A sharp, searing pain shot through Leon's skull, dragging him out of the darkness. His breath was ragged, his body heavy, as if a mountain had collapsed onto him.
He gasped, sucking in the scent of blood and damp earth. His fingers twitched, brushing against something wet. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the battlefield stretching endlessly around him—bodies of soldiers littered the ground, broken swords and shattered shields scattered like forgotten relics.
Where… am I?
Memories surged through his mind—two sets of them, crashing together like colliding waves. One belonged to a martial artist from another world, a man who had fought his entire life to reach the peak of strength… only to be betrayed and killed in cold blood. The other? A weak noble, Leon Valcrest, the disgraced son of House Valcrest, abandoned on the battlefield by his own kin.
Pain twisted in his chest, but he forced himself up. His hands clenched into fists.
"No," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "I refuse to die like this."
A weak noble? A discarded heir? That was the past. Now, he was something far more dangerous.
The Struggle to Stand
Leon's body was a mess—cuts lined his arms, his ribs ached, and his head throbbed. But the real problem wasn't his injuries—it was his weakness. His body was pitifully frail compared to his previous life. Every movement felt sluggish, every breath labored.
But weakness was not an option.
With gritted teeth, he staggered to his feet. The sky above was dark, storm clouds rolling in as if mourning the fallen. The wind carried the stench of blood and fire.
Then, the sound of footsteps—several men approaching.
Leon turned his head, his muscles tensing. A group of five mercenaries, dressed in ragged armor, picked through the corpses, looting whatever valuables they could find. Their leader, a scarred brute with a chipped axe slung over his shoulder, smirked when he noticed Leon standing.
"Well, well. Looks like we've got a survivor."
One of the men chuckled. "Barely. Look at him, he's swaying like a damn leaf."
The leader stepped closer, eyes glinting. "You look like a noble, boy. Got any gold on you? Maybe a nice family willing to pay a ransom?"
Leon wiped the blood from his lips, straightening despite the pain. "My family?" He let out a dry laugh. "They left me here to die."
The mercenaries shared a look before breaking into laughter. "Then it looks like you've got nothing," the leader said, raising his axe. "Too bad. Guess we'll just take your head instead."
The First Battle
Leon's body was weak, but his instincts were sharp. As the axe came swinging down, he sidestepped at the last second, the blade cutting through the air where his head had been.
The leader barely had time to react before Leon grabbed his wrist, twisting it with precise force. The mercenary screamed as bones snapped, dropping the axe.
"What the fu—"
Leon didn't let him finish. He drove his knee into the man's gut, sending him sprawling.
The other four mercenaries hesitated, shocked at how quickly their leader had been taken down. But then rage overtook hesitation.
"Kill him!"
Two rushed forward, one swinging a sword, the other a crude mace.
Leon's body screamed in protest, but he forced it to move. He ducked under the sword, grabbed the wrist of the mace-wielding man, and twisted—redirecting the strike into his own ally's chest. The swordsman's eyes widened as the mace caved in his ribs.
Leon snatched the fallen sword before it hit the ground and pivoted, slicing through the stunned mercenary's throat. Blood sprayed, and another body collapsed at his feet.
The remaining two stumbled back, fear creeping into their eyes. "Demon," one whispered.
Leon exhaled slowly. No… just a man who refuses to die.
The last two mercenaries bolted, fleeing into the distance. He could have chased them, but his body was nearing its limit. Instead, he turned his attention to their leader, who was still groaning on the ground.
Leon crouched beside him, pressing the blade against his throat. "Tell me something," he said, voice cold. "Where's the nearest town?"
The mercenary trembled. "T-Torren… a day's walk west…"
Leon considered him for a moment, then drove the blade down, ending his suffering.
There was no room for mercy in this world.
The Road to Power Begins
Leon took what supplies he could find—armor, a few coins, and a tattered cloak to cover himself. His body still ached, but he had no time to rest.
As he walked away from the battlefield, his mind raced.
This world had abandoned him. His family had abandoned him. But that was a mistake they would regret.
He wasn't just Leon Valcrest anymore. He was someone far more dangerous.
And he would carve his name into history with blood and fire.