The dark clouds loomed over the battlefield, a thick fog creeping between the lifeless bodies scattered across the land. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the damp air, creating a suffocating atmosphere. My breath was ragged, and every inhale burned my lungs like fire. The battle was lost, and I knew it.

A distant horn echoed through the mist, signaling the retreat of the remaining soldiers. They had no choice but to leave me behind, surrounded by the corpses of my fallen comrades. I gritted my teeth as I placed my left hand over my chest, feeling the deep gash that rendered my muscles useless. My armor was shattered, my sword trembling in my weakened grip.

I could hear faint whispers carried by the wind, as if the spirits of the dead were lamenting our failure. Or perhaps, it was my own mind playing tricks on me. I struggled to lift my gaze, my vision blurred by pain and exhaustion. The sky was painted in hues of crimson and gray, a reflection of the blood-soaked ground beneath me.

The rain began to fall—gentle at first, as if mourning the fallen, but soon turning into an unrelenting storm. Each drop mixed with the blood pooling beneath me, creating a morbid river of red. My breath hitched as I lifted my trembling left hand, watching the rainwater mix with my blood, staining it a murky brown.

Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. A shadow emerged from the fog, clad in black armor adorned with unfamiliar insignias. His presence sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to lift my sword, but my strength had long abandoned me.

"You fought well," the man spoke, his voice deep and emotionless. "But in the end, all warriors fall."

His words carried a weight that pressed against my chest, heavier than my wounds. I opened my mouth to speak, but all that escaped was a cough, accompanied by a trail of crimson dripping down my lips.

The rain pounded against my armor, each droplet a drumbeat of my inevitable demise. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, recalling the promises I made to my people, the oath I swore to protect my homeland. Had it all been in vain? Had my efforts amounted to nothing?

A sudden flash of memory surfaced—an old prophecy whispered by the elders long ago. "When the blood of the chosen spills upon the battlefield, the cycle shall begin anew. The chains of fate will shatter, and the lost shall find their way home."

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips. Was I the chosen one they spoke of? Or just another fool destined to die a meaningless death?

The armored man lifted his sword high, the blade glistening under the dim moonlight. I could hear the raindrops hitting the metal, a rhythm of impending doom.

My mind screamed for salvation. I longed for another chance, another path, but the cold embrace of death was inevitable.

The sword swung down, severing my last thread to this world.

Darkness consumed me. My consciousness drifted through an endless void, weightless and silent.

Like being in a long hallway but there was only darkness on each side, narrowing with each step toward a distant, glimmering point of light.

My body ran, though I had not commanded it. It surged forward, drawn toward the light, an unseen force pulling me toward the unknown.

Then, a sharp inhale.

"Huft—huft—huft—"

I woke up from my sleep, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My breath was ragged, as if I had just surfaced from drowning.

I traced my surroundings with wide eyes, struggling to make sense of where I was. The dark room was illuminated only by a dim bedside lamp emitting a warm, golden glow. Moonlight seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows along the luxurious white walls adorned with elegant carvings.

Damn, where am I? I thought, my heart still racing from the nightmare—or was it a memory?

The large curtains billowed from the wind seeping through a slightly open window. With cautious movements, I pushed the thick blanket off me and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

The floor beneath me was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked mud I had collapsed upon. I stepped toward the ornate table with a large mirror resting atop it.

Peering into the glass, my breath hitched. The reflection staring back at me was not my own.

Wavy black hair, piercing brown eyes that glowed like molten gold, and the youthful face of someone who could pass as an aristocrat's son.

This is not how I looked before.

What? What happened to me? Am I alive again? Didn't I die in that war? My head was already split open... so how?

I clenched my fists, steadying my chaotic thoughts. Then, something caught my eye—an object reflecting light from the bedside lamp.

A name was engraved upon its surface in Latin script: 'Wein Arcveil.'

Wein Arcveil… Is that the name of this body?

The realization hit me like a crashing wave. I had been reborn.

I locked the door swiftly, ensuring no one would barge in while I pieced together my new reality. My gaze landed on the pristine white desk, meticulously carved with elegant details.

I pulled open the first drawer, hoping to find something—anything—that would reveal more about this life.

A stack of neatly arranged papers greeted me, each filled with handwritten notes. I picked one at random and read silently:

"Brithonia, Sperum. Tomorrow is the first day I enter the most prestigious academy in the world. With all my hard work, I have finally avenged my past humiliations. My core has reached Platinum—a feat beyond the average sixteen-year-old."

I froze.

What? What does that even mean? An academy? A core? Platinum?

My gaze darted around the room, searching for a clock. Finally, I spotted one above a door leading to another chamber—likely a bathroom.

02:00 AM.

Damn. I hissed under my breath. I had less than three hours before sunrise.

I needed answers. Fast.

Determined, I turned to the towering bookshelf lining the wall. If I was truly in a different world, I had to learn its history, its systems—everything.

My fingers grazed the spines of numerous tomes before stopping at one titled: 'The Continent of Brithonia.'

Next to it was a worn-out book with faded writing. The aged, dark green cover intrigued me.

Dust scattered into the air as I carefully lifted it from its place. The title, at first unreadable, became clear the longer I stared.

'Power of the Divine.'

I flipped to the first page, and the words practically leapt off the parchment:

Chapter I: Mana Cores.

My eyes widened. A chill ran down my spine.

A world of magic.

I was reborn into a world where power was everything.