The crimson sun bled across the jagged horizon, smearing the heavens with hues of fire, ash, and blood. The battlefield below was a graveyard of steel and flesh—shattered spears, broken blades, and lifeless bodies strewn like discarded puppets across the scorched earth. The wind carried the stench of death, thick and bitter, as it whistled through the remnants of war banners torn to ribbons by the chaos that had unfolded.
Shan Lion knelt in the heart of this ruin, surrounded by the corpses of soldiers who had once believed they could stop the end. His breath came in ragged gasps—"Huf… Huf…"—each inhale slicing through his lungs like rusted blades. Blood clung to his armor in crusted layers, forming a grotesque mosaic of the fallen—his comrades, and not a small amount his own.
His sword, Dragon's Tooth, lay across his knees. Once a legendary blade forged by celestial blacksmiths and said to sing when drawn in righteous cause, it now sat silent and heavy, its edge dulled beneath congealed gore. The weight of the weapon was no longer just steel—it was history, failure, regret.
Silence ruled this place now. No cries, no clash of steel. Only the groaning of bent metal, the lonely howl of the wind, and the unsettling stillness of a world that had ended. Shan's eyes scanned the wreckage, but there were no survivors. No allies.
Only him… and his son.
Everything is gone. The entire world… destroyed. All that's left is me… and Jun.
His thoughts churned like a storm, grief and disbelief twisting in his chest.
My son… my own blood… the one I called useless… the one I cast out… is the one who destroyed everything. How… how did it come to this?
He did this—alone. The whole world… reduced to ash by his hands. My hands tremble, not from fear… but from regret. If only… if only I had a second chance. But it's too late now. He'll kill me too, just like all the rest. What's the point of wishing for another tomorrow when there's nothing left to wake up to?
A shadow loomed over him, swallowing what little light remained.
He looked up.
Jun stood there, wreathed in the fading crimson glow. He looked like a being carved from judgment itself—his eyes a searing void, shimmering with power that twisted the very air around him. The boy he once cradled in his arms was no longer a boy. The young man who once cried into his chest was no longer a man. What stood before him was a god cloaked in death.
"In the end…" Jun's voice was hollow, stripped of all emotion. "It's over, Father."
The word Father hit like a hammer. Shan's heart lurched. His muscles screamed in protest as he surged to his feet, agony wracking his battered form. He raised Dragon's Tooth with both hands, knuckles whitening against the hilt.
"Don't… call me 'father'," Shan spat. "You're not worthy of calling me that. I'll kill you with my own hands, you wretched bastard! Go to hell!"
He gathered every ounce of strength left in his failing body.
"Dragon Sword Technique… Final Form: Ghostly Dragon!"
A roar tore from his throat as he launched into the technique—an ancient art passed down for generations, said to split mountains and silence armies. His blade became a blur, slashing in arcs too fast for the eye to follow, forming the phantom image of a spectral dragon that lunged toward Jun.
And yet… Jun did not move.
There was a blink of motion—barely perceptible—and then silence. Shan's breath caught in his throat.
"How… how can he be that fast?" he gasped, stunned. "He didn't even flinch…"
Jun stepped forward, untouched. "Don't waste your breath, Father. That technique… it's trash. In the eyes of a god, your struggle is meaningless."
He raised his hand.
"Goodbye, Father. I hope you find peace in the afterlife… although we both know you won't."
Shan closed his eyes. He had no more strength left to lift his sword. No more will to fight.
So this is it… my final moment.
My name is Shan Lion. I was once a noble of the Keyos Kingdom… the king's right hand, his blade in the dark. In all my years on the battlefield, I never lost. They called me the God of War, the Immortal Lion. Every general feared my name.
But beyond the blood and steel… I was a husband. A father.
I met Shyomi Frontera during a campaign in the north. She was fierce, kind, and saw the man behind the sword. We fell in love. We married, and soon she gave birth to a boy—Jun Lion. Our son. Our light.
Shyomi loved Jun with all her heart, and he adored her. They were inseparable. But fate is cruel. She died when Jun was still young. He was broken. I watched the light fade from his eyes. He locked himself in her room, refusing to come out, to move on. I thought time would heal him, but time only buried him deeper.
In my desperation, I remarried—a woman named Ruhiko Agoni. I thought a new mother might save him. But Jun never accepted her. He rejected everything, everyone. People began to mock my family. Whispered behind my back. Laughed. I was a war hero… and a failure at home.
Eventually, anger replaced sorrow. At nineteen, I threw him out. Banished him. A mistake I now see too late. I didn't know what he would become. I didn't know what I had ignited. And now… this is the price.
A dry, cracked laugh spilled from his lips—slow at first, then growing louder, more unhinged.
"Ha… ha… ha… HAHAHA!"
The God of War fell, laughing like a madman.
And in that final moment… Shan Lion died.
—
"My lord! My lord! Are you alright?"
The voice was sharp, urgent.
Shan Lion's eyes flew open. He was upright—in his chair—sunlight pouring gently through the grand windows of his chamber. His heart thundered in confusion.
(What…?
I was dead. I was—I'm sure I died. So how… am I here?)
Standing before him was a familiar face. Vermin, his steward. Alive. Breathing.
"Vermin…?" Shan said, voice hoarse. "How… are you still alive?"
Vermin blinked, confused. "My lord? What are you talking about? When did I die? Are you truly well, my lord?"
Shan's breath hitched. He scanned the room—everything in its place. Maps. Armors. The scent of ink and steel. No blood. No ruin.
This… this is before the end.
Did I… really come back to the past?
How is this possible?
The gears of fate had turned again—but for what purpose?
To be continued...