Someone was having a dream, A Dream Of Battlefield.

The battlefield was a scene of utter horror—a blood-soaked wasteland where countless corpses of soldiers lay scattered. The ground was littered with bodies, some beaten to death, others stabbed, and a few horrifically half-eaten by unknown forces. The once-green land was now a deep crimson, the soil soaked through with the blood of the fallen.

Among the few knights still standing, there was a man in his forties. He had blue hair that was matted with dirt and sweat, and his deep, soft blue eyes—once warm like a comforting oven—were now filled with fear and despair. A slightly unkempt beard framed his handsome face, but his expression was one of complete shock and disbelief.

He stood frozen, gripping his broadsword with trembling hands. His mouth hung open in a silent scream, unable to process the carnage around him. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes landing on the lifeless bodies of his comrades. Blood poured from their wounds, their eyes wide open in death, and their faces twisted in agony. One of them was a young girl, her body half-devoured by something monstrous. It was a sight that would haunt him forever.

Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as he whispered their names, "Cassandra... Michael... Sachet... all of you..." His voice broke with each name, sobs shaking his body. The grip on his broadsword weakened, and the heavy blade leaned against the blood-soaked ground.

In that moment, it was clear—he had given up. His will was shattered, his spirit crushed. He was ready to fall to his knees, to surrender to the overwhelming despair that consumed him. But before he could collapse, a voice cut through the silence.

"Captain! You can't give up yet! Not after our companions gave their lives. We're not just fighting for a kingdom anymore—we're fighting for humanity! We have to win, for all of humanity!"

The voice belonged to a young soldier, his words filled with determination and hope. The captain blinked, recognizing the voice. Something in him stirred, a flicker of the man he used to be. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

"Yes..." he whispered, his voice growing stronger. He lifted his sword once more, gripping it tightly. "I can't lose... not after all of this..." He turned, his eyes narrowing as they focused on the figure responsible for this nightmare.

His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn't from fear—it was a surge of renewed determination. "I won't let their sacrifices be in vain. For them… for humanity… I will fight," he vowed, his voice strong and unwavering.

Before him stretched an army of nightmares, a horde of monsters and demons unlike anything from the stories of old. These weren't the typical creatures of fantasy—they were living horrors, each one a twisted abomination. Their faces and bodies were grotesque, their forms so hideous that they seemed to have crawled out from the deepest pits of a nightmare.

One of the creatures had the body of a giraffe, but its head was a grotesque parody of a human face, with six eyes and large, sharp fangs. The head was twisted upside down, adding to the monstrosity's terrifying appearance. Another demon had a bloated, green body, with large, putrid bubbles oozing from its flesh. The stench of rotting flesh clung to it, turning the air sour. It was a sight so repulsive that it was hard to believe it was real. But this was no dream. These were "Anomaly Class Monsters," special-class demons born from the worst nightmares.

At the forefront of this unholy army floated their leader—a demon lord like no other. He had the face of an octopus, with slimy, jelly-like flesh that seemed to shimmer with a sickening sheen. From his mouth, countless larvae wriggled out, falling to the ground in a disturbing, endless stream. He was a creature straight out of a Lovecraftian Cthulhu novel, a vision so horrific it felt like reality itself was bending around him.

The middle-aged man saw all of this and felt a deep revulsion, but he was not afraid. He raised his sword, pointing it directly at the demon lord. "Demon Lord of Anomaly! I will end you no matter what, and I will put an end to this 'Age of Chaos'!" he shouted, his voice ringing out across the battlefield.

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The demon lord responded with a chilling laugh, a sound that rumbled deep and unnatural, as if it came from the bowels of some dark abyss. "Hehehe... Just try, human. You'll end just like everyone else!" The demon's voice was low and guttural, something no human throat could ever produce.

With those words, the battle began. The waves of monstrous creatures surged forward, clashing with the remaining human forces. The middle-aged man charged forward, meeting the demon lord head-on. The force of their collision sent shockwaves through the air, as sword met monstrous flesh in a deadly dance.

The fight raged on, fierce and unrelenting. Morning turned into night, and night into morning again. For three days and three nights, the battle continued without rest. The man's body ached, his muscles screamed with exhaustion, but his resolve never wavered. He pushed on, driven by the memory of his fallen comrades and the fate of humanity hanging in the balance.

Finally, on the fourth day, the impossible happened. With one final, desperate strike, the middle-aged man drove his sword through the demon lord's grotesque body. A scream of rage and agony tore through the battlefield as the demon lord fell, his monstrous form dissolving into nothingness.

The battlefield fell silent, the only sound remaining was the fading echo of the demon lord's death cry. The man stood there, drenched in blood and sweat, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He had done it—he had slain the demon lord. Humanity had won.

"Captain, Captain, we won—" came the familiar voice of the young soldier, filled with joy and relief. But before he could finish, something terrible happened. His words were cut short in a way that sent a chill down the captain's spine.

The middle-aged man, still catching his breath, turned to see what had interrupted the young soldier. His eyes widened in horror at the sight that greeted him. A monstrous bird-like creature had swooped down, tearing the young soldier's head clean off his shoulders. Blood sprayed in the air as the creature flew off, the soldier's lifeless body crumpling to the ground.

"W-what just happened?" the man stammered, his voice shaky with disbelief. He had defeated the demon lord, wiped out the monsters—how could there still be one left? Where did it come from?

Before he could process what had just occurred, the world around him seemed to blur. Bright lights began flashing before his eyes, forcing him to squeeze them shut. When he opened them again, he was met with a sight that made his blood run cold.

In front of him floated several other figures. Their forms were indistinct, as if shrouded in shadow. He couldn't make out their shapes clearly—neither their faces nor their genders could be discerned. They hovered in the air, just like the demon lord had, with the sun shining behind them, casting long, eerie shadows that made them seem almost divine, yet terrifying.

One of them spoke, its voice cold and mechanical, like the lifeless tone of a robot. "The Age of Chaos has ended, Ethan Rothslayer. Humanity has lost. With this, the constellation has fallen too. Hahaha..."

The man—Ethan—felt the ground give way beneath him as he dropped to his knees. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground. "No… this can't be," he whispered, his voice trembling with despair. "There are others like him… even stronger than him. Humanity can't lose…"

But the truth weighed down on him like a crushing force. The demon lord was only the beginning. If there were others—these beings who seemed even more powerful—what hope did humanity have left? The victory he had fought so hard for now felt like a cruel joke, a fleeting moment of triumph before the true horror began.

Just as he was about to sink into despair, the nightmare abruptly ended. In a large, luxurious room, adorned with shimmering gems and beautiful paintings. The room was part of a lavish suite meant for Class A students, complete with a shower room, dining hall, bedroom, study room, and more. It was a space designed for the elite.

In that room, a boy with blue hair had been asleep in a chair only moments before. Suddenly, his eyes flew open in a panic. "Humanity can't lose!" he shouted as he leaped from the chair, his heart racing. But then, he realized where he was. It had all been a dream—a haunting memory from his past, before his regression. "Huff... Huff... It was just a dream," he breathed out, trying to calm himself, sweat trickling down the side of his forehead.

He stood still for a moment, letting the reality of the present sink in. Slowly, he regained his composure, his breathing steadied, and his clenched fists relaxed. "In my previous life, by this time I was just a Class C student… a loser," he reflected. "But in this life, because I've worked hard since childhood, I'm already in Class A!" He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, mixed with a deep resolve.

He took a moment to look around the room, taking in the luxurious surroundings that were now his. Then, with renewed determination, he stepped out of his room and into the gallery. From there, he could see the surrounding area, a vast and beautiful view that stretched out before him. His face hardened with resolve, and his ocean-like eyes glowed with a fierce determination.

"This time, I won't let the Age of Chaos come. This time, I'll win. I'll protect all of humanity!" he vowed, his voice steady and strong. It was a promise to himself and to the world—this time, he would not fail.