The sun dipped low, casting a warm glow over the lake's still surface. Alistair and Meera walked side by side along the shore, their footsteps quiet against the soft, damp earth. A gentle breeze stirred the water, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers.
“What do you mean by ‘rebirth’?” Alistair asked, a bit more at ease around her now.
Meera glanced at him with a soft smile. “Remember what I said about the system? Only someone connected to it can challenge the ruling admin. That’s why we need to rebirth you—to reconnect you to the system.”
Alistair looked away, contemplating. “Because my body’s dying… but I’m technically still alive, right? Can’t you just save me now?”
Meera stopped, turning fully to face him. “It’s complicated. With my power, I could save your body. But it would mean being here physically.”
Seeing the confusion in Alistair’s eyes, Meera offered a gentle smile and continued. “This is a puppet,” she said, gesturing to her body. “It’s connected to my true body, which is… far from here. Through this puppet, I can use some of my power, but not enough to save you. That kind of interference—the backlash alone would destroy this puppet.”
“Interference?” Alistair echoed, his brow furrowing.
Meera nodded patiently. “Yes. Outside interference is… frowned upon. When someone from outside a world enters it, they must tread carefully. The moment they try to use this world’s mana, the world itself resists.”
“The world can tell if someone comes from outside?” Alistair asked, eyebrows raised.
Meera nodded. “Yes. The world recognizes every soul that was born from it. Souls from outside can’t tap into the world’s mana. For admins, this isn’t an issue, because they’re always connected to their own world’s mana.”
She glanced out over the lake, thoughtful. “Using my own mana isn’t a problem—I could teleport anywhere in this world without any backlash. However, the issue arises when I try to interact with a soul native to this world. Whether I’m helping or harming, the world resists. The intensity depends on how significant the interaction is.
“And the backlash comes first.” Meera’s gaze softened, as though explaining to a curious child. “Say I tried to heal a small scratch on a local child. The moment I cast the spell, this body would bear the backlash. If it can withstand it, then the spell will work.
“There are ways to circumvent the backlash,” she continued after a pause. “Kotan used one of them. By possessing a local awakened, an admin can bypass the resistance and do whatever they want, limited only by the body’s mana capacity.”
Alistair was about to respond when Meera gently interrupted him. “No. To save you, I’d need to teleport you out of harm’s way. That kind of displacement magic requires the caster to be at least as strong in mana as the target. No one in this world meets that threshold. And even if there were, the moment I leave this pocket dimension, time resumes for me. You’d be dead before I could act.”
Alistair nodded, absorbing her explanation. “Alright, I get it. So, I’d be reborn as a baby, then?”
Meera shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips. “No, we don’t have to go that far. What’s the age limit for awakening in this world?”
“A person can start the awakening process at fourteen,” Alistair replied, thinking. “I’m not sure about the upper limit, but I know the church won’t conduct an awakening for anyone over twenty.”
“So only church officials can trigger an awakening?” Meera asked, glancing at Alistair with interest. He nodded.
“Can a church official perform the process anywhere, or does it have to be somewhere specific?”
“They only do awakenings in churches. Something about needing to be witnessed by the goddess,” Alistair replied, sounding unconvinced.
Meera shook her head. “That’s nonsense. It sounds like an item-bound or location-bound awakening process. This is good.”
“Why is that good?” Alistair asked, eyebrow raised.
“If the awakening process is class-bound—meaning only a specific class can perform it—then we’d have to find ourselves a church official,” she explained. “But if it’s item-bound or location-bound, we can just… hack it.”
“With a sword?”
Meera laughed, covering her mouth. “No, silly. I meant we could trick the system and hold our own private awakening ceremony.”
“So, you’re planning to make me a fourteen-year-old body, then?” Alistair asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” Meera replied, shaking her head. “If there’s an age requirement, we have to follow it precisely. We could create a body that looks fourteen, but the system would still recognize its actual age as zero.”
“So, we’re back to rebirthing me as a baby?”
“Not quite. Here’s the plan: we’ll create a baby’s body for you, then accelerate its aging until it reaches fourteen.”
Alistair frowned. “Wait—if you speed up the aging with magic, wouldn’t the body’s actual age still be zero?”
Meera’s eyes brightened. “Exactly. We’ll need to age the body naturally, at the same pace as the world’s time. That’s why we’re going to use a pocket dimension.”
“Like this place?”
“Precisely. This pocket dimension is a private one, but we’ll be using a local pocket dimension within this world—a place where time flows much faster.”
“Something like that exists?” Alistair asked, eyebrows raised.
“Pocket dimensions exist in most worlds,” Meera replied with a calm smile. “If you’re wondering why you haven’t encountered one, it’s because you’re not an admin. Either you control the system to locate one, or you know how to ‘peek’ into it.
“We’ve already found a suitable one. Kotan will prepare it for you.”
“What?! Kotan? Are you serious?”
“Yes, don’t worry. He wouldn’t dare try anything else. I’ve also asked him to prepare your new body.” Meera stole a glance at Alistair, who was staring at her coldly. “Don’t sulk like that. This is necessary.”
“…Explain.”
“I’ll be the one transferring your soul to the body. But since I asked him to prepare it, he’ll be present when I put your soul in.”
“…And?”
“He’ll be there, in the real world—not in this pocket dimension. You’ll get to see his true form. And as I understand it, your mana sensitivity is off the charts. You can recognize someone by their mana signature, right?”
“I see. I’m not familiar with ‘mana signature,’ but yes, I can recognize people by their mana. Thanks, and… sorry for overreacting.”
“Oh, no need to apologize, sweetie.” Meera’s voice softened as she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “Actually, you’re remarkably calm about all of this. Most people would need at least a few days to accept what’s happening. You’re handling it well.”
“Now, it’s time to move on. Are you ready to die?” Meera waved her hand, and the environment shifted around them.
This time, they were floating high in the sky. Alistair looked around and then spotted a massive dome of blue fire below.
“Are we back in the real world?” he asked.
“No, we’re still in the pocket dimension. I’m just showing you what’s happening out there.” Meera pointed toward the vast dome of blue fire. “You’re in the middle of that right now.”
“That skill covers a huge area,” Meera remarked. “Did the ‘goddess’ give you that skill?”
Alistair nodded. “Yes. It’s the last skill she granted me. She said it was my final resort—to be used if I was ever about to fail my mission.”
“I see. That skill looks intense. I assume it’s a high-level fire spell—probably meant to incinerate everything in its radius,” Meera remarked.
“She never told me exactly what kind of spell it is,” Alistair replied. “All she said was that it would take care of everyone nearby, and that I could only use it with the holy sword as a medium.”
“Let me guess: when you returned without using the skill, she stopped speaking to you.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s when the ‘incident’ happened?”
Alistair paused before giving a slow nod. “Yes.”
Meera glanced at him, as if she wanted to say something more, but after a moment, she let it go.
“I’m going to let time resume now. You should be dead the instant it does.” She met his gaze, and, seeing Alistair’s calm expression, she waved her hand.
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The dome of blue flames below suddenly came alive. Alistair could hear the fire roaring beneath him, mingled with the distant screams of those trapped inside.
Meera watched the blaze closely. “Some of them managed to raise barriers, but they’re only delaying the inevitable. Maybe if they could move fast enough to—"
The world shuddered abruptly. Even high above, they both can almost felt the tremor ripple through the air.
BOOM!
The blue dome detonated, its vibrant hue disappearing in an instant as it burst into a massive, fiery explosion. The blast shifted to searing shades of red, orange, and yellow, engulfing everything. Alistair instinctively shielded himself, though the explosion passed through him harmlessly. When he looked around, he saw a vast, roiling sea of flames stretching as far as he could see.
In a blink, they shifted positions, now several kilometers from the blast. Meera’s hand was still raised from her recent wave. Alistair turned back to the sight, his eyes widening.
Even from this distance, the explosion loomed over the landscape, towering above the clouds. At its peak, a massive mushroom cloud was forming, churning upward and casting a dark shadow over the earth below.
“Yeah. No one’s surviving that,” Meera remarked, then turned to Alistair. “That ‘goddess’ really didn’t want you to make it out of that skill alive.”
“It appears so,” Alistair replied, a cold edge to his voice. “I can’t wait for the day I get to kill her.”
“Him.”
“What?” Alistair looked at her, momentarily stunned.
Meera laughed at his expression, clearly amused. “Why does that surprise you more than finding out you’re dead? Silly boy.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Alistair shook his head, a brief flicker of confusion and frustration in his gaze.
“In general,” Meera continued, “male gods are more commanding in times of war, and female goddesses are more influential in peacetime. Many admins model their divine personas around this.” Her smile faded as a sudden thought struck her. “Wait… were you… involved with her?”
“No!” His response was immediate, almost defensive. “Nothing like that. Our interactions were strictly through church messengers, or she’d…” He paused. “Or he’d speak directly into my head.”
Alistair stared at the distant explosion. “Why does the skill make the cloud look like that? What’s the point?” he asked, attempting to change the subject.
Meera gave him a gentle look before answering. “It’s not the skill itself. The mushroom cloud forms because of the explosion’s intensity. The extreme heat creates a fireball that rises rapidly, pulling in cooler air and debris around it. When it reaches the top, it cools and spreads outward.”
“I see,” Alistair replied, half-heartedly. They stood there in silence for a while, watching the aftermath unfold. After less than ten minutes, the effects became clear: a massive crater had formed at the explosion’s center, the ground blackened and charred. Nothing but ash remained within the blast radius, and beyond that, trees lay flattened, all pointing away from the explosion.
Meera turned toward Alistair, her voice soft. “We should go now. Kotan is ready with your new body.”
“You’re not staying, are you?” Alistair asked, his gaze still fixed on the crater.
“From what you’ve told me, it seems these admins usually stay close to their champions—acting as mentors or guides, helping them grow stronger, maybe even protecting them.”
Alistair finally turned to look at her. “But not you. You’re leaving, right?”
Meera held his gaze, pausing for a moment before responding. “Yes, and no. As you might have guessed, I’m in a much higher position than these admins. I have greater responsibilities, obligations to the pantheon… and to my father.” She reached out slowly, gently taking Alistair’s hand in hers.
“I won’t be here, but I’m also won’t just leave you, either. You may be the strongest, not needing much help to grow stronger, but there are still things I need to teach you. You need to understand more about the admins, the system, and the pantheon.”
“You’ll leave but still stay with me? How does that work?” Alistair asked, eyebrow raised.
Meera smiled and slowly released his hand. “You’ll see soon. It’ll be a nice surprise.” She placed both hands gently on his cheeks.
“Here goes.” Her hands began to glow, and light enveloped Alistair’s body. When the light faded, his body was gone, replaced by a small sphere of light.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay in this form until I place your soul in the new body,” Meera explained.
“Kotan?” Alistair’s voice sounded, even in this form. “You mentioned this before—you don’t want him to see my real self. Why?”
“I did say he wouldn’t try anything drastic again,” Meera replied. “At least, nothing as severe as before. But I’m still concerned he might try to sabotage you. And if he ever figures out who you truly are… I can’t predict what he’d do.”
She glanced around. “We’re moving out now. Once we leave this pocket dimension, you won’t be able to speak. The only reason your soul can communicate is because of this place. You won’t be able to sense anything, except mana. But don’t worry—I’ll share my vision and hearing with you. You’ll be able to see and hear through my perspective.”
“Even then, we still can’t communicate. Telepathy is possible, but I’d advise against it. Kotan wouldn’t be able to hear us, but he’d sense it if we communicated that way, and I’d rather not give him any more reasons to focus on you.”
“I understand. So, when do we leave?”
“Now.” Meera waved her hand one last time, and they both vanished from the pocket dimension.
____________________________________
Somewhere in the middle of a forest, a man was standing.
In the dim light filtering through the canopy, he stood, an elegant figure that seemed almost out of place in the wild. His doublet of deep midnight blue fit with the precision of a second skin, the rich velvet fabric catching stray beams of sunlight with a muted sheen. A simple white shirt peeked from beneath, its high collar framed with a delicate lace trim, subtle and refined. Over his shoulders draped a dark cloak, fastened with a silver brooch bearing a family’s crest: a hawk mid-flight, wings spread wide.
His blonde hair fell in well-kept waves, catching light like gold, framing a face both striking and composed. Piercing blue eyes scanned the trees with an intense, calculating gaze, sharp as a blade yet as cold as a winter morning. His jaw was strong, he looked like what a painter would paint of an ideal nobleman.
A dagger rested at his side, its hilt just visible beneath his cloak—a rare hint of practicality in his otherwise pristine attire. Immaculate and unyielding, he commanded his surroundings with a silent, unwavering authority. His presence felt like something out of a fairy tale—if not for the dark, scornful expression he wore.
He looked down at the figure lying on the ground: a boy he had just finished dressing.
The boy lay sprawled on the forest floor, his slight frame almost swallowed by the shadows beneath the trees. Black hair, long and unkempt, splayed around his head like ink spilled across the earth, half-concealing a face marked by youth and rough edges. His features were unremarkable—neither striking nor unattractive—with a faint sharpness to his jawline hinting at the adulthood he hadn’t yet grown into.
The simple leather armor he wore was brand new, its dark, polished surface untouched by battle or wear, yet it hung slightly loose on his skinny frame, as though made for someone older and broader. The fresh leather shone faintly in the dappled light, every strap and buckle pristine, betraying a hint of awkwardness against his slight, underdeveloped build. Despite its quality, the armor did little to conceal his youth or vulnerability, making him look more like a child dressed for war than a warrior himself.
The longer the nobleman looked at the boy, the angrier he became. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to stomp the boy’s face flat and be done with it. But he couldn’t—unless he wished to invoke her wrath.
He glared at the boy’s face, a few stray locks obscuring his view. With a swift movement, he nudged the hair aside with his boot, then shifted the boy’s head from side to side, inspecting him.
The boy looked weak; there was no doubt about it. The nobleman wondered how this scrawny child could ever grow into the monster he had witnessed. The thought reassured him. Perhaps the woman had chosen the wrong champion. A smirk crept onto his face at the idea.
“Kotan.”
A melodious voice sounded from behind him. He turned abruptly, and there she was, standing just five meters away. How had she managed to sneak up on him like that? He noticed she was holding a sphere of light—probably the soul of that cursed spearman.
“Ma’am,” Kotan responded, bowing his head slightly.
The woman’s gaze traveled slowly from his head to his feet. After a moment, she sighed and moved toward the boy lying on the ground. She stopped just above him, looking down intently.
“A bit skinny, isn’t he? How old is the boy—fifteen?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on the boy’s face.
“Seventeen, ma’am,” Kotan answered promptly.
She finally looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Seventeen?”
“Yes, ma’am. From what I understand, that’s the minimum age to become a player in this world.” Kotan glanced down at the boy again.
“He is small, ma’am. I can’t imagine how he became that strong. Maybe he used some kind of forbidden ritual. I’ve heard that, in the past, people here used elf blood to gain more mana.”
Kotan suddenly realized that the woman had been staring at him for some time, her eyes cold and unreadable. Despite her composed expression, he felt an unsettling presence. She radiated so little mana that she could have passed for an ordinary human—an uninitialized one, even.
But even so, deep down, Kotan knew this woman could end his life in the blink of an eye. He was terrified of her, despite barely knowing anything about her.
One day, he had received a message in his pantheon system from this woman, declaring that she had chosen a champion from this world and demanding his assistance. He wasn’t the kind of man who could be pushed around easily, but the message included her sender ID, and the system identified her as a higher-level user—so far above him that he couldn’t even tell her rank. He had no choice but to comply.
Luckily, he’d been smart enough to sabotage her efforts. There was no way he’d allow this woman to claim one of the strongest warriors in the world as her champion, not after all the time and energy he’d invested in his own. He’d barely managed it, ensuring the man’s body was destroyed and leaving no trace of his involvement. He’d even collected the man’s soul.
But instead of gratitude, the woman showed him only disdain.
The seed of anger that had begun to grow within him instantly vanished as he met her gaze. He lowered his head once more, suppressing any thoughts of defiance.
The woman pointed to the bag behind him. “Is that everything I asked you to prepare?”
Kotan quickly grabbed the leather sack and handed it to her. She began inspecting the contents, but her gaze shifted to a black spear resting against a tree behind him.
“And what’s that?” she asked, her voice perfectly neutral.
“Ah, yes, ma’am. That’s something extra I chose for the boy,” Kotan replied, forcing a smile. “It’s a high-quality spear—quite expensive. I thought he’d appreciate it.”
The woman’s eyes lingered on the spear for a moment before she glanced at the sphere of light in her left hand. “I see. How… considerate of you,” she said slowly. Her right hand moved in a barely perceptible motion, and she put the black spear lying beside the bag.
Kotan’s eyes widened. He turned to glance back at where the spear had been, but it was gone. He hadn’t seen her take it or even sensed any movement. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.
“Of course, ma’am. Happy to help,” he managed to say, forcing the words out.
“Do you have an open node for me?” the woman asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kotan replied, pointing to a nearby flat tree stump. “It’s a level 6 system, with no encryption above level 4 cipher.”
The woman raised her right hand and brought it down toward the stump.
Crack. A black iron rod suddenly impaled the stump, crackling with electricity for a few moments.
She stared at the rod, watching as faint pulses ran along its length. After several seconds, she finally spoke. “Alright, I’m in. I’ll start embedding the soul now.”
The woman knelt beside the boy, placing the sphere of light gently on his chest. The light began to sink slowly into him, disappearing beneath his skin. She then laid one hand on his chest and the other on his forehead. Under her touch, the boy’s entire body began to glow.
“I’ll stand guard, then, ma’am,” Kotan offered.
“No need. You can leave,” she replied, her voice cold.
Kotan hesitated, silenced by her tone. After a moment, he bowed his head. “Understood. If you need anything further, just contact me, ma’am.”
She didn’t respond. After a pause, Kotan glanced up awkwardly, then placed his hands together. Just before the skill activated, he threw a scornful expression at the back of the woman's head, a silent promise of his own. In an instant, he vanished.
After a while, the woman heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t expect him to be this brazen. I knew he was a coward, but I didn’t think he was this foolish.”
Meera sighed again, then turned her focus back to embedding the soul. She reassured herself that it would likely be no more than a minor inconvenience for Alistair. Hopefully.