Andy drew a ragged breath, feeling his strength ebb away. He was dying.

But the fire of his fighting spirit still burned bright within him.

Mustering the last vestiges of his strength, he lunged towards the unsuspecting back of the ogre barbarian.

With all his might, Andy swung his sword, the blow carrying the full force of his indomitable will."

But the sword bounced off the barbarian's hide with a sharp clang.

The hulking figure turned, curious to see what had dared to tap his back.

Surprise flickered across his face. He hadn't expected Andy, the Ijeran, to still be breathing.

"Three against one... and they still can't kill a blasted Ijeran? Now *that's* a warrior!" the ogre-like man boomed.

With a casual backhand, he swatted away the nimble swordswoman who had been harassing him.

She flew like a broken kite, crashing through a house dozens of yards away.

The wall exploded in a cloud of dust and debris.

"Pity you're on the wrong side, lad. You'd make a fine addition to my tribe." Andy heard the barbarian's words, but the world was fading fast. He could no longer respond.

His vision swam, the world blurring and twisting as consciousness slipped away.

　　...

...

[Title Gained: Death-Touched]

A chilling shriek ripped through the night sky, jolting Andy back to awareness.

[Quest System Activated]

[Quest Received → The Battle of Rhodval: Defeat the Natrenians and their allies. Prevent them from activating and controlling the ancient war machines beneath Mount Takhel.]

"What?"

"What in the blazes is going on...?"

"Could it be...?"

Andy was certain he wasn't dreaming.

A quest… a true, bona fide quest.

Bestowed upon him by the very fabric of this world.

Though history whispered of countless souls claiming such divine errands, those who truly received and completed a world-given quest were few and far between.

The last known quester was the Founder of the Republic, some one hundred and twenty years past.

And now he… Andy, an unremarkable militiaman from the Shire of Sabovala, had been granted a quest by the world itself!

Andy vividly recalled the final moments of the battle.

He'd lost all sensation, his vision swirling as if he'd been flung skyward.

He was certain he'd died in the fight.

Even if that hulking Vantanbek hadn't crushed him outright, the multitude of mortal wounds he'd suffered would surely have claimed his life.

Yet, here he was, back in his own bed within the familiar confines of Cottage Number 3 in the Thorned Courtyard of Rodvar.

He looked around, the familiar surroundings both comforting and bewildering.

The bedsheets were neatly arranged, the room undisturbed.

He sat up, his body free of wounds, the fatigue and pain of battle absent.

It all felt surreal, as if the fierce fight had been nothing but a fleeting dream.

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This was completely illogical.

Andy sat on the bed, desperate for answers, and he needed them now.

If he truly had returned to the past, did that mean a deity had sent him back?

Perhaps it was connected to the mission he had been given?

His thoughts were a tangled mess, impossible to unravel.

Then, Andy summoned his status screen.

Name: Andy Alfred

　　Age: 17

Title 1: Swordsmanship Apprentice

　　Available Title: One Who Has Experienced Death

Skills:

　　Swordsmanship Mastery 35 (Apprentice)

　　Shield Mastery 24 (Novice)

　　Cleaning 24 (Novice)

　　Physique 21 (Novice)

　　Unarmed Combat Mastery 20 (Novice)

　　Labor 17 (Novice)

　　Club Mastery 15 (Novice)

　　Combat Mastery 14 (Novice)

　　Sprint 14 (Novice)

　　Maintenance 8 (Novice)

　　Repair 7 (Novice)

　　Stealth 6 (Novice)

　　Intimidation 6 (Novice)

　　Deception 4 (Novice)

　　Blessing: Warrior's Heart - Bestowed by Fioretto, increases talent and learning speed for all warrior-related skills.

When Andy checked his status, he was certain that everything that had happened before was real.

First, his newly acquired title served as the initial proof.

Second, many of his skills had improved, most notably his Combat Mastery, which had jumped to 14 from 11.

He recalled his childhood, spent scrapping with other street urchins and orphans.

Countless times he had thrown punches and kicks, fighting for a crust of bread, a corner to sleep in.

Occasionally, he'd even challenge the Charles family guards, opponents far beyond his capabilities.

Reaching a Combat Mastery of 11 by the age of seventeen was considered quite an achievement, one that allowed him to join the town militia.

Yet, a single battle had raised it by three levels.

To think that actual combat could boost one's skills so drastically!

Most importantly... a Blessing!

Perhaps only one in a thousand receives a Blessing in their lifetime.

While most Blessings were minor, they still ensured a smoother path for the recipient.

Andy's life hadn't been terrible. True, he'd had a rough upbringing, those days scavenging on the streets, fighting with other children for scraps, were still vivid in his memory.

However, his hard work had yielded some results.

Now, this Blessing felt like a stroke of good fortune.

Although Andy was just a common foot soldier in the militia, Sergeant Eubius, and the sergeant before him, had both taken him aside and solemnly informed him that with his talent and dedication, he would soon be transferred to Killebrown.

Once he approached the rank of Master Swordsman, a transfer to the cavalry became highly probable.

Andy harbored such aspirations, yet he refrained from indulging in unrealistic fantasies.

However, if he dedicated himself to diligent practice throughout his life, surpassing even the Master Swordsman level wasn't entirely impossible.

Andy launched into his daily routine with a frenetic pace.

Breakfast, chores, assisting old Kunte.

Then, a headlong dash to the Temple of Widermo, arriving before the town's dawn bell tolled.

Across the continent of Ritania, temples to the gods were scattered like stars in the night sky.

Though the pantheons varied slightly between regions and nations, most humans in Ritania venerated and communed with the five primary deities.

It was still early; the dawn bell had yet to chime, and thus the temple remained relatively tranquil.

A few priests and priestesses swept the temple grounds, performing their morning duties.

The whispers of brooms against stone echoed softly.

Just then, Andy burst through the entrance.

"I must speak with a priest of Fioretto!" he declared, striding in.

"Peace, child...what brings you seeking a follower of the War God at such an early hour?" A priestess paused her sweeping, turning to regard him.

"Priestess, I have received a blessing!" Andy blurted, his voice brimming with urgency.

He arrived breathless, his level 21 physique pushed to its limits from the desperate run.

The priestess seemed startled for a moment, but quickly composed herself, offering a warm smile.

"Splendid! Come, child, let us verify this blessing and register you. I presume the mighty Fioreto has favored you? Are you a militiaman? Do they know of this?" she inquired calmly.

"Yes, I have received Fioreto's blessing. I am a militiaman, but I haven't had the chance to inform them yet."

"That's no matter, we can see to all of that. If you have duties to attend to today, do not worry, I will notify them." The priestess led Andy into a small chamber within the temple.

Inside, an armored priest prayed before a statue of a divine figure.

The statue held a warhammer in its right hand, a greatsword in its left, and two spears strapped across its back.

An aura of formidable power emanated from the statue of Fioreto.

Before turning to face them, the priest spoke.

"I sense it, the presence of one blessed by Fioreto." He turned around.

His face was heavily bearded, marked by a long scar, the very image of a war god's priest.

"I am Bronfield Herbert, Battle Priest of Fioreto. And you, warrior, what is your name?"

"Andy Alfred... I received Fioreto's blessing yesterday," Andy replied, deciding to reveal his experience gradually.

"Oh? And what were you doing when the blessing was bestowed upon you?" Bronfield asked, his eyes suddenly gleaming with intense interest in Andy.

A small voice whispered in Bronfield's mind: *Some are born to be the War God's favored.*

Andy hesitated, the crucial details caught in his throat.

But the flicker of doubt was quickly extinguished by his stubborn nature.

"You may not believe this, but after I died, I returned to the past."

"Today, in Rodvar, when the capital makes its announcement, a great battle will erupt. The Vantanbek barbarians are attacking Greenwold Square, aided by the Charles family. Loyal patriots of the Republic have rallied to oppose them… but I fell before I could see more." Andy's explanation was earnest and straightforward, devoid of embellishment.

Subtlety and deception were not his way.

His approach to problems was to charge headfirst, relentlessly, until either the problem yielded or he did.

To his credit, Bronfield, the battle priest, didn't laugh or scoff.

Instead, he grew profoundly silent, fixing Andy with an almost piercing stare.

A gaze that seemed to penetrate Andy's very soul.