The silence that filled the room was not ordinary silence; it was heavy, so heavy that it made the rapid beating of one's own heart audible.
Seraphius stood before the door as it slowly opened on its own, as if the place itself were inviting him to step out and explore this new prison called "Reality."
Before taking a single step beyond the threshold, he retreated toward the only mirror in the room.
It was an old mirror with a worn wooden frame, its surface covered in a thin layer of dust.
He raised his hand and wiped the glass slowly, and the new features reflected back at him struck him with shock.
He was no longer the young man whose face had withered behind computer screens.
His hair had become black, like a night without stars, falling rebelliously over his forehead.
But his eyes… those were the true shock.
Their dull brown color had turned into a deep crimson red, a red resembling fresh blood or a glowing ruby.
He stared at himself as if looking at a stranger— a beautiful and terrifying monster at the same time.
This body… is not my body, yet it feels everything.
He examined the texture of his clothes; they were rough, made from a primitive fabric he had never seen in his real life, carrying the scent of earth and rain.
The clothes were slightly too long for him, making him feel their weight with every movement.
His body was tall and well-proportioned, his skin smooth, yet hinting at a hidden strength beneath it.
He left the room and entered the small house's main hall.
The entire house was built from solid wood, its walls exuding the scent of burnt pine.
A wooden table stood in the center, beside a small stone fireplace whose flames had died out not long ago, leaving behind warm ashes.
Where am I?
And who are these people the system chose to be my family?
The moment he thought about his power, the transparent screen appeared before his eyes once again, as if it were part of his vision itself:
[ Personal Data ]
• Name: Seraphius
• Level: 1
• Rank: Beginner Swordsman
• Unique Ability: Shadow Control (Hidden)
[ Statistics ]
• Health (HP): 100%
• Intelligence: 50
• Strength: 15
• Speed: 20
• Endurance: 12
Seraphius stared at the Intelligence stat.
It was extremely high compared to the rest—likely because his mind still retained years of strategic gaming experience.
But his body, despite its strong appearance, was still only level one.
He walked toward the only window in the hall and pulled the fabric curtain aside.
What he saw was not a noisy city or crowded streets, but a quiet village that seemed isolated from the world.
The houses were spaced apart, the people wore simple clothes, and the atmosphere carried the feeling of calm before a storm.
He recalled the system's words:
"Your bodies here in the game… all of you are now dead."
Did that mean everyone he saw was a former player whose soul had been taken?
Or were there native inhabitants of this world?
While he was lost in thought, he heard footsteps approaching from behind the main door of the house.
They were heavy and deliberate.
Seraphius clenched his fist tightly, feeling a strange coldness spread through his limbs.
He looked down at the ground and saw his shadow sway unnaturally, as if it had a life of its own—stretching and shrinking in response to his tension.
Shadow ability…
Everyone in the game had said it was the weakest, because it lacked obvious destructive power.
Seraphius smiled coldly as he watched the doorknob begin to turn.
But in a real world—where killing does not require an explosion, but a single strike from an unexpected angle—
the shadow is the strongest ally.
The door opened, and sunlight flooded the hall.
Along with it appeared the silhouette of a massive man standing there.
Seraphius paused for a moment at the threshold, watching the large man who had entered the house.
He didn't need to hear the man's name to know who he was; memories from the body flowed into his mind like a faded film.
This was Edgar—
the man who had spent his life cutting trees and training his son in the art of the blade.
Edgar possessed the same crimson eyes Seraphius had seen in the mirror, but the father's eyes were dulled by years of age, while Seraphius's eyes glowed with a sharp brilliance, as if an ancient ember had suddenly been reignited.
Edgar set down the heavy bundle of firewood, wiped the sweat from his broad forehead, and looked at his son standing stiffly.
"You're still standing there, Arthur?"
The father spoke in a deep voice that shook the wooden walls of the house.
"I thought the fever you had yesterday would keep you asleep until tomorrow, but it seems the blood of the 'House of Siavin' has finally begun to boil in your veins."
There was no surprise in his tone regarding the color of the eyes— that color was the pride of their family.
What surprised him was the posture.
His son had always hunched his back, his eyes unfocused.
But now… he stood firm, head held high, in a way that radiated confidence.
"I feel like I've been born again, Father,"
Seraphius replied honestly.
His words carried two meanings: the rebirth of the body from illness, and the rebirth of his soul within this world.
Edgar let out a rough laugh and turned toward the wall where two worn wooden swords hung.
"Good! Sweet words don't build a warrior. Take this."
He hurled the sword toward his son with a force that would have knocked the old Arthur to the ground.
But Seraphius did not retreat.
He shot his right hand forward with lightning speed and caught the wooden hilt midair.
The impact made a dull sound, yet Seraphius's hand did not tremble.
His fingers wrapped around the wood as if it were part of him.
Edgar raised an eyebrow in surprise, a hint of pride flashing in his crimson eyes.
"Good speed. Perhaps that fever cleared your mind a little.
Follow me to the yard—let's see if your hands are as strong as your grip."
The father walked out, and Seraphius followed with steady steps.
Outside, the dirt yard was surrounded by a simple wooden fence, and beyond it lay a dense forest whose trees looked like giants guarding the place.
In the distance, the city of Ohar, where they lived on the outskirts, rose atop a hill—its stone towers reaching toward the violet sky.
Seraphius stood facing his father.
At that moment, the system interface appeared before his eyes once more:
[ Alert: Your first "Training Encounter" has begun ]
[ Opponent: Edgar Siavin – Level: ??? ]
[ Note: Your high Intelligence (50) allows you to perceive "attack patterns" 0.5 seconds before they occur ]
Seraphius felt something strange happening beneath his feet.
The sun was bright, making his shadow on the ground dark and sharply defined.
As his father took an attacking stance, Seraphius felt his shadow begin to stretch slightly—
not because of the light, but because of his will.
The shadow moved slowly, creeping toward his father's feet like a silent serpent.
Edgar did not notice—who would ever expect a "shadow" to be a weapon in the hands of a beginner?
"Remember, my son,"
Edgar said as he raised his wooden sword high.
"A swordsman does not strike with his hand, but with his focus. Attack!"
In that moment, Seraphius did not charge blindly.
He focused his crimson eyes on his father's shoulder, and thanks to his high Intelligence, he predicted the muscle's movement before the sword even moved.
Seraphius lunged forward—
and at the same time, the shadow beneath Edgar's feet trembled slightly, as if trying to seize his concentration.
This was the beginning.