The battlefield was painted red.
Corpses of warriors, both allies and enemies, littered the ground. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, and the once-vibrant banners of war were now torn and drenched in carnage.
At the center of this chaos stood him—the undefeated warlord, the nightmare of nations, the man whose mere presence sent armies trembling.
But today, even he was at his limit.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His muscles screamed with exhaustion. His body was covered in wounds, his once-mighty armor now dented and broken. The enemy forces surrounded him—over a thousand men, thirsting for revenge.
His own soldiers? Dead. Every last one of them had fallen, sacrificing themselves to pave the way for his victory.
But it wasn't enough.
"Is this how it ends?" he muttered, gripping his bloodied sword.
He had given everything for this war. He had fought not for power, not for glory, but for peace. He had dreamed of a world without endless bloodshed, where warriors could lay down their blades and live without fear.
And to achieve that, he had slain countless enemies—the final one standing before him now.
The enemy general.
A monstrous man clad in dark steel, wielding a colossal halberd. His presence alone was overwhelming, a beast of war that had crushed kingdoms beneath his heel.
The warlord gritted his teeth. If he was to die today, then he would at least take this monster down with him.
With the last of his strength, he charged.
The battle was brutal—every swing of the halberd shattered the earth, every strike of the warlord's sword sliced through steel and bone. Their clash shook the battlefield, warriors around them frozen in awe.
And then—a flash of steel.
The warlord's blade found its mark, piercing the enemy general's throat. Blood gushed like a fountain as the titan fell to his knees, eyes wide with shock.
A roar of triumph erupted from the warlord's lips. It was over.
The war was won.
For the first time in years, he allowed himself to imagine the future—a world at peace. A world without war. A world where he could finally rest.
But peace never came.
The enemy soldiers, blinded by rage, did not retreat. They did not surrender.
They charged.
A thousand blades stabbed into his flesh.
Pain—blinding, unbearable pain—consumed him as steel pierced his body from every direction. His vision blurred, his strength faded, and he fell to his knees.
So this was death.
His world turned black.
---
A New Awakening
A sharp inhale.
His eyes snapped open.
Instead of the battlefield, he saw a ceiling—white, unfamiliar, and far too clean. Instead of the stench of blood, he smelled something strange… medicine?
His hands trembled as he touched his body.
No wounds. No armor. No muscles.
His heart pounded. Something was wrong.
He tried to stand, but his legs felt weak, frail. This wasn't his body. He stumbled toward a mirror, gripping the edges of a wooden desk for support.
And when he saw his reflection—his blood ran cold.
A boy.
Sixteen. Thin. Ordinary.
This… isn't me.
His mind raced. Was this the afterlife? A dream?
No. The sensation of his breathing, the feel of the wooden desk under his fingers—it was all real.
He wasn't dead.
He was alive.
But in a different body.
His pulse pounded in his ears. Where was he? When was he?
He turned toward the window and froze.
Outside, the world was unlike anything he had ever seen. Towering structures of metal and glass. Strange carriages moving without horses. People dressed in bizarre clothing, staring at glowing boxes in their hands.
This wasn't his time.
This was the future.
His war had ended.
But his battle had just begun.
---
To Be Continued…