Tales of the Sword God Aden Vale.
The book closed with a soft, dull thud, stirring a small cloud of dust from its worn pages.
For a moment, the room was silent.
A little boy slowly stood up from his seat. He was small for his age, yet his posture was straight, almost unnatural for a child. Short golden hair framed his face, and his blue eyes were clear and calm, far too steady to belong to someone so young. His hands rested on the edge of a rough wooden table, fingers brushing against the surface as if grounding himself.
His clothes were simple and clean, nothing extravagant, yet something about him felt refined. One could easily mistake him for the son of a noble rather than a child born into a humble household.
"Aden, where are you?" a voice called from outside the house.
The boy blinked, pulled from his thoughts.
"I'm coming, Dad! I'll be there in a minute," Aden replied.
He glanced down at the book one last time. The title stared back at him, familiar yet heavy. Slowly, he pushed it aside and turned toward the door.
Footsteps approached.
"Aden," a woman said as she walked toward him, "are you reading that book again?"
She stopped beside him, folding her arms with a tired sigh.
"You've read it like a hundred times already," she continued. "Come on, go out and help your father with the firewood."
She had golden hair that reached her neck and deep crimson eyes. Her expression was gentle, though there was a hint of concern beneath it.
"Yes, Mother," Aden replied.
He moved past her and stepped toward the door.
Outside, the air was cool.
"I'm here, Dad," Aden said, a small smile forming on his face.
"Were you reading that book again?" a man asked, resting an axe against his shoulder.
He had black hair and blue eyes, his face roughened by age and work. His body carried the solid build of someone who had lived through hardship.
"It's good that we have a genius in the family," the man said with a chuckle. "But son, I need you out here."
He reached out and handed Aden a coat.
"Put this on," he said. "Let's head down to the forest and get some firewood."
Aden nodded.
He slipped on the coat and followed the man without another word.
This all began five years ago.
I died on that battlefield.
There was no pain in that final moment—only exhaustion. I had given everything I had, down to my very life force. When my vision faded and darkness swallowed me, I thought that was the end.
Yet when I opened my eyes again, everything was wrong.
I was small.
Weak.
Trapped inside the body of a baby.
I had always believed reincarnation was nothing more than a myth, a comforting lie told to ease the fear of death. And yet, there I was, reborn as the son of two young people—Richard Reed and Elena Reed.
Naming me Aden.
At first, nothing made sense.
My thoughts were clear, but my body refused to obey. Sounds were distorted. Faces blurred together. I could feel warmth, touch, and movement, yet I couldn't understand any of it.
The first few months were hell.
I was forced to drink from the bosom of a woman. Even knowing she was my mother now, the humiliation burned deeply. I was still the Sword God, Aden Vale.
I tried to resist.
But my body betrayed me.
No matter how fiercely my mind screamed, my limbs wouldn't move the way I wanted. I couldn't even turn my head properly.
I was helpless, completely at the mercy of others.
After that, I slept often.
I was rarely taken outside. Days passed in darkness and silence, broken only by soft voices and gentle hands.
Time lost meaning.
After a few months, I began moving around the house more.
The Reed family lived simply. Their home was modest, lacking luxury, but it was warm. They spoke kindly to one another. They laughed. They cared.
Something I hadn't known in my previous life.
Richard was the most troublesome.
He was overly clingy. He would sit beside me for long stretches of time, watching me sleep as if afraid I might disappear.
It unsettled me, yet his eyes held nothing but concern.
My new father, Richard Reed, was a retired knight.
My mother, Elena, was a mage—or at least, that was my conclusion. She used small spells for household chores, subtle enough that no one spoke of them openly.
After two years, I began moving more freely around the house.
Pretending to be a normal child was exhausting. I had to stumble intentionally, babble meaningless sounds, and act fascinated by things far beneath my understanding.
Every movement had to be carefully controlled to avoid suspicion.
I listened.
I learned.
I pretended.
Another two years passed, and I began speaking more fluently.
"Our baby is a genius, darling," Elena would say proudly.
Eventually, Richard took me to town.
It was my first time seeing the world outside our home.
Everything was different.
The currency. The clothing. The buildings. Nothing matched my memories. Yet despite the unfamiliarity, the town felt peaceful—so peaceful it almost hurt.
As we passed through the market square, something stopped me.
A book.
Tales of the Sword God Aden Vale.
My breath caught.
It was a book about me.
I stared at it in silence before turning to Richard and begging him to buy it.
"You want a book?" he said, surprised. "You can't even read yet."
I acted cute.
I pulled at his sleeve. I pouted. I waited.
After a while, he sighed and bought it.
From that book, I learned the truth.
The great battle for humanity had happened one hundred thousand years ago.
I had reincarnated one hundred thousand years into the future.