The last thing he remembered from the year 2025 was silence.
Not the peaceful kind—
but the heavy, absolute silence that followed the collapse of everything meaningful.
There had been no dramatic accident, no heroic sacrifice, no last words spoken beneath a blood-red sky. His death was ordinary. A hospital room, pale lights, the quiet hum of machines, and the slow realization that the world no longer needed him.
As consciousness faded, a single thought lingered in his mind.
If I could start over… I wouldn't live as a single man again.
Then darkness swallowed him whole.
He awoke to vastness.
Not a ceiling.
Not a hospital bed.
Not even the familiar gravity of Earth.
Instead, he stood barefoot upon soft, dark soil beneath a sky that did not belong to any world he knew.
The air was pure—unnaturally pure. It carried no scent of pollution, no hint of civilization, only a quiet freshness that made his lungs ache as if they had never truly breathed before.
He looked around slowly.
Land stretched outward in every direction, flat and empty, ending abruptly at a distant, invisible boundary. Beyond that boundary was nothing—no sky, no darkness—only an indescribable sense of nonexistence.
His heart pounded.
"This is…" His voice echoed strangely, as if the world itself were listening. "Where am I?"
A moment later, memories flooded back.
The year was no longer 2025.
Images not his own forced their way into his mind—wooden villages, iron tools, horse-drawn carts, crude maps of a world still half-unknown.
And with terrifying clarity, he understood.
"The year… 1000."
His fists clenched.
Reincarnation was real.
But that alone did not explain this place.
As if responding to his thoughts, the sky above trembled.
A soundless pulse spread outward, and something awakened deep within his existence.
[Small World Initialized]
A calm, emotionless voice resonated directly inside his mind—not heard, but understood.
[Personal Domain Created]
[Current Size: 1 Kilometer Radius]
He staggered, nearly losing his balance.
"What… is this?"
He raised his hand instinctively, and the world responded.
The soil beneath his feet shifted, smoothing itself. The wind stilled. The sky brightened slightly, adjusting as if tuned by an invisible hand.
Realization struck him like lightning.
This land obeyed him.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
A shiver ran through his spine—not fear, but awe.
"I control this place…"
He closed his eyes, and knowledge surfaced naturally, as if it had always been part of him.
This was his Small World.
A personal domain detached from reality itself.
A world that would grow.
Growth Rule: +1 Kilometer Per Day
He opened his eyes slowly.
"One kilometer… per day?"
He did the calculation instantly.
A year: 365 kilometers.
Ten years: 3,650 kilometers.
A century: 36,500 kilometers.
And there was no limit.
His breathing quickened.
This wasn't a simple advantage.
This was a path to infinity.
He instinctively understood something else—something far more terrifying.
Inside this Small World…
He was absolute.
No force could harm him.
No law could oppose him.
No being could challenge his will.
If this world collapsed, reality itself would collapse first.
He laughed softly, the sound echoing across the empty land.
"So this is my foundation…"
But before pride could take root, another pulse rippled through his consciousness.
[Clone Authority Unlocked]
[Rule: One Clone Per Year]
His smile froze.
"Clone?"
Understanding arrived immediately.
A clone was not another person.
Not another soul.
It was him.
A second body, controlled by the same consciousness, sharing the same will.
One mind.
Many forms.
His laughter this time was quiet, controlled, and dangerous.
"So I don't have to choose a single path…"
He could stay hidden.
Observe history.
Build quietly.
And yet…
Walk among humanity.
As if to confirm his thoughts, a final piece of information surfaced.
[Main Body Recommendation: Remain Within the Small World]
He nodded slowly.
"Yes… that's exactly what I would do."
The year was 1000 AD.
The world beyond this domain was fragile, ignorant, and chaotic.
Kings believed they ruled by divine right.
Gods were worshipped but never seen.
Civilizations crawled forward in darkness.
And none of them knew—
That a true god had already arrived.
He turned toward the invisible boundary of his Small World.
Beyond it, he could feel the real Earth. Vast. Primitive. Alive.
"Humanity will move forward," he said calmly.
"Technology. Faith. Cultivation. Stars."
His eyes sharpened.
"And I will be everywhere."
The land beneath his feet was silent once more.
After the shock of awakening, after the realization of power and scale, a strange calm settled over him. It was not the calm of acceptance, but the calm of a man who had finally found solid ground after drifting for a lifetime.
He stood at the center of the Small World and slowly extended his senses.
There was no sun, yet the sky glowed softly, as if illuminated by an unseen source. No stars, yet the heavens felt vast. The air responded subtly to his breathing, warmer when he exhaled, cooler when he inhaled.
"This place… reacts to my existence itself," he murmured.
Not to his commands.
To him.
That distinction mattered.
He knelt and pressed his palm against the soil. Instantly, knowledge bloomed in his mind—composition, structure, latent potential. This land was not dead matter. It was a foundation, waiting to be written upon.
A world in its infancy.
And he was its only law.
He stood again and looked toward the invisible boundary at the edge of the domain.
Beyond it, the real Earth waited.
Not the Earth of satellites and cities, but a raw world—divided by geography, culture, ignorance, and belief. A world where gods were stories and kings ruled because no one had proven otherwise.
A slow breath escaped him.
"If I walk out there personally…" he said quietly, "…everything becomes uncertain."
His Small World was absolute safety. Outside it was chaos, randomness, history.
He smiled faintly.
"Then that's what clones are for."
The thought alone caused the Origin Core within the Small World to stir.
[Clone Creation Available]
[Current Capacity: 1]
No cooldown.
No cost.
Only intent.
He closed his eyes.
For a brief moment, there was no distinction between body and thought, between self and space. The Origin Core pulsed once, sharply—and the world trembled.
A figure began to take shape before him.
First bones.
Then flesh.
Then breath.
In less than a second, a man stood on the soil, identical in every detail—face, posture, presence.
But when the clone opened his eyes…
They were his eyes.
There was no sense of division. No echo. No distance.
He felt the clone's heartbeat as clearly as his own.
Good, he thought.
The clone turned its head, scanning the Small World with the same calm, analytical gaze.
"So this is the origin," the clone said aloud.
The voice was his.
Hearing it spoken from another mouth felt strange—but not wrong.
"Do you feel it?" the main body asked.
"Yes," the clone replied instantly. "One consciousness. No delay. No resistance."
The clone clenched its fist.
"I can move independently, but the intent is unified."
He nodded.
Perfect.
He approached the clone, standing face to face with himself.
"You will be my first step into history," he said. "You will walk among humanity."
The clone inclined its head slightly, not in submission, but in understanding.
"Where?" it asked.
He turned again toward the boundary of the Small World. As his will extended, the invisible wall shimmered faintly, revealing glimpses of the outside world—green forests, wide plains, distant mountains untouched by civilization.
"The Western Continent," he said. "Far from the centers of recorded history."
A place the future would call North America.
"In this era, it is untouched," he continued. "No empires. No religions with absolute authority. It is ideal."
The clone's eyes sharpened.
"You want me to build," it said.
"Yes," he replied. "But not an empire of kings."
He paused, then added calmly:
"An empire of knowledge."
With a simple gesture, the boundary opened.
Not like a door—but like reality momentarily forgetting to exist.
The clone stepped forward.
For a fraction of a second, there was resistance—not from the Small World, but from the universe itself. As if reality hesitated to accept something that did not belong to it.
Then the resistance vanished.
The clone disappeared.
The boundary closed.
And silence returned.
He stood alone once more.
Yet he was not alone.
From the moment the clone entered the real world, sensations flooded back into his mind.
Cold wind.
The smell of pine and earth.
The sound of distant water.
So this is the world of the year 1000, he thought.
He could feel the clone breathing unfamiliar air, standing beneath a true sun, its warmth imperfect and uneven compared to the controlled sky of the Small World.
He could also feel something else.
Limitation.
The clone's body was strong, but mortal. Faster than any ordinary human—yet bound by physical laws.
He focused slightly.
Power surged from the Origin Core, flowing outward like a controlled current.
The clone straightened instinctively.
Borrowed power, he noted.
Not omnipotence.
Not divinity.
But enough.
Enough to survive.
Enough to begin.
He released the flow and turned inward.
The Small World awaited shaping.
"If I am to remain here," he said to himself, "then this place must become more than empty land."
With a thought, the soil shifted. Hills rose gently in the distance. A stream carved itself across the plain, water flowing from nowhere to somewhere, obeying newly written rules.
He watched, fascinated.
Every change strengthened the sense of connection between him and the domain.
"I will cultivate here," he decided. "Not strength… but authority."
Time.
Laws.
Creation.
Outside, his clone would guide humanity step by step.
Inside, he would prepare to become something history had never faced.
Far away, under an unfamiliar sky, the clone looked at his own hands.
Rougher skin.
Colder air.
Primitive, untouched land stretching endlessly before him.
"No civilization," he muttered. "Good."
He turned toward the forest.
"Let's begin at the very bottom."
And with that, the first thread of a plan spanning centuries was set into motion.