The air reeked of sulfur and charred flesh. Liam's sword arm trembled as he stood atop the dragon's smoldering corpse, its obsidian scales glinting like shattered night. One crimson eye, the size of a shield, stared lifelessly at the heavens. The other had been cleaved in two by his final strike, viscous ichor pooling beneath its massive skull.
"By the gods… it's done," he rasped, blood dripping from a gash across his brow. His armor—once gleaming silversteel—hung in melted shards, skin blistering where dragonflame had licked through the gaps.
The beast had ravaged through the continent for weeks. Villages reduced to ash, armies swallowed whole. Liam had led the vanguard, his House banner snapping in the toxic wind as they charged the creature's volcanic lair. Half his men lay buried under collapsed caverns now. The rest…
Crack.
Liam whirled, sword raised. Shadows danced across the cavern walls, cast by rivers of molten rock. A figure emerged from the smoke, limping, their armor blackened but intact.
"Uncle?" Liam lowered his blade as Vorian Lithian stumbled forward, his face streaked with soot and triumph. "You're alive!"
Vorian's voice was honeyed, though his gaze lingered on the dragon's twitching claw. "A feat worthy of ballads. Your father would've been proud."
Liam sagged, adrenaline fading. His knees struck stone as he gasped for breath. "Help me… retrieve the heart. The alchemists said its core could…"
Cold steel pierced his back.
He froze, disbelief numbing the pain as the dagger twisted. Vorian's breath tickled his ear. "Oh, I'll retrieve its heart. Along with yours, seat, lands… and legacy."
Blood bubbled in Liam's throat. He collapsed sideways, vision blurring as Vorian wrenched the blade free. "Why…?"
His uncle crouched, smiling faintly as he wiped the dagger on Liam's surcoat. "It was my right from the beginning, and your father stole it from me. So what if he was more talented than I am? I am alive, and he is dead. And look at you, playing hero." Vorian pressed a hand to the dragon's chest, fingers sinking into molten flesh. "Fear not. You'll join your father, mother, and that beloved servant of yours. I've sent them there…" He laughed. "…wherever that is."
Rage ignited Liam's dying nerves. He lunged, fingers clawing for Vorian's throat—but his body failed, crumpling against the dragon's scales. The world darkened at the edges.
As his blood seeped into the beast's wounds, the dragon's remaining eye flickered. A faint glow pulsed within its chest, syncing with Liam's fading heartbeat. A whisper, not of sound but of pure sensation, echoed in his mind : [Connection Established…Initializing…].
Vorian stiffened. "What in the Nine Hells— ?"
The cavern erupted in golden light. Liam's final thought was of Sarah's laughter, bright as dawn—
—then nothing. A blinding, searing white consumed him, not of fire, but of something… else. It felt like being unmade and remade, every fiber of his being torn apart and woven back together, yet different.
The echoes of screams—his own and the dragon's—merged into a single, resonating hum that vibrated through existence itself. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the sensation ceased. A profound stillness settled, a void deeper than any darkness he had ever known. The silence of oblivion.
The morning light seeped through the curtains, painting the bedchamber in hues of amber. Liam Lithian lay tangled in silk sheets, his brow furrowed like crumpled parchment. Beads of sweat traced the sharp lines of his jaw as his fingers clawed at the mattress.
He awoke with a gasp that tore through the stillness, hands flying to his unmarred chest. Sunlight stung his eyes as he stared at the vaulted ceiling, its familiar timber beams mocking him. This room… burned to cinders a decade ago.
"Impossible…" he whispered, his voice trembling like a bowstring after release. His gaze swept across the chamber—the wolf-pelt rug from his first hunt, the dented practice sword propped in the corner, the faint scar on the oak desk where Sarah had once spilled candle wax.
This was my room when I was fifteen. How ? I'm not dead.
Three sharp raps shattered the silence. The rhythm—two quick, one lingering—unlocked a flood of memories. Sarah's knock.
"Enter." The word tasted foreign in his throat, too light, too young.
The door creaked open, revealing a sparrow of a girl balancing a silver tray. Sarah's russet braids swung as she curtsied, the motion precise yet animated—a dance perfected through countless mornings. "Breakfast awaits, my lor—"
Air fled Liam's lungs. There she stood, her cheeks round with youth's softness, not the hollowed face that haunted his battlefield dreams. His legs moved before reason caught up, his bare feet cold against the flagstones.
"L-Lord… ?" She stepped back, startled.
He crushed her to his chest, inhaling the lavender scent of her hair. Real. Warm. Alive. Tears fell unchecked into her braids. "Forgive me," he rasped, fingers tracing the nape of her neck where he'd once found bruises shaped like a man's grip. "I'll burn the world before they touch you again."
The tray clattered to the floor. "M-My lord, you're scaring me !" Her hands fluttered against his nightshirt.
A laugh bubbled up—raw, disbelieving. He cradled her face, thumbs brushing the apples of her cheeks. "Call me by my name," he murmured.
Color flooded her face. "Y-You're impossible !" She swatted his arm, the gesture achingly familiar. "Now let go before Solomon skins me for the ruined linens !"
Liam caught his reflection in the standing mirror. A youth stared back—silver hair tousled from sleep, eyes like twin marbles of amber. The face of a boy who hadn't yet watched his world burn.
"The date !" He spun her around, urgency sharpening his tone. "What date is it ?"
"Third of July, Year 808…" She rubbed her wrist, confusion knitting her brows. "Did you hit your head last night ?"
Third of July, Year 808 Sandorian calendar. Ice flooded his veins. three years. Three years until Father's "hunting accident." 6 months until Mother's mysterious illness. He was fifteen again.
As Sarah fetched a robe, Liam's thoughts raced. My parents—they're alive. He didn't understand how. He was home. That was all that mattered—for now.
The dining hall doors loomed, oak carved with the snarling wolf of House Lithian. Liam skidded to a halt, trembling fingers brushing the iron rivets. Breathe. They're here. Alive.
He shoved the doors open.
Lord Baren Lithian looked up from his venison, scarred hands frozen mid-cut. "You enter the hall without knocking, and late at that ?" The rebuke held its usual edge, but Liam saw the flicker in those steel-gray eyes.
Maria set down her goblet, obsidian eyes narrowing. "Liam, what's wr—"
He fell to his knees, forehead pressed to the flagstones. The scent of rosemary and beeswax candles overwhelmed him—a fragrance he'd mourned in every campfire's smoke. "Father. Mother." The words cracked. "By the Old Gods, let this be real."
Silence hung thick as battle smoke.
A chair scraped. Calloused fingers gripped his chin, forcing him to meet Baren's gaze. The Lord of the North studied him—the tremor in his son's jaw, the ancient grief in eyes too young for such sorrow. "The boy reeks of night terrors," Baren grunted, releasing him. "Eat. We'll speak of this later"
Maria's hand found Liam's, cool and steady. "Sarah," she called, never breaking her son's gaze, "fetch the yarrow tonic. And reheat Liam's meal."
From the doorway, Sarah bobbed a frantic curtsy, the lord's uneaten scone clutched in her apron. As she fled, Liam caught her glance—a silent question in those doe-brown eyes.
He sank into his seat, the carved wolf's head digging into his back. "I'll protect them this time", he vowed, a fierce light kindling in his gaze. "All of them".
After finishing his meal, while he was on his way to his room.
Liam savored every little detail—the warmth of the morning sun on his skin, the faint scent of fresh dew in the air, the quiet creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet. These were things he had overlooked before, things that had seemed irrelevant in his past life. I was a fool, he thought. But not this time. This time, he would cherish every moment. He would make every second count.
In his chambers, a steaming bath awaited him, the scent of lavender already filling the air. Sarah must have anticipated his need.
As he stepped into the shower, his mind began to race. He suspected it was some form of magic—yet he had never heard of a spell capable of turning back time.
He remembered his uncle's betrayal—the greed in his eyes, the venom in his words, and the blade that sealed his fate.
"I will have my revenge" Liam muttered, his fists clenching. "This time, I'll kill you with my own hands, Uncle"
Then he remembered the sound he had heard with his last breath.
"What was it again?" Liam murmured to himself.
"Connection … something established .."
After finishing his bath, he donned his training tunic and clenched his fists.
"If I want to take my revenge and protect those I hold dear," he murmured, determination burning in his eyes, "I need to become stronger than I ever was in my previous life."
He reached for his sword, which was resting against his desk. The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, a translucent panel flickered into existence before his eyes. Glowing script appeared in the air, as if written by an invisible hand.
Liam gasped and took a step back. He blinked, expecting the strange sight to disappear—but it remained, shimmering before him.
[Weapon: unamed]
Type: Arming Sword
Rarity: Common
Attack Power: 5
Durability: 38/50
Effects:
None
"What…?" The word was a breath, a whisper of disbelief. He could read it. The script wasn't Razakian, not any language he knew, yet the meaning was clear. His gaze flicked across the panel, taking in the details. Attack Power… Durability… It was like… a description. Of his sword.
On the left side of the panel, the word "Status" was inscribed, its faint glow flickering like dying embers. Doubt gnawed at him, but he reached out anyway.
The moment his fingers met the surface, a ripple spread outward—like a stone cast into still water. The symbols wavered, twisting and reforming before his eyes. In the span of a breath, the display shifted, revealing a new set of inscriptions.
[Loading System.]
[Status Window]
Name: Liam Lithian
Age: 15
Race: Human
Title: The regressed
Stars: ★ (Swordsman Trainee)
Affiliation: House Lithia
Potential: C
Attributes:
Strength: 7Stamina: 5Agility: 5Vitality: 20Endurance: 40Mana: 200
Talents :
Swordsmanship (D)Close Combat (F)Archery (F)Hunting (E)
Skills :
Dragonheart Vigor (Passive - Rank SS+)
EXP: 0/500
Remaining stat points : 0
Liam's eyes widened as he scanned the panel.
"Drakonian Bloodline? What is that?"
Every detail of his being was laid bare before him—his strength, agility, mana... even his potential. But what caught his attention the most was the skill listed at the bottom.
"Dragonheart Vigor... Rank SS+?"
Liam traced the glowing text with trembling fingers.
"What in the world is this?"
He traced the unfamiliar words, a thrill of anticipation mixed with a healthy dose of bewilderment coursing through him.
Dragonheart Vigor (Passive, Rank SS+): A vestige of a powerful, dormant draconic bloodline. Allows the user to convert Mana into a temporary surge of focused power, enhancing a chosen core Attribute.
Passively consumes 1 Mana Point every 10 seconds. Each point consumed grants a temporary +5 boost to one selected Attribute (Strength, Stamina, Agility, Vitality, or Endurance). This boost fades quickly when Mana is no longer consumed. The skill provides enhanced Attributes, not a permanent increase to the base stats. Only one Attribute can be boosted at a time. Switching Attributes: Switching the boosted Attribute requires a short cooldown period (3 seconds). ??? ??? ???
Liam continued experimenting with the panel. He noticed a section labeled "Inventory" and tapped on it.
At once, a grid of empty slots materialized before him, each outlined in faint light. A flickering message hovered above:
[Place an item to store it.]
Intrigued, Liam brought his sword close to the panel. The moment the blade touched the glowing surface, it vanished. In its place, a small image of the sword appeared in one of the slots.
Eyes widening, he hesitantly tapped the image. Instantly, the sword reappeared in his grasp.
Liam let out a low whistle. This is incredibly useful…
"It's just like the magic storage rings crafted by the Magic Tower in the Holy Kingdom," he murmured. Those rings were very rare and expensive. In his past life, he had only seen one, that can only store up to five objects, and it had been valued at a staggering ten million gold coins.
Liam scanned the grid, his brow furrowing in thought. With this many slots, it could probably hold over a hundred items—maybe even more. The possibilities were staggering.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Lord Liam, are you ready?" Sarah's voice came from the other side. "Sir Lucas is asking for your presence."
Still focused on the glowing panel, Liam absentmindedly answered, "I'll be there," his mind still partially occupied by the glowing panel. He only fully registered her presence when she stepped inside, her tone questioning. "Lord?"
Liam startled, snapping his head up. "Ah—I'm coming." Liam grimaced slightly. The old knight was a stickler for punctuality.
As he turned to face her, he realized something. Sarah's eyes weren't on the panel—it was as if she couldn't see it at all.
"So, it's visible only to me…"