A young boy was tied to a chair in a dark room barely lit by small candles. The room was made of stone, and there wasn't a window inside.
It looked like a prison since there were iron bars instead of a door.
Or perhaps a noble's private dungeon.
The air was damp and stale, carrying the mossy smell of stone left untouched for years.
The boy's eyes were covered with a cloth, and his mouth was gagged. But he didn't struggle to break free.
He sat unnervingly still, as though the situation had nothing to do with him.
This wasn't the first time he'd woken up in chains. But this time, the timing was the issue.
Heavy footsteps approached, each one thudding against the stone as if the walls themselves acknowledged someone's arrival.
The iron door to the room opened, and a middle-aged man entered with three guards beside him.
"So, you are the boy who entered my estate in the middle of the night," the man with fierce eyes said.
The boy didn't answer. He couldn't, with the gag, anyway.
The middle-aged man pointed with his head, and one of the guards beside him lifted the cloth in front of his eyes and removed the gag from the boy's mouth.
The boy had the same fierce eyes as if he were carrying the world's biggest burden on his shoulders. He didn't raise his head. Instead, he continued looking at the ground.
"Your face is young, but your eyes speak of experience. What kind of life must one have to possess such eyes at your age?" the man asked.
But the boy didn't answer once again.
This didn't seem to bother the older man. "Doesn't matter. We are not here to talk about that. I heard that you have a most interesting story."
One of the guards seemed to be impatiently waiting for his master's speech to end. He knew that if he were to interrupt, only punishment awaited. "Sir, there was no need for you to visit personally. He is obviously lying to get out of this situation. He must be a thief."
Yes, it was the most obvious conclusion. A boy around his age had been caught in the middle of the night, roaming the garden of the mansion.
There was no need even to ask questions.
But the middle-aged man didn't seem to agree. "Can't you see his clothes?"
The guard looked at the boy's clothes, but still didn't understand anything. The clothes were tattered beyond repair. Even the commoners had better clothes.
The middle-aged man exhaled through his nose to show his dissatisfaction with his guard's failure to understand.
"Look closely. They're torn, yes—but the fabric, the stitching… I've never seen anything like it. Not from any kingdom. Not even royalty wears such material."
Only then did the guard check the clothing. It didn't seem to belong to this area. Was he a foreigner? Maybe he was from Pilrie, where technology was more advanced.
The middle-aged man removed his focus from his guard and turned back to the boy in front of him. "Young man, would you mind telling your story to me once again?"
The boy raised his eyes from the ground slowly and looked at the panel in front of him. Then, he looked at the man for the first time.
The jawline, the eyes—too familiar. For a moment, his heart stopped. The middle-aged man looked very similar to someone he knew.
No, he couldn't be here.
And when he focused on the middle-aged man, he realized they were different anyway.
So, he opened his mouth to answer the question.
---
"Father! Why are you doing this?" a man with dark black hair shouted. He seemed to be around the age of 38.
His clothes were tattered, seemingly due to the long fight, and his body was severely injured.
But there was no answer from the old, burly man in front of him. The old man continued swinging his sword toward the younger man.
"Father, it's me, Colt! Don't you remember me?" The man, Colt, cried once again.
And the answer was the same cold look, and the sword strike that cut the mountains behind him.
The sun, which had already risen, was visible with its full brilliance since the mountains had long been destroyed.
Of course, they had. The one swinging the sword wasn't just anyone. He was the strongest man in the whole world. The Hero.
Colt, on the other hand, was trying to defend himself with a sword in one hand and his magic on the other.
The runes covering his left hand shone the same yellow color as his eyes, and a barrier formed around him.
It wasn't enough, though. One strike from his father's sword was more than enough to shatter that feeble shield.
Colt knew that his chances of winning weren't even slim. He couldn't even land a single hit on his father, not even once in their training matches all these years.
Even though he was already 38 and his father was 58, the gap between them had never narrowed.
I need to find a way to get out of this.
But how? His father knew every trick he had. Of course, he did. Everything Colt knew was either taught by his father or...
Or by his mother.
Colt remembered his mother's final moments. Not even a single day had passed since his father's rampage began.
His mother tried to defend Colt, but she was murdered by his father without batting an eye.
His mother's teachings echoed faintly in his mind—light shields, patience, clarity—but none of it mattered against the world's strongest man.
No, they were all created to support the world's strongest man.
But Colt had no time to despair, or even mourn his mother. He had been fighting since then, and now, he had a chance.
Yes, there was a chance. Not for winning this fight, but to run away by using the only power his father was unaware of.
Colt swung his sword once again to deflect his father's sword. It felt like his right arm had broken.
It probably had.
Others would have scoffed, thinking that a sword that can slice mountains thousands of meters away with a swing only broke his hand.
It didn't matter, though. He dropped his sword instantly and leapt back, covering tens of meters in a single bound.
But if his father knew what he was about to do, he could catch Colt in less than a second.
Thankfully, he didn't bother hurrying. He didn't need to.
And that was the only thing Colt was depending on.
Both his hands started shining. The runes around his left hand shone yellow once again. But his right hand was different.
No runes characteristic of the Luminous Order roamed around his right hand. Instead, blue particles formed and started spilling.
Seeing this, his father frowned and raised his sword with both his hands.
Colt knew that what was about to follow would be his end.
But he wasn't worried. He had finished the one thing that counted. So, he clapped his hands and used the spell he knew nothing about.
And the world twisted—colors bleeding, sounds stretching—before collapsing into darkness.
---
"I see. And what was that spell you used?" the middle-aged man asked the young boy tied to a chair in front of his eyes.
"It enabled me to go back to the past," the boy, Colt, answered. He checked the panel in front of him once again.
It showed the same window he was accustomed to. But it was also much different than the last time he saw it.
***
Name: Colt Vera
Age: 15
Level: 1
.
.
.
***
The "Level: 1" part stung. Colt knew this would be the case since he spent everything he had on this gamble.
But seeing all his efforts in his 38 years on this world vanish hurt more than he expected.
Decades of blood, sweat, and growth… erased in a single heartbeat.
There was also a second panel floating in front of his eyes that said [Quest], but Colt ignored it for now.
He continued, "Since I am fifteen now, this should be the year 16 of the new calendar."
Colt was born one year after the world was saved from the strongest demon by the man called the Hero and his party, and the new calendar had been accepted.
He didn't know how effective the spell was, so he was even ready to become a baby, starting from zero.
But he was fifteen. Meaning he had only gone 23 years into the past. It was a success. If he went back too much, he didn't know if he was to be born once again.
Now, there was only the problem of location. He didn't know why he showed up in someone else's home.
He thought he would stay in the same place, but he was captured as soon as he opened his eyes after going to the past.
"You see, young man," the middle-aged man started speaking once again, "your story is really interesting. And I really want to believe it. But there is one problem with it."
As the middle-aged man stopped, Colt looked into the older man's eyes with the intent to answer any questions he might ask.
"This is not the year 16," the man continued, causing Colt's eyes to open wide. "And there is no Hero, nor a strongest demon."
"What did you say?"