Darkness.
A vast, endless void.
Leon Vaelcrest had experienced death countless times before, but this… this was different.
He floated weightlessly in the abyss, his senses dulled by the suffocating silence. Normally, after death, he would awaken in a previous timeline—his body younger, his mind intact, his mistakes undone. Yet now, he felt nothing. No sudden jolt. No memories flooding his consciousness. No tether pulling him back to the past.
For the first time, his cycle had been broken.
Then, a voice—cold, mechanical, inhuman.
[Final Regression Sequence Initialized.]
Leon's eyes widened. Final regression? That had never happened before. No matter how many times he died, his regressions had always been infinite. He had relied on that truth, exploited it, pushed his boundaries knowing that time would always reset.
Why was it different now?
A golden light erupted from the abyss, engulfing him completely. The void trembled, shattering around him like fragile glass. The sheer force of it sent a sharp pain through his very existence.
And then—
He woke up.
The first thing he noticed was the scent of blood and burning stone.
Leon's eyes snapped open. He found himself standing in the Grand Throne Room of the Solmaria Empire, a place he had seen both as a conqueror and as a corpse in different timelines. The once-golden banners were torn, stained with soot and blood. The floor, once polished marble, was cracked and littered with bodies—some clad in imperial armor, others in tattered robes of rebels.
And at the far end of the hall, seated upon the imperial throne, was a man Leon recognized all too well.
Himself.
Or rather, a version of himself.
The alternate Leon was clad in black armor, streaked with golden veins that pulsed like molten lava. His expression was unreadable, but the sheer presence he exuded was suffocating. This wasn't an illusion. This wasn't a hallucination.
This was real.
The throne-bound Leon smirked. "Took you long enough."
Leon didn't move. His body remained still, but his mind raced. He had lived through countless cycles, seen infinite possibilities. But never this. Never another version of himself standing in his way.
"Who are you?" His voice was calm, but his senses were already on high alert.
The armored Leon chuckled. "You already know the answer." He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist. "I am you. Or rather, I am what you could have become."
Leon clenched his fists. No—something was off. There was no familiarity in his counterpart's gaze, no shared memory of their past selves. This wasn't a simple case of meeting an older version of himself.
The alternate Leon smirked. "Tell me, how many times have you regressed? Hundreds? Thousands?" His golden eyes gleamed. "And yet, you still haven't figured out the truth behind your power."
Leon remained silent. He wouldn't fall for cheap provocation.
The throne-bound Leon exhaled, shaking his head. "This is the final cycle, Leon. No more retries, no more second chances." His voice darkened. "This time, you either win… or you cease to exist."
Reality trembled.
Leon barely had time to react before the world shattered. A vortex of black and gold energy erupted from the throne, distorting everything around him. The walls twisted, corpses dissolved into dust, and time itself unraveled into chaos.
And then—
Time reset.
The scent of aged parchment and incense filled his lungs.
Leon's eyes fluttered open. Sunlight streamed through a tall window, casting warm golden hues onto the polished wooden floor. The faint chatter of merchants and distant hooves of horses echoed beyond the walls. The air carried the crisp scent of morning dew, mingling with the familiar aroma of oakwood and parchment.
He was in his childhood home—Vaelcrest Manor.
His heartbeat remained steady as he sat up. His fingers brushed against silk sheets, the texture unmistakably familiar. The wooden canopy above him was carved with intricate patterns of dragons and celestial sigils—a detail he hadn't seen in decades. He turned his gaze towards the desk near the window, where stacks of old books lay scattered across aged parchment maps of Terra Arcana.
Everything was exactly as he remembered it.
But something was… wrong.
Leon stood up, his movements precise, controlled. He walked to the tall mirror in the corner of the room.
And froze.
His reflection stared back at him.
His once battle-hardened, 24-year-old body was gone. Instead, he saw a younger version of himself—his face free of scars, his physique leaner, his golden eyes sharp but unweathered by countless battles.
This wasn't just another regression.
This was the earliest he had ever gone back.
His fingers trembled slightly as he touched his own reflection. Why had he regressed this far? Who—or what—was responsible for changing the rules of his cycle?
A sudden system prompt flickered before his eyes.
[New Timeline Established.]
[All Regression Data Retained.]
[Mission: Unravel the Truth of the Final Regression.]
Leon's lips parted slightly as he read the words. Final Regression.
No more infinite retries. No more mistakes that could be undone. This was his last chance.
A sharp knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Young Master Leon," a formal voice called. "The Duke has summoned you."
Leon exhaled. He recognized that voice—Gerald, the head butler of the Vaelcrest family.
His golden eyes gleamed.
This time… things would be different.
Because this time—
He wasn't just going to survive. He was going to dominate.