The battlefield stretched endlessly under the dull gray sky.

Bodies, broken and battered, lay sprawled across the blood-soaked earth, lifeless.

Here and there, a few faint groans of the dying broke the thick, eerie silence.

It was a place of horror—once filled with the shouts of men, the clash of steel, and the screams of those fighting for their lives, now only echoed with the wind carrying the scent of death.

The stench of blood was everywhere, mixed with smoke and dirt, a constant reminder of the carnage.

Women wandered among the bodies, their cries piercing the stillness, searching for loved ones who would never return.

Their wails of despair and agony only made the scene more unbearable.

A broken sword lay near a severed arm; spears stuck out of the ground like forgotten grave markers.

The world had fallen into complete disarray.

Not far from the edge of the battlefield, hidden behind a broken wooden cart and a few upturned baskets, the faint cry of a baby echoed softly, drowned out by the louder sorrows of the grieving.

"Uwaaa....waa....aaa!"

The small child, covered in dust and blood, had been crying for days.

His tiny fists clutched at the ragged blanket covering his frail body, but no one came.

His wails, once strong, had grown weaker, softer.

The baby's breaths became shallow as exhaustion took over.

His once bright eyes were half-lidded now, too weak to keep open.

His tiny chest rose and fell erratically, and finally, the cries stopped.

He slumped back, his little body finally succumbing to the hunger, the pain, and the fear of being abandoned in a world so full of death.

As his eyes fluttered shut, there was a small, delicate locket resting against his chest, its surface worn but still gleaming in the dim light.

Suddenly, the locket glowed.

A faint light radiated from it, casting a soft golden hue over the child's still form.

The warmth of the glow seemed to seep into his skin, and just as quickly as his eyes had closed, they snapped open again—wide, confused, and… aware.

In that instant, something strange happened.

A surge of memories flooded his mind, overwhelming and vivid.

Memories that didn't belong to this child.

Flashes of bright lights, honking cars, towering buildings, and… an accident.

A car speeding towards him, the sharp screech of brakes, the sickening crunch of metal as his body was thrown aside like a rag doll.

'What… what is this?'

The thought raced through him as he tried to make sense of it all.

'I… I died. Didn't I?'

His mind swirled in confusion.

He had been an adult, living in a world that didn't look anything like this.

A world of steel, machines, and modernity.

Yet here he was, in the body of an infant, lying amidst the aftermath of a brutal battle.

Due to his memories returning, he recalled past moments of an infant—a faint glow of a motherly figure smiling at him, which made him sure that he was an infant who had just been born one or two months ago.

He blinked, trying to comprehend his new reality.

His tiny body felt foreign, weak, but his mind—his thoughts—were sharp, clear.

He could remember everything from his past life, every detail, every moment leading up to that car crash.

'How is this possible?' he wondered, panic creeping in.

'Wasn't I just…?'

His thoughts trailed off as his little hand instinctively reached for the locket.

It was still glowing faintly, its warmth now familiar.

'Isn't it mother's?' Looking towards the locket's pattern, he recalled not the memorials of this life, but previous ones where he had this same patterned locket but in white unlike this one which was black with him. In his previous life in his orphanage, it was a single evidence for his parents who never came to him ever, and he just died in an accident after going to be an adult.

But the confusing thing of all the matter was that the pendant was completely fitting in his hand. It was very, very small. It appeared as if even with the infant palm he was able to hold it clearly as if it were the size of a coin.

But even though its color was different,

Something about it seemed to have brought him here, pulled him into this life, into this tiny body that was barely clinging to life.

"B-brother!! Sob...sob...h-how could Emperor be this cruel?!...."

The sound of distant sobbing pulled him from his thoughts, the cries of women mourning their dead ringing in his ears.

He wasn't alone in this.

The battlefield was a sea of loss, yet here he was—alive.

Or at least, reborn.

His infant body shuddered, still too weak to move much, but his mind began racing again.

His head turned beside him, and even though he had memories of being just one or two months old, it was already clear that he was able to move his head, even being an infant, easily assuring him that he was in a healthy body.

As he did turn his head, through the gaps of two baskets filled with fruits, he saw hell.

It was a clear hell fallen on the earth. Spears, swords, everything was plundered, destroyed as if one could not imagine. The scene right now was just filled with the scent of death.

He didn't know how he had ended up here or what this meant, but one thing was clear: he was no longer the person he used to be.

And this world, with its bloodstained earth and broken bodies, was no longer the world he knew.

The cries around him continued as he stared into the sky, the locket's glow fading away, but the memories—his memories—remained.

He was a stranger in this tiny body, a mind far older than the child he had become.

A sense of dread, but also strange purpose, filled him as he lay there, blinking at the chaos around him.

The cries of the women, the groans of the wounded, all blended into one haunting melody as he realized:

He was no longer just the child lying on this battlefield.

He was something much more now.

He had been given a second chance, though for what reason, he didn't know.

But he was sure of one thing: his life wasn't over yet.

Not here.

Not now.

'I need… to survive,' he thought, teeth clenching as his tiny fists curled tightly.

He could feel the weight of the air around him, heavy and filled with the stench of blood, but he forced it into his lungs and wailed—wailed louder than he ever had before.

"Uwaaahhh....Uwaaahh!" His cry tore through the battlefield, louder than the mourning women nearby, louder than the groans of the dying.

It was as if he was screaming for the life he didn't want to lose again.

His infant voice cracked as he wailed, his small fists shaking in the air, trying to call out for help, any help.

'Help! Please… someone!' His mind screamed, but all that came out was a desperate cry, the sound of an infant on the edge of death.

His ears twitched.

Over the sounds of the cries and the groans, he heard footsteps approaching.

He turned his head, weakly lifting it to see a small girl, no older than four or five, standing there, staring at him.

Her face was pale, covered in bloodstains, her clothes tattered and soaked with dirt.

Her eyes were empty—cold, emotionless.

There was no light, no spark, just a hollow stare as she looked down at him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Fear surged through him.

Even though she was just a little girl, there was something about her… something terrifying.

His infant body flinched instinctively, but he knew this was his only chance.

'Please… don't go,' he thought, stretching his arms toward her, crying out again.

His voice was weak, his cries broken, but desperate.

"Waaaahhhh!" He wailed again, begging for help, for something, anything.

His little hands shook, reaching out to her as if to say, 'Help me!'

For a moment, the girl simply stood there, staring.

Her expression never changed, her eyes remaining hollow, distant.

And then, she turned to leave.

'No! Wait, please!' his mind screamed as panic set in.

His cries grew louder, more desperate.

But his voice—his body—betrayed him, and only those infantile cries escaped his lips.

He kept crying, hoping, begging, his mind racing.

'Hey! Help me! Please help me!'

But all he could do was sob as he watched her walk away, her figure growing smaller with each step.

His heart sank, despair washing over him as he realized she was leaving.

His last hope was slipping away.

But something inside him snapped—he refused to die like this.

'Fuck! No, no, not like this!'

He wouldn't let it end like this, not again.

In a previous life, although he died in an accident, he had first fought bravely against cancer, a disease that remained stubbornly against him, killing him from the inside.

Yet he fought it and ultimately won.

However, it seemed life was playing a cruel prank on him, as after he triumphed over that battle, it took him away with a simple accident, which felt like a joke.

So, he was born to survive, not to die just because death wanted him.

With a grunt of determination, he pushed his small body forward, his arms straining as he tried to lift himself.

His body shook from the effort, his muscles weak and unsteady.

He fell forward, landing hard on his stomach, but he didn't stop.

He tried again, gritting his gums as he struggled against the pain, crawling in the dirt.

'I...need to search someone else for help.'

But before he could move any further, he felt two small hands grab him from behind.

They were gentle, but firm, slowly lifting him up.

Surprised, he blinked, turning his head to see the same little girl.

Her face was still blank, her eyes dead.

But she was holding him, her tiny hands supporting his weak body.

Without a word, she began walking, carrying him through the battlefield, toward a patch of ground where two bodies lay, covered in white cloth drenched in blood.

The child's eyes widened in horror as they approached the bodies.

She placed him on the ground.

His tiny hands touched the bloodied earth beneath him, and for the first time, he realized how crimson his palms were—stained with the blood of the dead.

"Blergh!?" He gagged, a wave of nausea hitting him as his body convulsed.

Saliva sputtered from his tiny lips as the sight and smell overwhelmed him.

But the girl didn't flinch.

She just patted his back, her hand cold, almost mechanical, as if comforting him out of habit, not emotion.

As she placed him on the white cloth, the child stared at the two bodies.

They were motionless, their faces hidden beneath the cloth.

He didn't know who they were, but something about the way the girl looked at them sent a shiver down his spine.

She was… pulling the cloth.

The small girl, with her fragile body, was trying to drag the two dead bodies off the battlefield.

Her tiny hands gripped the fabric tightly as she tugged with all her strength.

The child watched in stunned silence.

'Are they…?' he wondered, turning to look at the girl.

A sudden realization hit him—those two people were her parents.

She was trying to pull them away, out of this sea of death.

But she wasn't crying.

There was no sadness in her eyes, no grief, no tears.

Only emptiness.

The child's body shook as he stared at the girl.

He couldn't understand how someone so small could carry so much sorrow without showing it.

Yet, here she was, dragging the bodies of her dead parents, completely alone, her face emotionless.

He wanted to speak, to tell her to stop, that it was pointless.

But his infant mouth couldn't form the words.

All he could do was watch, helplessly, as she pulled the cloth, her tiny frame struggling with the weight.

'Why… why is this happening?' he thought, his heart pounding in his chest.

'How… how can she…?'

But there were no answers.

Only the dead, the blood, and the empty gaze of a little girl who had seen too much.

The child clenched his fists again, feeling the bloodied earth beneath him.

He didn't know why he was here, why this had happened, but one thing was clear—he wasn't the only one fighting to survive.

The little girl's hollow eyes met his for a brief moment, and though no words were spoken, he understood.

In this world, they were all alone.

But as he sat there, a voice came from behind from one of the wounded, those words were enough to send chills through his whole being, as he heard.

"H..ow could you, God! Kalinga is destroyed! Kalinga is destroyed.....by that monster Ashoka!!!!"

Sklcht

"How dare you curse our heaven!"

badump

'K-kalinga?' Seated there with his small body, the sound and the surrounding screamed the identity of this place.

He just realized that the woman who yelled had been killed, given the sound of flesh being torn, but he didn't pay attention to it.

The only thing that filled his mind was that this place was Kalinga.

A place etched in the history of his past world as the turning point of Emperor Ashoka who massacred everyone.