Pain was still there — like an old friend refusing to let go.
Roman Crowell rose before the sun, his breath misting in the frigid morning air. The cracked window of his tiny room let in slivers of pale light, but the cold didn't matter. Not now.
His arms shook as he pushed himself off the floor.
Thirty push-ups.
Then squats. Then planks. Then stretches. The kind meant to break the body open and pour new strength into it — or kill it trying.
No one told him to train.
No one watched.
He didn't need an audience.
Because even in this frail, teenage shell — even in a world where he was nothing — the soul of Ronald still burned. It remembered war. It remembered steel. It remembered what it meant to command.
Now, he trained like a prisoner sharpening his chains into blades.
His heart beat harder each day. His breath came faster. The boy's malnourished body screamed in protest — but he pushed on.
This was war. Quiet. Lonely. But war nonetheless.
And then… it happened.
It began as a twitch behind his eyes. A flicker.
He was mid-sit-up, sweat dripping from his forehead, when the world around him tilted. Not physically — but something deeper. Like reality's curtain had pulled back an inch.
There was a sound.
Ding.
Soft. Hollow. Impossible.
Roman froze. Blinked.
Nothing.
Then—
[System Awakening Detected… Scanning Soul Core...]
Words. Floating. Right in front of him.
They weren't real. Or written. Just… there. Hovering in empty air.
He stood quickly, heart pounding. The vision followed.
[Soul Compatibility: 87.2%]
[Entity Confirmed: Ronald Regan, Soul-Class: Warborn King]
[Initializing Adaptive System Interface…]
"What… the hell is this?" he muttered, stepping back.
The text shimmered… and disappeared.
In its place, a single line appeared, seared into the back of his mind:
> [Welcome, Roman Crowell.]
[Your soul remembers. So shall the world.]
He staggered back and leaned against the stone wall, breath ragged.
This wasn't magic. Not the kind he'd known.
In his past world, magic had rules. Contracts. Rituals. It bled from the land and the gods above.
But this… this felt alien. Artificial. Mechanical — yet alive.
Something new.
The next few days passed like a blur.
The system didn't speak again, not directly. But Roman began to notice changes.
His reflexes sharpened. Just a little. His recovery from exhaustion accelerated. Muscles, once stringy and weak, began to firm beneath skin and bone.
And more — when he focused, deeply, he could feel something pulsing just below his ribcage. Like a second heartbeat. Slow. Faint. But there.
The Soul Core.
Whatever it was… it had merged with him. And with it came sparks of something else.
Power.
But it was dormant. Locked.
His instincts told him: it needed to be awakened. Trained. Fed.
And so he doubled his routine.
He ran through the frost-bitten gardens at dawn, barefoot, ignoring the servants' stares. He scaled the south wall until his hands bled. He fought shadows with a broken broomstick until bruises bloomed across his ribs.
Still, he didn't stop.
Because Roman Crowell wasn't trying to survive anymore.
He was preparing.
Then, on the seventh night since the system first appeared… sleep came fast.
His body, exhausted beyond its limits, collapsed into the thin mattress like stone dropped in water.
And that was when the dream began.
It didn't start like most dreams. No drifting. No nonsense.
It was a fall.
He was falling, weightless through black clouds, his limbs numb, heart hammering. Cold wind whipped past his ears. The stars above were wrong — twisted, fractured, burning.
Then came the voice.
Soft. Feminine. Echoing in every direction at once.
> "He falls again… My king who bled the world once… can you hear me now?"
The darkness cracked.
Roman hit the ground — but it wasn't stone.
He stood in the center of a vast, glowing field. Flowers shimmered in pale blue light, stretching endlessly in every direction. The sky above was midnight and full of distant stars that pulsed like living hearts.
And there she stood.
A woman, cloaked in sapphire flame.
She was tall, impossibly graceful, and seemed woven from moonlight itself. Her hair flowed like water, eyes glowing with a sorrow too deep to name. A celestial crown floated just above her brow, shifting like smoke.
Roman couldn't breathe.
She stepped forward.
> "So small," she said softly. "So broken… and yet your soul burns still."
He said nothing. He felt nothing. Just awe, stretching into fear.
She looked into him — not at him, into him. As though reading everything he was, and ever would be.
> "You should not exist in this world," she whispered. "And yet… here you are. My last gamble."
Roman found his voice. "Who are you?"
She tilted her head.
> "I am what remains," she said. "Of a world devoured. Of a god murdered. I am the voice between dying stars."
> "You may call me… Elenya."
He took a breath. "Why me?"
Her gaze deepened.
> "Because you already lost everything once. And now, you must stop it from happening again."
She turned, and the field around them shifted. Flowers withered. Sky darkened. A chasm tore through the horizon.
From its depths… black wings rose.
Twelve pairs.
Twelve shadows.
Fallen angels, titanic and rotting. Eyes burning red. Chains wrapped around their broken halos.
> "They were once protectors," Elenya said. "Now they seek only dominion and death. They come for your Earth. Your new world. And soon… they will awaken."
Roman watched them climb into the heavens like locusts.
> "You cannot stop them with swords alone," she said. "That is why I gave you the system. A fragment of a dead god's code, bonded to your soul. Through it, you will grow. Change. Survive."
"Why me, Elenya?"
The goddess looked at him, and her voice cracked with something like desperation.
> "Because you're the only one who's already died trying to save a world. And because… I don't have time to find someone else."
Her form shimmered — breaking apart, glowing pieces scattering in the wind.
> "Wake up, Roman Crowell…
The end has already begun."
He gasped awake, lungs burning.
The sky outside his window had turned violet. Morning.
His body ached. His hands trembled.
But in his mind, the dream remained — seared like a brand.
And in his chest, something pulsed.
Stronger than before.
> [Soul Resonance: +2%]
[Path: Bladeborn System – Initialized]
Roman sat in silence.
He remembered the battlefield.
He remembered Allen's betrayal.
He remembered fire.
Now… he remembered her.
Elenya.
And twelve wings of death rising into the sky.
He clenched his fists.
"I already died once," he whispered.
"Not again."