Chapter 3: The Echo of a Decade
The trek back to the camp felt longer than the distance suggested. Every footfall in the thick, grasping mud was a struggle, a physical reminder of the heavy, mortal limitations of Quinn's current vessel. Behind them, the darkness of the burial mounds seemed to stretch out like an abyss, watching them with a thousand sightless eyes.
The subordinate soldier the one who had witnessed the decapitation had finally stopped shaking, though his breathing remained jagged. He kept glancing sideways at Quinn, his eyes darting from Quinn's stoic face to the notched sword he still carried. The silence was heavy, filled only by the rhythmic drumming of the rain and the distant, haunting howl of the wind.
Finally, the soldier cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly. "You're... you're called Quinn, right?"
"Yes," Quinn replied. His voice was short, clipped, and possessed an unintentional weight that made the soldier flinch.
"And you're definitely from the Vanait Camp?"
"Yes."
The soldier wiped a mixture of sweat and rainwater from his brow, his curiosity beginning to outweigh his terror. "Were you among the evacuation team? The ones sent to hold the pass while the civilians moved toward the inner wall?"
Quinn paused. The word *evacuation* triggered a dull ache in his temples, a phantom memory of fire and screaming that didn't quite belong to the "Immortal" he had been, but rather to the "Quinn" he once was. He let the silence hang for a moment, absorbing the context of the question.
"Yes," Quinn said again, his voice lower this time. "Yes, I was."
The soldier let out a long, shaky breath. "Then you're a lucky bastard. We thought that entire unit was wiped out when the shadow-beasts breached the vanguard. To survive that... and then to be buried in the pit..." He trailed off, shuddering. "Where's your Identity Card? I need to be sure before we hit the main gate. The sentries are twitchy tonight."
Quinn reached to his waist, unhooking the small, rectangular object he had inspected earlier. He looked at it one more time under the dim, flickering light of the spearman's lantern. The brass was cold, the edges sharp. He handed it over.
The young soldier took the badge with trembling fingers, holding it close to the lantern's flame. He squinted at the engravings, his lips moving as he read the script.
Sure enough, the words were etched deep into the metal: Vanait Camp – Evacuation Team – Quinn.
But as the soldier held it, something strange happened. A faint, ethereal glow began to emanate from the core of the badge a soft, pulsing warmth that seemed to push back the oppressive gloom of the night. It wasn't the harsh, jagged light of demonic corruption; it was a pure, steady hum of vitality.
"The seal... it's active," the soldier whispered, his eyes widening. "It's full of life-force."
In this era, Identity Cards were more than just wood and metal; they were soul-linked conduits. If the owner died, the light vanished. The fact that this badge glowed so vibrantly was irrefutable proof.
"The card is real," the soldier sighed, his entire posture slumping as the tension finally bled out of him. The suspicion that had sharpened his features faded, replaced by the hollow, bone-deep exhaustion of a man who had seen too much death. "Finally... a living person. A miracle in this godforsaken rain."
He handed the badge back to Quinn, his movements hurried now. "Hurry, we can't stay out here for too long. If the smell of that... thing back there catches the wind, the scavengers will be on us in minutes. Walk faster!"
Quinn took the badge back, his thumb brushing over the glowing runes. "I understand," he nodded simply. "Lead the way."
The soldier turned and began to jog toward the camp's perimeter, his boots splashing loudly. The third soldier the veteran spearman remained at the rear, his head on a swivel, his spear leveled at the darkness. He didn't speak, but his eyes remained fixed on Quinn, wary and calculating.
Quinn walked, but his mind was no longer on the mud or the cold. He held the Identity Card in his palm, feeling its unnatural heft.
It was made of a heavy, weather-worn bronze, cast in a crude, functional style. The lettering was deep and unpolished, a far cry from the elegant, enchanted artifacts he had carried as the Great Immortal. He traced the ridges of the metal with his fingernail, a sense of vertigo washing over him.
"This weight... this texture..."
It was exactly the same. He remembered this specific badge. He remembered the weight of it against his hip ten years before the world fell into the final phase of destruction.
"Reincarnation..."
The word echoed in his mind like a bell tolling in an empty cathedral. Quinn felt a flash of white-hot light behind his eyes, followed by a cold, sickening wave of realization. This wasn't just a new life in a new world. This was a return.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes snapping toward the soldier in front of him.
He looked at the man's armor the ancient, boiled leather plates, the rusted iron rivets, the outdated crest of a kingdom that should have been dust centuries ago. It wasn't just old; it was pre-cataclysmic.
The answer that was forming in Quinn's mind was so impossible, so reality-shattering, that he couldn't keep the question from bursting out.
"Brother!" Quinn called out, his voice cutting through the wind like a blade. "Stop! What year is it? Tell me the date!"
The soldier stopped and turned around, looking at Quinn with a mixture of confusion and pity. "What? Did you hit your head in the pit? It's the New Dawn Era, Year 681. Autumn. Why are you asking that now?"
Quinn stood frozen.
Year 681.
The New Dawn Era. This was the golden age that preceded the Great Collapse. He hadn't just been reincarnated; he had been cast back through the river of time. He was back at the beginning, ten years before the last bastion of humanity fell, ten years before he became the Last Immortal.
The shock was a physical blow. He felt the world tilt on its axis.
I am back. Before the demons broke the world. Before the gods turned their backs. I have ten years...
But he didn't have time to process the magnitude of the revelation. As if his realization had triggered a dormant mechanism, the world around him began to distort.
The falling rain seemed to slow in mid-air, hanging like diamonds in the dark. The grey, muddy landscape was suddenly overwritten by a torrential waterfall of data strings of glowing, sapphire-colored symbols and complex geometric equations that rushed toward his vision.
The "nothingness" he had felt earlier vanished, replaced by a blinding flash of blue light that surged like a tidal wave across his retinas. It was an interface he knew better than his own heartbeat, yet it felt different sharper, more ancient, and infinitely more powerful.
Oom—
The sound wasn't in his ears; it was in his soul. A low-frequency vibration that stabilized the chaotic energy in his blood.
Then, a voice came. It was cold, mechanical, and resonated with the authority of the stars themselves.
[System Initialization: 100% Complete.]
[Host Identity Confirmed: Quinncey.]
[Temporal Calibration Synchronized.]
[Current Status: The Last Saint has returned to the Beginning.]