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“This child, as our Lord watches from the heavens, will be tested to see if he is of pure heart or if he has been tainted by the Blasphemer!”

Why-

Why are you so loud?

Vander’s limbs stretched wide. He felt the hands that held him up in the air press sharply on his sides. Of course, he tried to growl at the asshole, knock that off!

Something feels wrong. I’m forgetting something. Something important.

His small, squinting eyes let in a little light, though it pained him to even try to peel away the crud sealing them closed. Everything feels slow. Weakness permeates my body. My senses are dulled. The man’s booming words are the only exception to this.

“In His faith, we anoint this child as one of us!”

Oh, oh no. Not this shit again!

Cold water washed over Vander as they submerged him within a small tub, but he already knew how this ended. The water cleared away the gunk from his uniquely identifying clear-blue eyes. Vander glowered back at the horrified gaze of the Zealot—probably a High Priest. In the time it took him to blink, the Priest’s lips curled into a snarl. Pure, unadulterated hatred bore into Vander, his tiny heart skipping a beat involuntarily.

I hate you too, asshole.

He barely had the time to look at the two notifications in front of him.

Final reincarnation activated.

YOU WILL NOT HAVE ANOTHER CHANCE.

The Zealot pulled a sacrificial dagger from the folds of his silver scholarly robes, and its sharp blade glinted in the bright cathedral’s overhanging lights, stained maroon with the blood of generations of “children of the Blasphemer”.

I’ve already died twice because of you freaks! This is my last life, and I haven’t even been able to do a damn thing! Screw you, dude!

“The Blasphemer’s taint is upon this youth! O’ Lord Above, watch as your most devout fulfills your will.” Spittle flew from his leathery lips, and his jowls flopped wildly as he spread the lies of The Mad God. The concerningly sharp tip of the dagger cut through the air, and Vander could do nothing but close his eyes and accept his gods’ forsaken fate.

This!

Really!

Sucks!

Vander waited.

And he waited some more.

But the sharp, life-stealing pain never came.

Is… this what they call divine intervention?!

He opened his eyes again, bewildered to find a man with broad shoulders, a scruffy beard, and curly-blonde unkempt hair manhandling the priest. Their struggle came to an end when the man finally freed the sacrificial knife from the priest’s grip, snatching it for himself. With a tight grip on the dagger, he sank the maroon-dyed tip deep into the Priest’s eye socket.

Yes, get me out of here!

The magic in the sacrificial dagger activated, turning the Priest into a husk as its life was gifted to The Mad God. Seconds later, the husk of a man exploded into dust.

Without hesitation, the man wrapped Vander’s childish form in a soft blanket beside the small dais. Vander curled into the unknown man and thanked Andromeda—one of the three deities he’d heard of in his brief moments in the new world—that he still drew breath, that his heart still beat.

Exhaustion pushed Vander to the brink of sleep, his eyes barely fluttering open despite several outraged protests. I need to see more! I can’t fall asleep here and not know if I’ll wake up again!

The man stroked his head as he ran. Each step carried them forward across long swathes of land after departing the cathedral. Everything blurred. Darkness covered the sky as black storm clouds blocked out all traces of light and boomed with vehement thunder, the rage of The Mad God descending.

The explosions nearly deafened Vander and robbed him of his eyesight. But he heard the most important thing…

“Vander, my son,” the man whispered. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re all I have left.”

Yo! My dad isn’t a total dick this time around! Time to nap now…

***

The realm of Gaia was filled with kingdoms and empires. Split into three known continents, each sprawled across tens of thousands of miles in all directions. These three known continents were surrounded by an even larger ocean. The fogs made travel perilous, and the monsters in the deep had a craving for human flesh.

The most powerful empires were located on the first of the two origin continents, Varoth. But for Maldus, The Mad God reigned supreme. To speak against him was the highest form of treason. And even Varoth hadn’t entirely escaped The Mad God’s influence, though they’d not taken to his beliefs in lieu of the presence of the rest of the divine pantheon.

Maldus’ reputation stemmed from housing the Zealots, a cultist faction who followed The Mad God’s new testament and had forsaken the ways of his origins as The Scholar. Varoth’s reputation commanded respect of many times of magic. All great families had secret techniques, different training regiments, and a plethora of resources that bordered on the scale of even the divine. Closer to the edge of the discovered world, however, the nations and civilizations became less prosperous, populated, and advanced.

On the continent of Ainos, the newest and most mysterious, the center gave way to a sprawling forest aptly named The Snarl. What existed far north, south, or west of the colonies, nobody knew.

There were many mysteries of Ainos. The Snarl was one of those places that anybody who wanted to live a long life avoided. At the same time, it was a great forest of wealth and hope and liberty. No settler had ever lived there, and few even dared to approach the grasslands that led to it. Wandering bands of monstrous beings, orcs, minotaurs, centaurs, and savages, roamed those grasslands, calling them home.

But adventurers who set foot on Ainos were drawn to The Snarl, a place of hope and treasure but also one of horror, of terrifying bedtime stories told to settlers’ children. It was said that if they were not brave against their enemies and true to their friends, the Monarchs of the forest would come to take them in the night.

The forest received its name from the beasts inside that would all join in chorus at the turning of each month. Many strange and otherworldly beings called the forest home, from the vicious beasts of flesh and blood to the spirits of nature. Even nature-loving, human-hating elves, territorial spiderkin, and all types of fae-folk had been whispered about over deep cups in local taverns.

But perhaps the strangest beings that lived in this forest were two men, a father and son pair, who built their lives at the border lands between the first and second layers within the eastern reaches of the forest.

The dad was tall, well-built, and looked roughly in his late forties—though he was at least a decade older than that. He had brown hair, warm green eyes that stared a mile away, sharp features, and a straight nose.

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The son was a youth of eight, far shorter than his father and with a developed build. His features took after his father for the most part, except for his bright blue eyes.

The son, Vander Braxton, was dressed in a tight-fitting shirt, brown leather pants, and layered leather boots. The shirt and pants his dad acquired some seasons ago from Enari, the closest settlement. He carried a spear in-hand and kept a sharpened knife in the heel of his boot. His dad was largely dressed the same, save for a light brown fur coat and a short sword at his hip.

His dad watched Vander track the beasts they were hunting, an enormous level 5 Bicorn Bunny large enough to feed them for several days. If Vander wasn't careful, this beast would have no trouble goring him with its horns or hopping off to safety. Luckily, his dad was there, keeping an eye on him.

Without his dad, Vander was certain he would’ve been killed by the beasts of the forest long ago. In this new life, knowledge was one problem of many. His body still needed to train, even if he hated being guided like a day one greenhorn.

On the bright side, his dad was a powerful mage—or at least he’d say so down at the Enari taverns after reaching the bottom of his mug a time or two too many. His tales of being able to project magic outside of his body and use it to detect everything for miles around himself made Vander curious about the magic of Gaia.

At night, however, they relied completely on choosing the right location to settle down in. Too close to the second layer, and the predators would show no mercy. Even the predators on the first layer of The Snarl could be quite dangerous to fend off without light or if caught unaware.

The power and strength of these nocturnal creatures made wandering the forest alone at night an impossible task for someone as weak as Vander. By virtue of his strength alone, his dad had no trouble finding their daily hunts, including the one they were pursuing, but this was a learning opportunity for Vander.

Then again, his dad thought everything was a learning opportunity. His dad always wanted his son to learn and improve how to hunt, how to survive in the wild, but most of all, he wanted Vander to learn how to kill.

Vander never struggled hard with the last one. His previous life’s experience had drilled the sentiments of “kill or be killed” and “survival of the fittest”, which The Snarl was the epitome of.

From the stories his dad told, to survive among the mages and warriors of Gaia, one needed a strong killing intent. In fact, this was one of the reasons his dad had the two of them live out in the wild—that and not being easily traceable by the Zealots or their god. Vander’s dad wanted to hone Vander’s killing intent, and The Snarl was the best place in the world to learn.

This was not the first time Vander had taken the lead on a hunt. Each time Vander further adjusted to his new vessel, he had to redevelop his familiarity with his body. Each hunt, he would have less trouble finding his prey.

If it weren’t for the odd magic of this world, he wasn’t sure he’d survive out in the wilderness with his dad as he had. Low and behold, his lifelink in the new world: the status.

Vander Braxton (F Rank)

Class: Basic (Tier 0)

Title(s): Unlucky Reincarnator, One With Potential, (Sealed), (Sealed)

Strength: 9

Agility: 18

Endurance: 8

Willpower: 19

Perception: 15

Arcana: 0

Skill Points: 0

Skills: (Sealed), Quiet Steps (Level 7), Running (Level 3), Climbing (Level 1), Tracking (Level 5), Spearmanship (Level 3), Throw (Level 4), Meditation (Level 9)

But for all his skill and natural talent, Vander had never brought down anything larger than a Level 3 Red Fox, let alone any of the other more terrifying and bizarre monsters that live in the forest.

Vander continued to lead the hunt and slunk forward through the shadows, not making a sound with his quick steps and letting the tracking skill aid him as he kept following the tracks it’d picked up.

As they got closer to his prey, a Bicorn Bunny from the looks of things, Vander slowed down. He began to regulate his breathing, allowing his heart to calm down. He readied his spear and took aim at the side of the forest dweller minding its own business. If he missed and it attacked, he’d have to rely on his dad to stop the beast from goring him.

As Vander breathed, the magic within the air was drawn into his lungs. For whatever reason, he couldn’t store magic in his body, but it caused an odd feeling like electricity to shoot through his limbs. This mana temporarily entered his muscles when he meditated and saturated them with power, making him stronger and faster than normal, but only for a short burst.

When he finished preparing himself, Vander took the last few steps from behind the shrub he’d been hiding and caught sight of the level 5 Bicorn Bunny. It was only ten feet away, a distance easily in range of his ability to chunk the spear. He took aim, guaranteed his throw, then released.

The spear crossed those ten feet in the blink of an eye with the aid of his skill’s activation. The bunny noticed Vander’s sharp killing intent and looked over in confusion before the spear skewered it through the body and anchored it to the ground. Vander’s spear penetrated its heart, killing it instantly.

“Good job, son,” his dad said.

“Thanks,” Vander replied, nodding.

The two found a large tree branch, fallen from a huge oak. Vander cleared off the leaves and smaller twigs while his dad slit its throat to drain it of blood as they walked and tied the bunny’s feet around the branch so it hung upside down. The blood might potentially attract predators, but the walk was long enough that the meat would spoil if they didn’t take the proper measures now. They lifted the bunny and began the trek back to their most recent campsite.

Vander struggled to carry the bicorn bunny. It was as large as his eight year old body. Even with his current attributes, he had to push himself to keep pace with his dad. At some point, his dad picked up the slack and carried the bunny by himself instead.

They walked at a steady pace, not stopping even for a moment to rest or to admire the brilliantly colored flowers and leaves, nor the brush. After several hours of walking, the trees and foliage thinned as they approached a clearing where they had set up camp, their home for more than a week so far—and maybe another week yet.

However, the sun had nearly disappeared in the west, and creatures were beginning to stir in the darkening woods. The hair on the back of Vander’s neck stood on end as the eyes of the nocturnal beasts woke.

“Damn,” Vander whispered, nervously looking around into the darkened forest. His meager perception didn’t let him see a thing, but from the killing intent he felt, they were there.

His dad was looking into the forest, and Vander knew the man saw much more than just the trees and the dark. He saw the things stalking them among the trees, the black shadows and cold, hungry eyes.

“Stop.” His dad put down the bunny and looked the same direction as before. “Stay low and don’t move. Should anything get past me, make your way back to camp. In my bag… You’ll know it when you see it. Don’t stop for anything else.”

His dad looked at Vander who nodded. Vander watched his dad move off into the darkness, drawing his short sword. It was a rather unremarkable weapon; a leather handle, round pommel, and a straight guard. Though the blade looked to be made of good steel, it seemed to be of a quality that any blacksmith in Ainos could make with little effort.

But no ordinary smith could make this plain-looking sword.

Despite how plain this weapon appeared, in his dad’s hands, it appeared to be something out of legend. Sparking with lightning and rumbling with the sound of thunder—this sword was what gave his dad confidence when they went out into the dark forest.

Vander’s inability to see a damned thing meant he was completely clueless to what was happening in the dark. But he heard. The terrible sound of prowlers in the night. The chilling feeling of subtle killing intent focused on your heart, gradually squeezing tighter and tighter.

Every shriek from the beasts in the dark sent Vander’s heart racing at a million miles an hour. His blood began to boil as the hunt called to something deep inside of him. Something apparently with no concept of strength or desire to live.

Regardless of that urge, Vander stayed still with the utmost confidence in his dad. This sort of thing happened often. New world dad never loses, Vander thought, proud of the man who’d saved his life from those awful Zealots.

His confidence was rewarded when he saw his dad’s sword, illuminated by the flashes of lightning piercing through the dark of the trees. Vander felt the wind from every swing and the residual killing intent from the predators dissipate.

Soon, the noises ceased entirely. Shortly after, his dad returned. He didn’t even look like he’d broken a sweat. Neither spoke, normal for them. They picked the bunny up and continued.

From the time he could walk, this kind of thing was something Vander had always known—either in this life or in the last. The danger these beasts faced no longer scared him, no longer felt remarkable.

Were I a few years older, I’d probably be able to smack those guys around too. Though, I doubt I’d be so flashy about it, Vander thought, eyeing his dad’s sword. He looked at his bloodied speartip and sighed. Maybe one day I’ll have nice things.

Vander still felt the attention of the beasts, but they’d been cowed after his dad’s show of force. They’d never leave entirely. Only when they reached a circular clearing devoid of grass and full of totems his dad had carved over the years were they finally left alone.

A fire pit took the main stage in the center of the clearing. Two small grass and fur cots made for beds. They had a few beaten sharpened blades used for butchering, which was done near the waste pit outside of their circle. Their personal knapsacks were still packed and ready to go if they’d needed to. They never did, but his dad made sure to keep them on the move.

Now they’d returned, Vander started preparing the Bicorn Bunny to be stored for the next few days. He couldn’t quite remember if they’d brought back any salt or the proper method to jerky something.

He got lost in his work, hoping his skills and attributes would increase. After the bunny was broken down and all things were finally peaceful, he laid on his cot to rest.

Vander smiled up at the darkness and sighed in relief. “It’s good to be alive.”