In a small village nestled in the shadow of crumbling mountains, a newborn's cry echoed through the night. It was a village of only a mansion and ten houses. "My dear... he's handsome," said the man, holding the newborn in his arms, his eyes glassy with awe. "Elric..." whispered the woman, her voice soft as snow. "Elric is his name."
And I cried. I, the Japan's greatest swordsman, cried in this new life. I could feel it. I had been reborn. So this is reincarnation, huh...? A new life. A new name. A new world.
I had grown up—or rather, begun to grow again. I was now three years old.
At this point, I had already knew the language of this world. It came to me naturally.
This world was exactly as the god had said. Magic flowed through the very air. Elves roamed ancient woods. Demons lurked beyond jagged mountain ranges. Dwarves crafted wonders. Orcs waged in tribal wars. Dungeons spawned deep beneath the surface. And dragons—yes, dragons—ruled the skies above.
I had learned that I was born in the Kingdom of Sarion, specifically in a place called the village of Lunaria. Though calling it a village was...an exaggeration.
It was a hamlet, barely even that—just twenty-one souls surrounded by a whispering forest known as the Lunaris Forest. There were no taxes here. No soldiers. No borders. Just quiet days, cold mornings, and wind that sang through the trees.
Here are the twenty-one lives of Lunaria:
Baron Alfred, the "lord" of the hamlet—more title than ruler. He was kind, but spent most of his days sipping herbal tea and watching the clouds.
Garm, Grim, and Grom, the trio of brothers who helped Alfred with the odd jobs.
Jesper and Darien, two quiet men who handled trade when the rare merchant wagon rolled through the forest path.
Harry, Gary, and Barry, the village elders who sat under the massive Old Tree in the center of the hamlet, drinking warm cider and arguing about who had the best beard.
Bivad and Lydie, my parents in this life. Retired B-Rank Adventurers who'd settled here for peace and family. My father's grip when he lifted logs and my mother's eyes were always sharp enough. I had no doubt they were once warriors.
Amos and Carla, neighbors with warm smiles. They had twin daughters, Luna and Rosa, both a year younger than me.
Matilda, the lone mother of baby Emily, who was just one. She baked the sweetest cakes in the village.
Ischell and Herma, the baker couple. Their bread brought the entire hamlet together each morning.
Robert, a retired C-Rank Adventurer. Gruff, stern, and always whittling something with a dagger. He had an adopted son, Edward, two years older than me. A good kid. Hardworking and Honest.