Breaking through wasn't just about power—it was about survival. It wasn't enough to be strong; you had to be stronger than anything life threw at you. That was the mentality my father drilled into me since I could walk. The heir of the Long tribe, Zhu Long, couldn't afford to be average. No, I had to be exceptional.
Today, the weight of those expectations hung in the air alongside the thick tension of an approaching storm. I stood barefoot on the ritual grounds, my toes digging into the rough earth. The elders surrounded me, their chants low and rhythmic, a melody that vibrated in my chest. Lightning crackled in the distance, and the sky darkened as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
The process of breaking through to SSS- from SS+ wasn't just dangerous—it was life-threatening. My body would either adapt or collapse under the pressure. There was no middle ground.
I closed my eyes, letting the storm's energy fill the air around me. The first bolt of lightning struck mere meters away, its heat kissing my skin. My eyes shot open, blue lightning flickering within them like trapped storms. I welcomed the surge of power, letting it flow through me. My muscles burned, every fiber of my being screaming in protest as the transformation began.
I pushed mana into my core, filling it with the last amount needed to break through. As the blue liquid reached the brim inside my core, changes started to happen.
My skin darkened, as if bronzed by an unseen sun. Every muscle became more defined, more robust, as though my body were being reforged in the crucible of this storm. My hair grew longer and darker, a curtain of shadow falling around my shoulders. But the real changes weren't visible.
They were deeper.
Memories flooded in, unbidden and relentless. Images of a forge, a hammer, and glowing runes seared into metal. My hands worked with practiced precision, crafting weapons and tools that would shape nations. Then came the battlefield—monstrous zombies advancing like an unstoppable tide. The desperation in my comrades' faces as I made my final stand. The explosion that ended it all.
I staggered, clutching my chest as another wave of memories hit. A golden throne. An empire that stretched beyond the horizon. My wife's laughter, my children's tiny hands reaching for mine. The warmth of family, the security of home. Then the cold blade of a demon viscount, the blood, the screams, the grief that tore through me like a storm.
Tears spilled down my face before I even realized I was crying. They weren't just tears of sorrow—they were tears of recognition.
I'm back.
The words echoed in my mind, a solemn declaration. I wasn't just Zhu Long, heir of the Long tribe. I was Runesmith, the master craftsman. I was the Emperor of Edgegard, a ruler who had lost everything. And now, I was both—and neither.
I wiped my tears away, standing taller as the storm subsided. My mana reserves had doubled, no, tripled, and the transformation was complete. But the memories had changed me more than the power ever could.
The elders cheered, their voices echoing through the ritual grounds. I barely heard them. My mind was already racing, piecing together the fragments of my past lives and the implications for my future.
The first place I needed to go was the tribe's library. Knowledge was power, and I needed to know what kind of world I had returned to. As the clan heir, I had access to every part of it, a privilege I rarely used before. Today, it would be my greatest asset.
For three days, I buried myself in the library's dusty tomes and ancient scrolls. The air was thick with the smell of old parchment and ink, a scent that seemed to settle into my skin. I didn't sleep. I didn't need to. As a High-Human, my body could go for weeks without rest if necessary.
The information I uncovered was sobering.
The year was 1597 of the Stratis calendar—three centuries since my death. Three hundred years since I failed.
The records from the year 1297 were sparse, frustratingly so. Most of what remained were vague accounts of an infection that swept across the realm, a plague that turned its victims into mindless monsters. The historians called it the 2nd Void Era, a twenty-year gap in recorded history where chaos reigned. But there were no details, no explanations, no solutions. Just silence.
It made my blood run cold. The infection wasn't just a threat—it was an inevitability. If we didn't prepare, history would repeat itself.
The second revelation was even more unsettling. High-Humans, once the pinnacle of strength and potential, were a dying breed. The majority of the world's population had degraded into a lesser species simply called humans. They were weaker and inferior, their mana reserves smaller, their potential capped at SSS.
This could have been caused by the infection or simply due to natural deterioration.
Only a handful of noble bloodlines and isolated tribes like mine retained the purity of the High-Human lineage. Even then, it was a pale shadow of what it once was. Leaders like my father jealously guarded their bloodlines, refusing to marry humans to avoid further dilution. This had created a rigid hierarchy, with High-Humans at the top and humans treated as second-class citizens.
The discrimination was blatant, cruel even. But what disturbed me most was the arrogance. High-Humans believed themselves invincible, untouchable. They refused to see the cracks forming beneath their feet.
I slammed a book shut, the sound echoing through the empty library. My fists clenched as I processed what I'd learned. This world wasn't just broken—it was teetering on the edge of disaster.
And no one saw it coming.
The silence in the library was oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind through the open windows. I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes. Memories of my past lives swirled with the knowledge I'd just uncovered, forming a storm of determination in my mind.
I had twenty years. Twenty years to prepare, to grow stronger, to ensure that this time, we didn't fall.
But preparation wasn't enough. The world needed to change. The arrogance of the High-Humans, the ignorance of the humans—they were both weaknesses that couldn't be ignored.
It wouldn't be easy. Changing the hearts and minds of a fractured world never was. But I'd faced impossible odds before, and I'd do it again.
I stood, the chair scraping against the stone floor. The weight of my memories, my responsibilities, pressed down on me, but I didn't falter. I'd been given a second chance, and I wouldn't waste it.
The storm outside had passed, leaving the air crisp and clear. As I stepped out of the library, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson. A new day was beginning, and with it, a new chapter of my life.
I wasn't just Zhu Long anymore. I was more than the heir of the Long tribe. I was the Runesmith, the Emperor, the man who had failed before.
And this time, I wouldn't fail.