Noah stood alone in the quiet stillness of the city streets, his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of Abyssal Night. The blade hummed faintly beneath his grip, though its power seemed subdued—almost forgotten. In the light of the evening sun, the dark steel of the sword gleamed like a reflection of his own thoughts—sharp, cold, and full of meaning, yet distant from its true purpose. It had once been a symbol of dominance in his past life, a weapon that carved through everything in its path, shaping the world to his will. But now, it was just a weapon. Nothing more.
A part of him recoiled from that thought. Nothing more.
But then again, he reasoned, nothing in this world is what it appears. And I? Perhaps I am no different. I am no longer Noah. I have no past to tether me. This body, this life, this new existence—none of it belongs to the person I was. The true Noah is dead, and I am all that remains. What I was, is irrelevant. What I choose to become... that is all that matters.
The blade in his hand seemed to mock him, its power not yet awakened, its magic dormant. He could almost feel the weight of his past self's arrogance, the confidence with which he had wielded it. But now, it felt foreign—like an artifact from a life that no longer had meaning. *LWas it the sword that had changed? Or had I changed?
Noah closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to drift in the philosophical current that often swept through his mind.
The sword is a reflection of me, he thought. Once, it was sharp, lethal, a tool of destruction. Now, it feels like a shadow of its former self, much like the person I am. In the end, does power diminish when it no longer has purpose? Or is it the purpose itself that fades?
He let out a long, drawn-out breath, the weight of his own questions pressing against his chest.
Power, he mused, it is a strange thing. In my past life, I had it. I wielded it without care, without question. I was a master of it. But now... in this world, it seems the pursuit of power is measured by something else. By levels, by classes, by constraints. It's not enough to be powerful—you must conform to the rules of this world. This world of dungeons, of monsters, of levels and experience points. Where once I had no limits, now I find myself confined.
A deep sense of unease settled within him. This world, with its rigid systems, its unyielding structure—there was something unnatural about it. Is this what the world has become? Is this the pinnacle of existence? To be bound by the rules of the weak? To live a life governed by arbitrary forces that determine the worth of one's soul, one's strength?
But then he remembered. He wasn't here to follow the rules. He wasn't here to conform.
I will change them. I will bend this world to my will, just as I did in my past life. And to do that, I will need power—not just any power, but power that transcends the limitations of this world.
The sword in his hand pulsed with a faint resonance, as if it understood his thoughts.
---
Noah's mind shifted, as it always did when contemplating the full scope of his power. There was a power that lay deep within him, a magic unlike anything this world could comprehend. Blood magic. A gift—no, a curse—that had followed him into this new life. It was tied to his very essence, to the core of his being. It was a magic of life and death, of creation and destruction.
But in this world, it was a dangerous thing to wield.
*The more I consider it,* Noah thought, *the more I realize that blood magic is not just a weapon—it is the very key to unlocking my potential. It is the raw force that can tear through any obstacle, any enemy. But it is also my greatest vulnerability. To use it, to unleash its true power... it would reveal me for what I am. It would expose me to the world's prying eyes, and I would be hunted, labeled as an anomaly, a monster. And I have no interest in being caged.*
A smirk twisted on his lips. *Yet, the irony is not lost on me. The very power that could expose me is the same power that would make me invincible.*
He considered how the blood coursed through his veins, a current of life that held the potential for unimaginable strength. Blood magic was more than just manipulation of the physical—it was the essence of his existence. To wield it was to transcend mortality itself, to tap into the primal force of life itself.
But it required patience. Caution. Timing. It was a weapon to be used in the shadows, to strike from the dark, unseen.
*I must control it, mold it to my will,* Noah thought. *Only then can I harness its full potential. Only then can I use it without fear of exposure.*
---
The sword, Abyssal Night, and blood magic—two forces that had shaped his past life, two forces that would now guide him in this one. But Noah understood the nature of power better than anyone. It wasn't enough to simply possess power. One had to know how to use it, how to wield it strategically. Power without purpose was empty, hollow. And that was a path Noah would never walk again.
He gazed at Abyssal Night once more, lost in his thoughts. *This blade, this cursed relic of a forgotten past... I need to decide what it will become. It will either be a tool for my ascension or a burden that weighs me down.*
But how? How would he restore its former glory? How would he unlock its hidden potential?
He turned toward the distant horizon, a place of uncertainty. A place where no answers could yet be found.
*Maybe it isn't the sword that needs restoration. Maybe it's me. Maybe the key to its power lies in me, in what I've yet to realize about myself. I've been too focused on what I was, too focused on the power I once wielded. Perhaps I need to reshape myself first, before I can reshape the sword.*
His gaze hardened.
*And when I do, the world will know true power. Not the kind defined by dungeons or levels. But the kind that comes from blood, from a life lived without limits. I will become the force that breaks this world. And nothing, not even this blade, will stand in my way.*
With a single fluid motion, Noah sheathed Abyssal Night, the blade's hilt pressed firmly against his side. He felt the weight of his decision settle within him.
*This world is not my home,* he thought. *But it will be my kingdom.*
---
And with that, Noah turned away from the sword, his mind now clear. He knew what he had to do. He would master his blood magic. He would bring Abyssal Night back to life—or he would find a new weapon worthy of his will. Either way, his power would not be wasted.
And when the time came, the world would learn that Noah, or whatever name he chose to wear, would not be so easily forgotten.
The sword in his hand was just the beginning