The blue light appeared in the air before him.
[New title gained: "Reborner"]
[Name: Draven Whitlock]
[Class: Unknown][Title: "Reborner"]
---------------[Status]----------------
[Level: 1] [Rank: S] [HP: 10/10]
[Mana: 10/10]
[Strength: 10]
[Agility: 10]
[Intelligence: 10]
[Vitality: 10]
[Magic Power: 10]
[Sense: 10]
----------------------------------------------
He stared at it.
A status window — the kind that appeared, rarely, as a gift from god to those chosen at birth. He had heard of them. He had never expected one. The window tracked its owner's growth, awarding levels and upgrade points as they killed monsters and developed new skills, accumulating power in a form that could be read and measured. He understood the concept clearly enough.
What he didn't understand was the S rank sitting beside his level.
Level one. Rank S. Those two things had no business appearing in the same window.
Before he could examine it further, the window updated.
[New ability gained: Blessing of God]
[Blessing of God]:
Immune to all magical attacks lower than S grade
Immune to all curses, diseases, and harmful effects — burn, poison, freeze, shock, and all related conditions
Applies Angel Shield: +50% Vitality
[Vitality: 10 → 15]
[New technique gained: Whitlock's 1st Technique][New technique gained: Whitlock's 2nd Technique][New technique gained: Whitlock's 3rd Technique][New technique gained: Whitlock's 4th Technique]
The techniques, he understood immediately. The Whitlock clan had twelve sword techniques in total, passed down through generations, and the four he'd just received were the ones he had mastered in his previous life. The system had simply acknowledged what his muscle memory already held. The knowledge hadn't gone anywhere — it had come back with him.
He thought about what those twelve techniques represented, and about the grading system that governed every sword user in the world he'd returned to.
Grade 3 was the floor — the most common classification, the baseline from which most sword users never advanced. Grade 2 represented genuine improvement: more speed, more precision, a meaningful step above the ordinary. Grade 1 was rare enough to be remarkable — practitioners who had pushed past ordinary human limitation through talent, discipline, and a deep instinctive understanding of the blade. A Grade 1 sword user could do things that appeared nearly supernatural to anyone watching from below.
Above Grade 1 was the Elite rank, which was less a classification than a legend. So few had attained it that most official bodies didn't formally recognize its existence, and those who had reached it were spoken of in the same breath as historical turning points rather than individual fighters. An Elite sword user could cut through magic, could face an army and meaningfully alter the outcome, could change the direction of a war by their presence alone. Only six people had ever been confirmed to have reached it. One of them was Karneth Whitlock — Draven's father, the head of the Whitlock clan.
As a mid-grade warrior in his previous life, Draven had mastered the first four techniques. The final three of the original twelve had been lost entirely — too difficult, too demanding, declining in practitioners with each generation until no one alive remembered how they worked. The clan now maintained nine. Even nine was considered extraordinary.
The nursery door opened.