Narrator POV:
In the quiet town of Glimmerwood, nestled far from the bustling cities, a storm of violence brewed in the dead of night. The Arctbender household, a once serene sanctuary, now stood on the brink of devastation. Outside, the world remained unaware, the villagers sleeping soundly, oblivious to the horror unfolding in the small cottage at the edge of the woods. But within those walls, a young boy's life was about to change forever.
Hiro POV:
I was only twelve when it happened. The night began like any other, peaceful and calm, but it shattered in an instant. The sound of breaking glass ripped through my dreams, yanking me out of sleep. My heart pounded in my chest as I strained to make sense of the chaos.
Then came the footsteps—heavy, purposeful, and growing closer. My body froze with fear as the realization dawned: we were under attack.
The door to my room exploded inward, and I was met with the terrifying sight of ten masked men. Their faces were obscured by dark cloth, but their intentions were unmistakable. They had come for something my father couldn't give.
From the other room, I heard my father's voice, filled with a tension I had never heard before. "Lilia, protect Hiro! I'll hold them off!" His usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by a desperate urgency that sent chills down my spine.
Before I could react, my mother appeared by my side. Her eyes, usually so warm, were wide with fear. But she didn't hesitate. She wrapped me in her arms, her voice trembling as she whispered, "Stay close to me, Hiro." A protective barrier formed around us, a faint glow that offered a small comfort amidst the terror.
We moved quickly, trying to escape through the back of the house, but a commotion in the other room brought us to a halt. I watched, helpless, as my father fought back, swinging his staff with a determination that came from the deepest place of his soul. But there were too many of them, and they were relentless.
Narrator POV:
Arin Arctbender was no ordinary man. His years as a mage had honed his skills, and tonight he fought not just with his staff but with the fury of a father protecting his son. But even the most skilled warrior can be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. As the attackers pressed in, Arin's defenses began to falter. Each strike he delivered was met with two in return, the menacing laughter of the masked men filling the small room.
Lilia, standing beside Hiro, summoned her magic. Healing spells flowed from her hands, mending her husband's wounds as fast as they were inflicted. Barriers of light shimmered around them, but the attackers were relentless. The room was filled with the sounds of battle—crashing furniture, grunts of effort, and the terrifying crack of magic against steel.
But then, with a sickening sound, the barrier protecting Hiro and his mother shattered. The light in the room flickered and died as the protective spell was overwhelmed.
Hiro POV:
I watched in horror as one of the men's blades cut through the air, finding its mark. Blood sprayed across the room, and my father fell to his knees, his staff clattering to the floor. My world seemed to stop as I saw him collapse, his lifeblood pooling around him.
"No!" The scream tore from my throat, but it felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else. My legs refused to move, frozen in place as I witnessed my worst nightmare unfold.
"Run, Hiro!" my mother cried, her voice thick with desperation as she pushed me away. But I couldn't move. I could only watch as her magic flared one last time—a desperate attempt to protect me—before she too was struck down.
The next thing I knew, rough hands grabbed me, pulling me from the wreckage of my home. I struggled, fought with everything I had, but a sharp pain tore through my shoulder, and I fell into darkness.
---
Narrator POV:
In the void of unconsciousness, Hiro was thrust into a nightmare of memories that weren't his own. Faces blurred in and out of focus—strangers, yet somehow familiar. The weight of countless lives taken, and the suffocating guilt that followed, bore down on him. It was a past life, another existence—one filled with blood, death, and regret. And amidst the chaos, a voice echoed, calm and steady, cutting through the storm of memories.
"You are the chosen one."
The words resonated deep within him, bringing a strange sense of clarity to the madness. A glowing screen materialized before him, floating in the darkness. It was an interface, like something from a game or an anime, but it felt real—too real.
---
Hiro POV:
I stared at the screen, confused and desperate. Words and symbols floated in front of me, each one pulsing with an energy I could feel deep in my bones.
"Create Talent for 1 credit."
Beneath the text, a list of abilities appeared, each one with a brief description.
*System: The talents are shown according to your desire and mana capacity.*
- Mana Forge: Allows you to forge weapons using your imagination, utilizing a small amount of mana.
- Shadow Step: Enables you to move short distances instantaneously by merging with shadows. Requires a moderate amount of mana.
- Soul Whisper: Gives you the ability to communicate with the lingering souls of the deceased, extracting information or learning hidden secrets. This ability consumes a significant amount of mana.
My mind raced. Was this real? Could it be? I had no time to doubt. If this was my only chance to survive, I had to take it. My gaze locked onto the options before me, and without hesitation, I made my choice.
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Narrator POV:
As Hiro made his selection, the screen flickered out of existence, and reality slowly returned. He awoke to an eerie silence. The once lively home was now a graveyard, the air thick with the scent of blood and ash. Pain flared in his shoulder as he pushed himself up, the memories of the attack crashing over him like a tidal wave.
He looked around, and what he saw nearly broke him. His parents lay lifeless on the floor, their bodies cold and still, surrounded by the remnants of the battle that had claimed their lives.
"No… no…" Hiro's voice was a whisper, trembling as he crawled toward them. He reached out, his hands shaking as he touched their cold skin. "Mother… Father… please… wake up… please…" Tears streamed down his face as he crumpled between them, the weight of grief crushing him. "Why… why did this happen? I should've… I should've done something…"
But as his grief threatened to consume him, a sharp pain shot through his head. Memories that weren't his own flooded his mind—memories of Yuta, the man he had been in another life. The horrors Yuta had faced, the battles he had fought, the lives he had taken—they all came rushing back, overwhelming him with fear, guilt, and confusion.
"I… I was… Yuta…" he murmured, disbelief thick in his voice. He was Hiro, but he was also Yuta, the man who had lived through a nightmare of war and death. And now, here he was, in a new world, facing a new nightmare.
---
Hiro POV:
Before I could fully grasp the enormity of what I was experiencing, the glowing screen reappeared, cutting through my despair.
"You have chosen your Talent: Mana Forge. Allows you to forge any weapon according to your concise imagination using a small amount of mana. The weapon only forges if you properly imagine the weapon in detail."
The words hung in the air, clear and concise, as if the system was waiting for me to understand. I stared at the message, the weight of its meaning slowly sinking in.
"What is this…?" My voice was hoarse, the sound barely above a whisper. I looked down at my trembling hands, a flicker of hope igniting within me. "Mana Forge… I can create a weapon? Does this mean… I can protect myself?"
Determination surged within me as I realized the significance of what I had unlocked. This wasn't a dream. This was real. And this power… this was my chance to survive.
Recalling the life I had lived as Yuta—a highly skilled soldier—I closed my eyes and focused. I pictured the weapon I knew best: the sniper rifle that had been an extension of my body in my previous life. The memories were vivid, every detail etched into my mind.
As I concentrated, mana swirled around me, coalescing in my hands. The energy responded to my will, shaping itself into the form of a sleek, ethereal rifle. Within moments, the rifle was fully formed, glowing with a soft, mystical light. It was perfect—made entirely of mana, yet as real and solid as the weapon I had once wielded.
I stared at the rifle in my hands, disbelief and awe mixing within me. "A sniper rifle… made of mana," I murmured. The weight of the weapon felt right, as if it had always been a part of me. "I can… I can fight back."
This rifle wasn't just a weapon; it was a symbol of my resolve. It was a reminder of who I had been and who I needed to become. This was my chance to protect myself, to survive in this cruel world, and to avenge my parents' deaths.