In a world woven with magic, where imagination could shape reality, any dream might come true—if you had the resources, talent, power, influence, and…well, the guts to back it up. But let's not get carried away, juniors! Not everything is possible.
In the rugged, mist-laden region of Heis, a small, quiet town clung to life among desolate mountains and thick forests. It was an isolated place, a bit behind the times and far from the grand advancements in magic or technology. A few old guilds were still around, but they were, let's just say, nothing to write home about.
Near the banks of a winding river, a sixteen-year-old boy was busy at work. He crouched over a patch of vibrant green plants, carefully harvesting herbs with practiced hands. His appearance was unremarkable, the sort you wouldn't notice twice in a crowd. But today, his eyes sparkled with excitement as he counted his haul.
"Wow, twelve whole roots of Healing Essence Blade Grass! Father's going to flip!"
Just as he chuckled to himself, an intense pressure suddenly gripped his mind, freezing him in place. A powerful, unseen force bore down on his consciousness, too vast and ancient to resist. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. In an instant, his vision dimmed, and he could feel his body slipping away.
[Nyxor Zaroth! Your reincarnation into the Magic Isekai World has been successful!]
[You will now experience a brief coma and a body reconstruction phase.]
And just like that, he was gone. Nyxor's body lay still by the riverbank, his soul drifting into unconsciousness as the last remnants of the original boy's life faded, leaving only an empty shell.
[5 Days Later]
Time had blurred, slipping past in a haze until Nyxor finally regained consciousness. To him, it felt like mere seconds had passed.
Ugh… my head, he groaned inwardly, his skull throbbing as memories flooded in. Fragments of a life not his own flashed in his mind—snippets of names, places, and faces. Conveniently enough, the previous owner of this body shared his first name: Nyxor. Only here, it seemed Nyxor was a family surname. This new life, this new identity, came with the name Nyxor Zaroth.
A voice, shaky and filled with relief, broke the silence. "Zaroth! Oh, heavens, you're awake!"
Nyxor turned to see an older man—his father, Nyxor Starl—leaning over him. His father's hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, gripped Nyxor's shoulders tightly, as if afraid he'd disappear again. His eyes, rimmed with red, glistened with unshed tears.
To his left, a young woman sat beside him, clutching his hand. She looked around eighteen, with sharp red eyes and a cascade of purple-toned hair that fell over her shoulders. She wore simple medieval garments that seemed both practical and well-cared-for. Her expression softened with relief as she saw him stirring.
"Brother, you're really awake!" she cried, voice quivering between joy and laughter. "I told you to be careful about the smell of those herbs. But you never listen!"
Nyxor forced a smile, though inwardly he was more interested in this "other" life than actually connecting with his new family. So these are the people I'm stuck with in this world? he thought with a detached curiosity, noting how they actually seemed to care for him. It was… almost surprising.
He coughed lightly, trying to match the tone of the body's previous owner. "Sorry, Father, Lilith…" He trailed off, still adjusting to these strange faces and this new life.
Before he could continue, his father's expression shifted. "What in the gods' name happened to you?" Starl's grip tightened, his gaze sharp as he searched Nyxor's face, his eyes widening with alarm.
"Wh—what?" Nyxor stammered, his own eyes darting around. What's he so shocked about? His sister, Nyxor Lilith, handed him a small bronze mirror with a puzzled look, as though she, too, noticed something unusual.
Nyxor took the mirror and stared at his reflection. His heart skipped a beat. Gone was the ordinary, unremarkable face he vaguely remembered. Staring back at him was a completely transformed image: shoulder-length white hair, streaked with silver, framed a face with flawless, porcelain skin. His eyes had a pale, almost spectral glow, and his entire appearance radiated an eerie, ethereal beauty. He looked like the protagonist of every overpowered fantasy story he'd ever read. It was absurd.
His sister gave him a small smile, seeming both amused and exasperated. "You look… different, Zaroth. But also… wow. You're even more handsome than usual!"
Nyxor rolled his eyes, half-annoyed, half-entertained by the over-the-top transformation. "You're telling me I just… woke up looking like this?"
His father shook his head in disbelief. "Boy, you look like the gods decided to sculpt you themselves. People are going to start talking!"
Nyxor snorted, feeling both pleased and irritated. Of course, in a world like this, I'd get the overpowered "special" appearance, he thought wryly. He decided then and there to play along, maybe even enjoy the perks of this transformation—who wouldn't?
"Well, guess I'll just have to get used to it," Nyxor muttered with a smirk, leaning back against the pillows. Inwardly, he was already planning his next steps in this bizarre new life, one that was shaping up to be more interesting than he'd expected.
[5 Hours Later]
Zaroth stepped out of the small, steam-filled bathroom, feeling the lingering warmth of the bath clinging to his skin. He grabbed a rough, worn towel and rubbed it briskly over his hair and shoulders, shaking off the last droplets of water. His gaze drifted to the simple, black outfit waiting on a nearby stool—a tunic and pants with a wide collar. Plain, sturdy, and certainly not his usual style, but they fit well enough in this new world.
As he dressed, his attention kept drifting to the faintly glowing system panel that had appeared soon after he'd first woken up. Hovering in mid-air, it displayed information about this world—its ranking system, magic classifications, and a brief profile of his new identity. He scrolled through it with the casual familiarity of someone who'd spent hours reading manhua, manhwa, manga, and anime, checking off all the fantasy tropes he recognized. A system, a backwater starting point… yeah, this world's got all the classics, he thought with a dry smirk.
Though I'd have preferred the full Xianxia reincarnation package, he mused wryly, adjusting his sleeves. But he wasn't the type to get overly worked up. He could take things as they came, a trait that set him apart from typical "hot-blooded" protagonists. Still, he knew he'd have to keep the system panel to himself. There was no telling how his family would react if they found out he wasn't exactly the son and brother they thought he was.
Would they believe me if I told them? he wondered, glancing at his reflection in the small, cracked mirror by the door. I doubt it. The thought of trying to explain a reincarnation system to his father made him chuckle. They'd probably think he was mad.
Just then, a voice called out from the dining room, breaking him from his thoughts. "Zaroth! Dinner's ready!" His sister's tone was warm, almost too eager. He remembered glimpsing her when he'd first woken up—Nyxor Lilith, eighteen, with sharp red eyes, a striking figure, and long, violet-tinted hair. Her medieval dress highlighted her slim waist and full, graceful figure, and he could see why she'd be the town's talk.
As he made his way down the dim, creaking wooden hallway, he noted the rustic simplicity of the house. Shadows from the low evening light stretched across the walls, casting a nostalgic glow over the worn floorboards.
The dining room was modest, but the table was laid out with an assortment of simple dishes: roasted vegetables, fresh bread, bowls of stew, and sliced meat, all still steaming. His father, Nyxor Starl, a man well into his seventies with silver-streaked hair and a solid build softened by age, was already seated, watching Zaroth with an unreadable expression.
"Ah, Zaroth! Finally, you're here," his father said, motioning to an empty chair beside him. "Come, sit."
Zaroth could feel the warmth in his father's voice, though he hardly knew how to respond to it. What would he say if he knew? Zaroth thought, settling into his seat. That I'm not really his son? That some random guy got dropped into his son's body by some cosmic whim? Yeah, that'd go over well.
Lilith looked over at him with a playful smile, her gaze roaming up and down his new appearance. "Brother, you're looking… different," she said, her eyes dancing with curiosity. "The bath really did wonders—maybe it's that strange glow in your eyes. You look a bit like a hero or something."
Zaroth shrugged off the comment, only slightly amused. "Hero, huh? Didn't realize a bath could transform someone that much." He'd noticed the differences himself—a sharper jawline, flawless skin, and that odd gleam in his eyes. Guess the system's responsible for that too.
Their father chuckled, taking a sip from his cup. "Well, whatever the reason, don't let it go to your head. We're just glad you're alright."
Zaroth smirked faintly, letting the sentiment pass without much reaction. Glad I'm alright, huh? If only you knew. He wasn't used to the idea of having people care about him, and he was hardly eager to start getting attached to this new family. Better to keep them at a comfortable distance, he thought.
Lilith nudged him, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Are you going to sit there daydreaming, or are you actually going to eat something?" she teased, her fingers lightly tapping a dish toward him.
"Alright, alright, no need to rush," he replied, grabbing a piece of bread without much thought. The food was surprisingly good—simple, earthy, and filling. He ate in silence, more for the nourishment than any real enjoyment.
His father and Lilith exchanged a glance, something warm and knowing passing between them, as if they found his quiet demeanor endearing. Zaroth barely acknowledged it, preferring to keep his thoughts private. The three of them shared a few words, mostly small talk. Zaroth leaned back, quietly assessing his new family members, wondering how long he could keep up the pretense. For now, he'd let them think he was the same son and brother they knew. Let them believe this was their Zaroth, for as long as he could manage it.