Death was supposed to be the end.
I remember the moment clearly—not the pain, but the certainty. The understanding that there would be nothing after. No thoughts. No regrets. Just silence.
That assumption shattered when I felt pressure.
It wrapped around me from every direction, heavy and suffocating, as though the world itself was squeezing me into shape.
Sound followed.
Panicked. Close.
"Push—just a little more!"
"I can see him—hold on!"
Then air tore into my lungs.
I screamed.
Not out of fear, but instinct. My body convulsed violently, unfamiliar and weak, forcing a sound from my throat before I even understood what sound was.
"He's crying!" a woman sobbed. "He's alive!"
"Thank the Saints…" a man breathed. "Thank the Saints…"
Hands lifted me—rough but careful.
Light stabbed into eyes that barely worked.
I couldn't move properly. Couldn't focus my vision. Couldn't do anything except cry.
And yet—
My mind was intact.
I remembered everything.
My name. My past life. My death.
I had been reborn.
A Mind Awake in a New Body
As my crying faded into shallow gasps, something shifted inside me.
Not a voice.
Not a presence watching from above.
An awareness—deep, internal, undeniable.
Continuity established.
Soul integrity confirmed.
The words formed naturally in my thoughts, understood rather than heard.
I didn't panic.
Somehow, I knew this wasn't an outside force.
It was mine.
Reincarnation System initialized.
No warmth. No power.
Only clarity.
I sensed something else—space. Four distinct impressions, like empty rooms waiting to be filled.
Skill Capacity: Four
Four…
Not remarkable.
Not terrible.
Enough to survive.
Ordinary People
My parents were ordinary.
I learned that slowly, over countless quiet moments.
My father spoke first that night, his voice low and shaking.
"He's so small," he murmured. "Are you sure he's healthy?"
My mother laughed weakly, tears streaking her face.
"He's breathing, isn't he?" she said. "And crying loud enough to wake the dead. That's healthy enough for me."
My father chuckled softly.
"Still… I don't want him growing up hungry like we did."
"We'll manage," she replied firmly. "We always do."
Their words were simple.
Honest.
And filled with something I hadn't known I'd missed.
Care.
The silent years (0-1)
Infancy was torture.
Not physically—emotionally.
My thoughts raced far ahead of my body. I could reason, analyze, and plan, but I couldn't speak. Couldn't walk. Couldn't even control my hands properly.
So I watched.
I listened.
At night, I heard my parents whisper.
"Do you think he'll be strong?" my mother asked one evening.
My father sighed. "I don't know. I just hope he doesn't have to work himself to the bone like me."
"He has your eyes," she said softly. "That's a good sign."
I almost laughed.
If only they knew.
Mana, Quietly Felt
Magic wasn't loud in this world.
It didn't crack the sky or warp reality.
It flowed.
Soft. Subtle.
I felt it when my mother held me close. When sunlight filtered through the window. When rain struck the roof.
[Mana Sensitivity – Rank C] responded instinctively.
It was sharper than my other skills.
The rest were dull, heavy, inefficient.
[Minor Endurance – Rank D]
[Mental Focus – Rank D]
[Basic Weapon Handling – Rank D]
Crude foundations.
But foundations nonetheless.
The Decision
On my first birthday, my parents argued quietly by the hearth.
"The Rite isn't cheap," my father said. "And the road isn't safe."
My mother folded her arms. "If we don't do it now, we never can."
"And if something happens to him on the way?"
She looked down at me, asleep in her arms.
"Then at least we tried to give him a future."
Silence followed.
My father finally nodded.
"…Alright. We'll go."
The City and the Rite
The city was overwhelming.
Stone streets. Crowded voices. Mana thick enough to feel heavy in the air.
The priest who received us was old, his robes worn but clean.
"You've come for the Rite?" he asked calmly.
"Yes," my father said, bowing slightly. "For our son."
The priest glanced at me.
"Hmm. Awake eyes. That's rare."
He gestured for my mother to step forward.
"Hold him steady."
The crystal lens was cold against my chest.
The air tightened.
The priest inhaled slowly.
"…Four."
My mother's breath caught.
"Four potential skill spaces," he said. "Above average. Your child is fortunate."
My father exhaled shakily. "Thank the Saints…"
"And his skills?" my mother asked hesitantly.
The priest nodded.
"Let us see."
The Reading
"Minor Endurance. Rank D."
The priest's tone was neutral.
"Mental Focus. Rank D."
My father nodded. "That sounds useful."
"Basic Weapon Handling. Rank D."
The priest paused.
"…And lastly," he said, peering closer. "Mana Sensitivity. Rank C."
My mother stiffened.
"Is that… bad?" she asked.
"No," the priest replied. "Rare, but not dangerous. It means the child senses mana more clearly than most."
My father swallowed. "Does that mean he'll be a mage?"
The priest shook his head.
"It means he has potential. What he becomes depends on you—and on him."
That was all.
The result was recorded.
And then sealed forever.
The First Refinement
We returned home.
Life went on.
And one quiet night, listening to my parents sleep, I made my first decision.
Skill Fusion available.
I focused inward.
Two skills answered.
[Basic Weapon Handling]
[Mental Focus]
I understood them.
Their inefficiencies.
Their overlap.
I let go.
Heat surged through my chest. My breathing stuttered. For a moment, my thoughts blurred—
Then stabilized.
One presence replaced two.
Sharper. Cleaner.
Fusion complete.
New Skill Acquired: Disciplined Combat – Rank C
I lay still in the darkness.
Not smiling.
Not celebrating.
Just understanding.
This world had limits.
And I had found a way to refine myself within them