Circular, with intricate runes weaving within it like a small galaxy. But unlike others he had seen — blazing with colors of fire or lightning — his glowed faintly, like a dying ember.
He could barely feel any power emanating from it.
"What kind of Crest is this…?" he muttered. "Don't tell me I got the weakest one."
He tried focusing on it — calling out the system interface most Crest bearers used to identify their power.
A faint light flickered in front of him.
> [CREST OF FATE]
Grade: E (Weakest Tier)
Ability: "Roll of Destiny" — Grants a single random outcome once per day.
Effect: Results are determined by chance. Range of outcome: catastrophic failure to miraculous success.
Jimsoo's jaw tightened.
"A dice… of destiny?"
So the dice wasn't a dream. The very power that gave him this second life… was now bound to him as a Crest.
But it was weak.
Terribly weak.
A Crest that relied purely on luck — the most unreliable force of all.
He clenched his fist.
"Figures. Even when I get another chance, the world screws me over again."
For a moment, bitterness welled up inside him. But it didn't last long. Because under that frustration, something else stirred — determination.
He looked down at his trembling hands, then at the faintly glowing Crest.
"No matter how weak it is… it's still power. And this time, I know what's coming."
He rose to his feet, eyes burning with purpose.
"In the last life, I was powerless to protect anyone. This time… I'll use whatever this is — even if it's just luck — to change everything."
Outside, the morning sun began to rise, painting the barracks in gold.
The faint hum of soldiers preparing for duty echoed through the halls.
And in that quiet moment, Park Jimsoo, reborn by the roll of a dice, clenched his fist and whispered to himself:
> "The game isn't over yet."