The cold Russian wind howled through the frozen forest, rattling the branches of snow-covered trees. Through the scope of his sniper rifle, Kazuya Akizuki remained still, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. His heartbeat was steady, his breath slow. Years of experience had honed his skills to perfection. They called him the **Bullet Reaper**, a man who never missed.
_"Another target, another job, another corpse to add to the tally,"_ Kazuya muttered to himself.
He watched the man through his scope—a high-ranking official, laughing with his bodyguards inside a dimly lit room. Kazuya analyzed every detail: the way the man moved, the moment he lifted his glass for a toast. That was the window. That was the kill moment.
"Bullet Reaper, you got eyes on him?" one of his teammates asked over the comms.
"Yeah," Kazuya replied.
The team of four mercenaries around him exchanged whispers.
"Man, this guy's a legend. I heard he's got over three hundred confirmed kills."
"Three hundred? More like five hundred."
"Doesn't matter. If the Reaper has you in his sights, you're already dead."
"Hey, shut up," Kazuya snapped, his voice cold. "Let me focus."
Silence followed. They knew better than to interrupt him.
Kazuya closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly. **His ritual.**
_"One shot, one kill. The bullet finds its home. Death comes without pain."_
He opened his eyes. His hands were steady. His mind was clear. He squeezed the trigger.
**Bang.**
The target's glass shattered, followed instantly by the explosion of blood from his skull. His lifeless body collapsed onto the table, sending the others in the room into a frenzy.
"Mission complete," Kazuya said, lowering his rifle.
His teammates whistled in admiration.
"Damn, every time I see it, it still gives me chills."
"Reaper, you ever miss?"
"Shut up, rookie," another said, chuckling.
As Kazuya packed up his rifle, one of them approached him.
"How do you do it?"
Kazuya turned, his sharp eyes meeting the younger mercenary's. "You don't hesitate. The moment you do, you're already dead."
He slung his rifle over his shoulder and began walking away. But then—
"Wait."
Kazuya stopped, frowning. He turned.
One of his teammates had his pistol aimed straight at his head.
Kazuya's lips curled into a smirk. "So, the boss doesn't want me alive anymore, huh?"
The man's hands trembled slightly. "I'm sorry. Orders are orders."
The others looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
Kazuya chuckled. "Then do it, rookie."
The gunshot rang out.
Everything went black.
A sharp breeze tickled Kazuya's face. He inhaled deeply, the air carrying a strange, unfamiliar scent. His body felt light, weightless. He opened his eyes.
He was sitting on a **tree branch.**
"What…?" he muttered, blinking.
The last thing he remembered was the muzzle flash, the gunshot, the betrayal.
_"Am I dead? No… This place—it's not Russia."_
Kazuya looked down at his hands. They were smaller, different. He clenched them into fists. Something was very, very wrong.
Lucian sat on the tree branch, still lost in thought. He looked up at the vast expanse of the forest before him, the sunlight filtering through the leaves. The sight was serene, yet his mind was in turmoil.
"Where am I? What happened to me?"
A sudden rush of pain surged through his head. Memories that were not his own flooded his mind—memories of a boy named Lucian Aelthorne. He was sixteen years old, the son of a humble hunter. He lived in a village of hunters with his father, mother, and little sister. Faces, names, and emotions surfaced, painting a picture of a life he had never lived but now felt intimately connected to.
"A world of swords and magic... This can't be real. Yet, these memories feel so vivid."
Before he could dwell further, a voice called out from below.
"Lucian!"
Startled, he looked down and saw a rugged man staring up at him. The familiarity in his eyes was undeniable. It was his father, Aldric Aelthorne. Though Lucian had only just inherited this life, he instinctively responded.
"Yes, father?"
Aldric chuckled. "It's time for your archer training! Get down here."
Lucian hesitated, then smiled. Memories of his past life as the Bullet Reaper came rushing back. He had been a legendary sniper. Now, without firearms, he would have to rely on the next best thing—a bow.
Jumping off the tree branch, he landed smoothly in front of his father. Looking up, he asked, "When do we start?"
Aldric's smile widened. "We start now."
He handed Lucian a bow and a quiver of arrows. The moment Lucian grasped them, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him. It felt...right. As if the weapon was calling to him.
"Let's go," Aldric said, leading the way into the deeper parts of the woods. Lucian followed, his mind still adjusting to this new reality.
Minutes later, they arrived at a clearing filled with wooden dummies. His father gestured toward them.
"For your first lesson, you'll learn the basics of archery. Listen carefully."
Aldric explained the fundamentals—how to grip the bow, how to nock an arrow, how to steady his breath before releasing. He demonstrated with effortless precision, hitting the target dead center. Lucian watched closely, absorbing every detail.
"Now, your turn," his father said, stepping aside.
Lucian took the bow in his hands and drew an arrow from the quiver. He positioned himself, mimicking his father's stance.
Aldric nodded. "Keep your feet firm. The power comes from your whole body, not just your arms. Breathe in before the shot and release as you exhale. Focus."
Lucian inhaled deeply, his sharp eyes locking onto the wooden target ahead. He pulled back the bowstring, feeling the tension build.
Before releasing, he closed his eyes for a brief moment and whispered his ritual:
"One shot, one kill. The arrow finds its mark. Death comes swiftly."
As he exhaled, he released the arrow. The projectile sliced through the air, striking the target dead center. Aldric's eyes widened in astonishment.
"By the gods... that was perfect." His father stepped closer, inspecting the arrow's impact. "Have you used a bow before?"
Lucian smirked. "Not exactly... but I've had some practice with long-range weapons in my past life."
Aldric frowned, confused, but let it go. "Alright then, again!"
Lucian readied another arrow, feeling his muscle memory from his past life merge with this new experience. He adjusted his stance slightly, taking into account the weight of the bow and the pull of the string. Before each shot, he repeated his ritual under his breath. Each release felt natural, as if guided by an unseen force.
He fired again—another perfect shot.
His father rubbed his chin. "You're learning at an unnatural pace. Most boys take weeks just to hit the dummy at all."
Lucian chuckled. "Guess I have a knack for it."
Aldric's eyes narrowed with curiosity, but he smiled. "Then let's test that. Try hitting three targets in quick succession."
Lucian nodded, his heart racing with excitement. He pulled three arrows from the quiver, setting up his stance. Taking a deep breath, he let the first arrow fly. Before it even hit the target, he had already drawn the second. Then the third. Each shot landed perfectly in its mark.
Aldric was stunned. "This... this is beyond natural talent. You're a born archer."
Lucian grinned. "Or maybe I was just meant to wield a ranged weapon, no matter the form."
His father clapped a hand on his shoulder. "If you keep this up, you'll surpass me in no time. Let's continue training."
For the next hour, Aldric demonstrated various advanced techniques—how to shoot while moving, how to adjust for wind and distance, and even how to fire from difficult angles. Lucian followed every instruction, adapting faster than his father thought possible. Before every critical shot, Lucian whispered his ritual, and each time, his arrows hit with unerring accuracy.
As the training went on, Aldric watched his son in awe. "This boy... he's something else." He muttered to himself, shaking his head with disbelief.
Lucian simply smiled, knowing that this new life might be even more interesting than the last.