Thomas opened his eyes.
Wait... I'm not dead.
His vision returned slowly.
He was lying on a plush carpet, and before him stood a bed and a table where three figures sat. People were laughing. Their voices, though audible, were strange to him—he couldn't understand the language they were speaking.
He tried to move, but his body felt heavy, sluggish.
It wasn't English, he knew that. Yet something inside him was slowly starting to comprehend. A voice echoed in his mind:
[Qalena's blessing as Chosen One.]
[Inherited Qalena's will.]
[Power of ASCENDANT obtained.]
The voice rang again and again.
Thomas, still disoriented, couldn't make sense of what was happening. Then, suddenly—
"Hey, look at him! He's still alive!"
"I told you he wouldn't die," came a female voice.
"Thank the gods," another male voice added. "If he'd died, Grandmother would've bitten my head off!"
Thomas slowly sat up, his body aching. He looked around at the people and the room.
It resembled an old Victorian-style chamber. Ornate, high-ceilinged, richly decorated—but nothing familiar.
Where the hell am I?
Then, pain—sharp, blinding—stabbed through his skull.
Memories flooded in. Another life, another boy. His family. His death. Torture—by these very three people sitting in front of him.
The young woman—Elara—was supposed to be his fiancée. But she had never wanted to marry him. Worse, she was his cousin.
What the incestuous fuck? Thomas thought, appalled. To preserve their bloodline, they marry like this?
He felt like he'd landed in the middle of a twisted medieval drama from his past life.
Elara had pressured the boy to cancel the engagement, and the other two—his supposed brothers—backed her. These two were Orimus, the elder brother, and Tolion, the son of a concubine who often sided with Orimus.
They had tormented the boy simply because they could. Because he had no magic.
That boy was Jolthar Kaelzhar.
The Kaelzhar were a powerful clan of magic swordsmen with deep influence in the empire. Fierce, domineering, and deeply proud.
But Jolthar—he had no magic. Only swordsmanship. And that had earned him ridicule.
Ignored by his family, unloved, he was banished to a small, single-room house behind the family estate. They used it as a place to drink, to bully him, to break him.
And today, they went too far.
They hit him on the head. It killed him.
That's when Thomas entered the body.
He had heard of reincarnation… but never thought it would happen to him.
Now, looking down at his frail new form, Thomas could see the calluses from endless sword practice. Jolthar had worked hard—desperately trying to earn acknowledgment.
In a way, they were the same. Thomas had neglected himself for the sake of family; Jolthar had been neglected by his family.
Feeling the boy's pain, memories, and frustration as his own, Thomas clenched his fists.
He thought long and hard.
Then he made a decision.
He would live this life not as Thomas, but as Jolthar.
Thomas was dead. This was his second chance.
And this time, he wouldn't live for anyone but himself.
He would fulfil Jolthar's dream.
And he would bring vengeance down upon this cursed family.
Sigh...
Even in this life, I have to live hard again. Damn you, goddess.
After the others left the room, Jolthar stood alone in the silence.
First things first—he had to leave this house.
From Jolthar's memories, he recalled a strange visit from his grandmother, not long ago. She had mentioned a book. A sacred text belonging to their revered ancestor, the Sword King.
It was odd that she had visited him at all, considering how the rest of the family treated him.
But she did. And now, he had a purpose.
Jolthar seemed like he was preparing to leave, but that's when they came to meet him.
Jolthar's life came to an abrupt end.
The book was hidden in Stormholde Keep, an ancient training fortress used by the Kaelzhar clan. It hadn't seen much use recently—most had completed their training there long ago.
Without hesitation, Jolthar left the estate and began his journey.
He travelled for three days. Fortunately, no one questioned his arrival at the Keep. After all, he was a Kaelzhar by blood.
Stormholde Keep stood upon an acre of land. Towering and vast, it held countless chambers and wide training grounds. Jolthar settled into a room and rested from the long journey.
The next day, he began his search.
He spent hours combing through the Keep's vast library. Dusty shelves, forgotten scrolls, old tomes. And finally—hidden deep in a concealed alcove, exactly where his grandmother had hinted—he found the book.