The week leading up to Arlan's departure passed in a blur of bittersweet moments.
He spent his days helping in the forge, sharpening old tools, and soaking in the warmth of his family's company.
He sparred with Darin in the afternoons, the boy eager to show off his own progress with the staff their father had crafted for him.
Darin was brash but determined, reminding Arlan of himself at that age.
Their matches often ended with Arlan giving advice or laughing at Darin's frustration when he couldn't land a hit.
Evenings were quieter, filled with hearty meals and stories by the fire.
His father recounted tales of warriors he had crafted weapons for, while his mother scolded them for exaggerating.
Arlan sat back, savoring each moment, knowing this peace was fleeting.
On his final night, his family gathered to see him off.
His mother handed him a small bundle wrapped in cloth—provisions for the road—and his father placed a hand on his shoulder, pride evident in his weathered features.
"Remember, Arlan," his father said, "strength isn't just in your arms. It's in your heart, too. Don't forget that."
Darin tried to play it cool, but his voice wavered when he said, "You better come back stronger. I'll be waiting to beat you in a spar."
Arlan hugged them tightly, his throat tight with emotion.
"I'll make you proud," he promised.
---
The journey to the capital began at dawn, the golden light painting the dirt road ahead.
Arlan traveled light, carrying only his spear, a small pack of supplies, and the letter of admission tucked safely inside.
The route to Astralis Academy was long, cutting through rolling hills, dense forests, and bustling trade towns.
Arlan's first life had burned the details of this journey into his memory, though the weight of hindsight now added a sinister edge to each step.
It was on the third day that he came across the familiar sound of distressed cries.
---
The forest path was eerily quiet, save for the shouts and the snarls of beasts ahead.
Arlan's grip on his spear tightened as he quickened his pace, pushing through the thick underbrush until he reached a clearing.
A carriage lay toppled on its side, its ornate exterior scratched and splattered with blood.
Surrounding it were hulking forms—forest ogres, their gnarled bodies towering over the wreckage.
Their tusks gleamed as they roared, clawing at the overturned vehicle.
Arlan's eyes immediately found the source of the cries: two young women, struggling to fend off the attackers from the wreckage.
They were identical, with pale blonde hair and striking silver eyes, dressed in tattered travel attire.
He recognized them instantly.
Aren and Elira Sennath, the twin daughters of the Sennath Clan—one of the six most powerful families in the kingdom.
Their deaths on this road had been a tragedy that rippled across the kingdom, the loss of two prodigies who had never made it to Astralis Academy.
In his previous life, the official story was that they had been killed by monsters during a random ambush.
But now, standing in the same clearing, Arlan saw the truth.
The ogres weren't acting naturally.
Their movements were too coordinated, as though being directed.
And then, he saw it—a lone figure cloaked in shadows, standing at the edge of the clearing.
They held a blowpipe, the gleam of poison-tipped darts unmistakable even from a distance.
"An assassin," Arlan muttered under his breath.
The ogres were a distraction, mindless tools used to obscure the real culprit.
The Sennath twins' deaths hadn't been a coincidence. They had been targeted.
Arlan didn't hesitate.
He charged forward, his spear a blur as he drove it into the nearest ogre's neck.
The beast howled, collapsing in a heap as its blood splattered the ground.
The other ogres turned, their snarls replaced with growls of confusion.
Arlan didn't give them a chance to react, weaving between them with practiced precision.
His spear struck vital points with unerring accuracy—an eye, a throat, a heart—felling each one in turn.
The cloaked figure in the shadows remained motionless, watching as Arlan dispatched the last of the ogres.
Arlan turned to the twins, kneeling beside them.
Aren was slumped against the carriage, her breaths shallow and her skin pale.
Elira clutched at her sister's arm, but her own movements were sluggish. Both bore faint puncture wounds on their necks—the telltale signs of poisoning.
"Stay with me," Arlan urged, his voice low but firm.
"Who…" Elira's voice was barely a whisper, her unfocused eyes turning toward him.
"Who… are you?"
Arlan hesitated.
He decided not to answer, instead inspecting the wounds.
The poison was slow-acting but potent, designed to incapacitate rather than kill outright.
He worked quickly, pulling herbs from his pack that could counteract some of the effects.
It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would buy them time.
"Just rest," he said, his voice softer now.
"You'll be fine."
Elira's head lolled to the side, and she slipped into unconsciousness.
Aren followed shortly after, her hand falling limp at her side.
"You...!," came a voice from the shadows.
Arlan stiffened, his eyes snapping toward the figure, who stepped forward, pulling down their hood.
The sight of Erias made Arlan's blood run cold.
"Erias...! So it was you that time...!"
But it wasn't the Erias he remembered from years of betrayal and bloodshed.
This Erias was younger, his features unlined by the weight of war, but his expression was twisted with confusion and anger.
"You…" Erias frowned, studying Arlan.
"How do you know my name?"
Arlan rose slowly, his spear at the ready.
"You don't need to know that."
Erias narrowed his eyes.
"You're not part of the plan. Who sent you? Why do you look at me like that?"
Arlan didn't answer.
He lunged forward, his spear striking with blinding speed.
Erias dodged, his movements fluid but lacking the precision Arlan remembered.
The clash was fierce.
Erias moved like a veteran assassin, but Arlan's years of battle-hardened experience gave him the edge.
Every feint, every counterstrike—it was as though Arlan could read Erias's intentions before they formed.
The fight ended with a sudden thrust.
Arlan's spear pierced Erias's chest, the sharp tip emerging from his back.
It was so easy that Arlan almost thought it to be a trick.
But as soon as the tip penetrated his muscles, Erias gasped, blood spilling from his lips.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the ground, clutching at the shaft of the spear.
"You…" Erias choked, his voice weak.
Tears mixed with the blood streaming down his face.
"The system… It promised… I'd return to Korea… I just… wanted to go home…"
Arlan froze, his heart pounding. Korea? The word hung heavy in the air, unfamiliar yet haunting.
Erias's breathing slowed, his body going limp.
Arlan stared at the lifeless form of his former friend, the weight of the encounter sinking in.
He killed Erias much more easily and much sooner than he expected.
What had Erias meant by "the system"?
He didn't have answers yet, but one thing was certain.
"I killed you..."