As Kaelthar walked through the blinding light, moving forward, the environment began to shift again, growing darker and heavier with each step.
The brightness receded, replaced by shadows that seemed to cling to his skin and weigh down his every movement. Gradually, the surroundings transformed into a scene of war.
A pungent, metallic smell filled the air, thick and choking, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke. The sky was choked with dark clouds, and it seemed as if the darkness itself had settled upon the land, pressing down like a living thing.
Smoke rose from fires that burned with an unnatural, almost magical intensity, consuming both corpses and trees in their ravenous glow.
Men clashed with swords, spears, and bows, their cries of rage and pain echoing across the battlefield.
Blood flowed like rivers, carving crimson paths through the churned earth. Mountains of corpses, twisted and broken, stretched into the distance.
This was not a mere battle—it was a war, feral, unyielding, and merciless.
Amid the chaos, one soldier stood apart.
His eyes were blank, his posture slack, overwhelmed by the flood of new memories racing through his mind.
These were memories of another life—his life—as a boy named Kaelthar.
"Where am I?" he thought, panic rising in his chest.
"The last thing I remember is stepping into the light… wait, did I get reincarnated? These memories… they're not mine… they belong to the one I reincarnated as."
Fragments flashed in his mind: he was the only son of a farmer's family, forced into the army to fight this endless war.
He had two sisters—one older, one younger—and yet here he was, surrounded by death and carnage.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, commanding voice that tore through the roar of battle:
"RECRUIT! Get a hold of yourself! You're in the middle of a war—what are you spacing out for?!"
The voice sent a shiver down his spine. Kaelthar jerked his head instinctively, and an arrow whistled past him, piercing the spot where his head had been just a heartbeat before.
The commander, having shouted at him, vanished into the chaos, moving to confront the enemy on the eastern flank.
Kaelthar's gaze followed him, and he noticed a faint green orb pulsating at the man's navel, flickering like a heartbeat.
Though he did not understand its purpose, its presence felt significant—charged with some unspoken power.
The smell of blood, the moans of the wounded, the clash of steel—it all dragged him back to grim reality.
One moment of distraction here could cost a life. Even a single second of daze had nearly killed him.
Arrows streaked through the air, cutting down dozens every second. A new group of enemy soldiers pressed forward—battle-hardened warriors, their armor darkened by blood and soot.
Kaelthar's breath came in shallow gasps, sweat streaking his face, but within the storm of terror, a spark of determination flickered.
There was hope. A faint, fragile hope—the hope that Lyssarra had begged him to cling to: "Don't give up on living… and please, be kind to yourself."
Thinking of her steadied him. The trembling in his hands ceased, and his grip on his sword tightened. He readied himself for the collision he knew was inevitable.
And then he saw the enemy leader. The man's body glowed faintly, a reddish-hued orb flickering in his navel, radiating energy that seemed almost alive.
As the leader's eyes met Kaelthar's, he surged forward—faster than any human should move—like a bullet tearing across the battlefield.
Kaelthar's only hope lay with his own commander, who bore a similar orb. Seeing the enemy leader, the commander charged, his face set with grim determination.
But the clash was brief and brutal. The enemy's power far surpassed theirs. In three swift strikes, the commander was beheaded.
His body collapsed, and the battlefield seemed to grow darker, heavier. The enemy leader accelerated, moving toward Kaelthar and his remaining troops with unstoppable force.
Kaelthar's last hope shattered. Before he could raise his sword, a flicker of light blinded him, and the world turned upside down.
His head, separated from his body, tumbled into the blood-soaked earth.
He saw himself from above—his own headless body, helpless and broken.
He had died again.
The pain of death this time was unbearable. His soul felt torn apart, shredded by the force of existence itself.
His mind unraveled under the weight of agony. Desperation clawed at him, and he reached toward the light once more.
When his eyes opened, the scent of blood was gone, replaced by the gentle, intoxicating fragrance of flowers. A new scenery stretched before him, softer, calmer, almost unreal in its serenity.
Memories of his previous lives flooded back, confirming what he already suspected—he had been reincarnated yet again.
But even this understanding brought no peace. His mind quivered under a deeper question:
"What if all my lives are just cycles of reincarnation?"
"Does anything I do even matter?"
"What am I living for?"
Before he could resolve these thoughts, a voice, heavenly and suppressing, echoed around him:
"Hmm… this won't do."
"If your mind collapses before you even get a chance…"
"The others didn't have this problem… probably because…"
Kaelthar tried to grasp the meaning, but his mind was fraying, understanding only fragments. Before the voice finished, he had already fainted.
"I will seal your memories of your past and future reincarnations… until the successful one. Don't be angry with me—it's for your own good."
His body began to glow, light washing over him before fading gradually.
And then it began again. He was reincarnated over and over, each time believing it to be the first.
Finally, his consciousness awoke not after death, but before birth, resting in the warmth of his mother's womb, suspended in the quiet anticipation of life yet to come.