Yooha Jin woke up screaming.
The sound tore out of his throat before he understood what it was. His lungs burned, too small to hold air properly, and his arms flailed uselessly as the world drowned in light and noise.
Strong hands caught him.
"It's alright," a voice said, soft and panicked at once. "He's alright—he's just born."
Born.
The word struck deeper than any blade.
Jin's vision blurred, not from tears, but from the sheer wrongness of it all. The ceiling above him was too close. The air smelled clean, metallic, familiar in a way that hurt. He felt warmth against his skin, fabric, heartbeat.
A woman's heartbeat.
Mother.
The realization settled slowly, carefully, like something fragile being placed down.
I died.
The memory was intact. Pain. Cold. The lich's claw tearing through his chest. Darkness swallowing him whole.
Yet here he was.
Small. Helpless. Alive.
[Martial God Ascension System: Active.]
The message appeared without sound, without force. It simply was, as natural as thought.
Jin's panic eased.
Good. You came with me.
He focused inward—not with desperation, but with the same disciplined calm that had defined his previous life.
One second passed.
[Stat Points +1]
Another.
[Stat Points +1]
There was no delay. No condition.
Time flowed.
And the system answered.
Hours passed in fragments—warmth, darkness, gentle motion. Jin slept, woke, fed, cried. Through it all, the system never stopped.
By the time the room grew quiet and the lights dimmed, Jin tested his awareness again.
[Available Stat Points: 7,214]
His infant heart stuttered.
That number had come from existing.
No training. No danger. No effort.
Just time.
A slow, careful breath left his tiny chest.
So this is my path.
He remembered the mistake of his past life—pushing too fast, chasing impossible standards, burning himself against a ceiling he could not see.
Not this time.
He waited.
Days passed. Weeks.
The world resolved itself into patterns. Voices. The hum of the city's barrier engines. The faint pressure of ambient mana flowing through reinforced walls.
The Grimoire stirred.
[Grimoire Magic: Recording Ambient Mana Patterns.]
Jin didn't panic. He observed.
Mana imprinted itself into the grimoire like ink soaking into paper—slow, thorough, permanent. Even passive exposure was enough.
So I don't need to cast, he realized. I just need to exist.
One night, curiosity overtook caution.
He tried allocating a fraction of a point into Vitality.
Pain flared—sharp, immediate, but controlled.
[Warning: Body Adaptation Required.]
Jin stopped instantly.
The pain faded.
His lips twitched.
Good. You're honest.
Limits weren't a curse.
They were instructions.
By the time Jin could lift his head on his own, his unspent stat points had already reached five figures.
And he had not rushed a single one.