Hello everyone, I'm the author and welcome to my book. I will try to maintain an average of 900 words per chapter and daily releases.
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**Many wonder what life after death is like. Some say it doesn't exist, others believe in a paradise or reincarnation.**
Yet at this moment, I find myself simply floating. I cannot remember my name or personal details of those I lived with, but I remember my story.
A passionate young man who dreamed of serving, fighting for his country, and protecting his homeland. Many mock those who dream of such things, and I must admit they are right—to a point.
I studied, trained, fought in wars, and abandoned my own family for duty and Honor. Even when I died alone, surrounded by enemies, I did not regret it for a single moment.
But after death, as I revisited my life and certain choices, I began to wonder if I should have done things differently.
Given more attention to my wife, taken better care of my parents, saved some of my comrades from death…
All these regrets engulfed my soul, drowning me in absolute remorse.
Soon, my memories returned to when I was a small child, watching war films and dreaming of becoming a hero—a symbol of resistance and Honor.
*"If there is something beyond this darkness, I think I would like to lead one day, so men who dream like me may be remembered,"* I murmured to myself. In the next instant, I felt a bright beam of light as I was pulled toward it.
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*(Sounds of crying)*
In a small snow-covered wooden house, the sound of a baby's cries filled the air, signaling the birth of a new life.
*"Congratulations—it's a boy,"* said the old nun from the village church to a pale, red-haired woman as she handed her the loudly wailing infant.
Sarah gazed tenderly at her son and smiled, cradling the small life she had created. Soon, the baby stopped crying.
*"He has his father's black hair,"* she murmured with a hint of sorrow. The old nun offered a comforting smile.
Sarah's husband had died two weeks prior while defending a group of children during an Orc attack on the village.
The old nun still remembered the blood-covered figure standing before the church doors, surrounded by dead Orcs.
Even in death, the man refused to close his eyes or fall to his knees, causing the Orcs to hesitate in their assault and buying time for the village guard to rescue those in the church.
*"What will you name him?"* Breaking the silence, the nun asked the young widow. Sarah hesitated before deciding: *"I'll name him after his father—Oliver."* As if responding to the name, the tiny baby reached his arms toward his mother, who began to weep.
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Time passed, and with it, winter faded as spring sunlight bathed the world.
Oliver peered through the window, feeling the sun warm his small body in the crib. *"I truly reincarnated,"* he repeated to himself—a phrase he uttered every morning.
His situation was simply too different from anything he had ever experienced.
It was like losing one's virginity for the first time: a mix of euphoria, bewilderment, and complex emotions.
But over time, as he adjusted to his life as a baby, Oliver calmed. In recent months, he had learned about this new world through stories his mother told before bed.
First, his father had died shortly before his birth—tragic, but he'd never known the man to form an attachment. According to his mother and villagers who often helped her, his father had been a beloved hunter and protector of the village.
It took time to learn the new language, but with nothing to do but listen, he soon understood much, though he couldn't yet speak.
He also realized he wasn't in his original world or timeline, but a different one entirely.
A week prior, he and other newborns had been taken to the church for a blessing. The memory of magical light emanating from the priest, filling him with vitality, remained fresh.
From overheard conversations, he pieced together details about his region:
The small village, **SmallSnow**, housed around 5,000 people who survived through hunting, lumber gathering, and trade. It lay at a strategic point connecting an iron-mining town to smaller villages.
Life was stable—except during attacks by Orcs, Trolls, barbarians, bandits, or anything that growled. Even rats occasionally assaulted the village.
In his third month, a dog-sized rat invaded their home. His mother killed it with a precise axe strike. Blood splattered the room, but she calmly tossed the carcass outside and watched for more rodents breaching the wooden walls.
Life near the Black Forest was brutal, but at least food and supplies never ran short.
Oliver glanced once more through the window and drifted to sleep, knowing there was little he could do as a baby.
And so, time passed.
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