Morning mist shrouded the Red Hawk Plains as sunlight weakly penetrated the cloud layer, draping the battlefield in a somber gray veil. This was the third day of war. The once lush grassland had been trampled into ruin by hooves and war boots, earth stained dark crimson with blood, the air permeated with an iron-like stench.


    Adrian Felton clutched his "Wind Howl" sword tightly as he surveyed the battlefield from the heights. This blade—awarded to exceptional graduates of the Royal Sword Academy—had accompanied him for two years, its intricate runes glimmering faintly in the morning light. At twenty-three, he served as deputy captain of the Seventh Legion''s Third Squad, leading fifteen warriors guarding the eastern hillside—the last defensive line of the Astor Kingdom''s border.


    "The enemy still numbers at least five hundred," Captain Marcus rasped beside him, "Reinforcements won''t arrive until tomorrow evening at the earliest."


    Adrian nodded, his azure eyes narrowing slightly. The northern barbarians launching an attack this season was unusual; they typically waited for winter, when heavy snow blocked mountain passages and kingdom troops struggled to mobilize. But this time, they came swift and merciless, as if driven by some unseen force.


    "We''ll hold until tomorrow night," Adrian wiped sweat from his brow, fingers unconsciously brushing the scar above his left ear—a memento from his first combat training at the academy. "The hill terrain favors us. As long as they can''t flank us, we still have a chance."


    Marcus patted his shoulder, trust evident in his eyes. Adrian knew that despite his youth, his academy experience had allowed him to quickly distinguish himself on the battlefield. During his five years at the academy, he had mastered the "Seven Forms of Wind Sword" with astonishing speed, becoming Instructor Leon''s proudest student. Had war not erupted, he might have continued his advanced studies, researching the legendary arts that fused magic with swordsmanship.


    "The barbarians are assembling!" The lookout''s shout interrupted Adrian''s thoughts.


    In the distance, dust billowed as the northern barbarians'' vanguard prepared for battle. Clad in animal hides, they brandished crude yet lethal battle axes, while war drums echoed like thunder across the plains.


    "Everyone on alert!" Adrian commanded sharply, his voice carrying clearly across the position. "Archers ready, sword-and-shield bearers form the front line, standard diamond defense formation!"


    The soldiers moved swiftly, arranging themselves in the classic defensive formation taught at the academy. The sounds of metal scraping against leather, rapid breathing, and quickened heartbeats composed the tense symphony that preceded battle. Adrian felt a familiar shiver climb his spine—not fear, but the instinctive heightened awareness of impending conflict.


    "Remember your training! Maintain formation! Target their weak points!" He walked along the ranks, his voice steady. "We are Astor''s shield, the kingdom''s final line of defense!"


    The drumbeats suddenly accelerated, and the barbarians unleashed earth-shaking howls, surging toward the hill like a tidal wave. Adrian tightened his grip on Wind Howl, feeling the leather grip embossed with his family crest—a legacy from his father, the royal swordsmith.


    "Release arrows!" At Marcus''s command, the first volley rained upon the barbarian ranks, harvesting lives in the front lines but failing to halt their charge.


    In an instant, the battle transformed from ranged combat to close-quarters melee. Adrian leapt to the frontline, his Wind Howl sword carving elegant yet deadly arcs through the air. He executed the academy''s "Wind Sword Third Form: Sweeping Army" with masterful precision; one horizontal slash felled three barbarian warriors, their blood gleaming eerily in the sunlight.


    "Maintain formation! Don''t scatter!" Adrian both fought and commanded, his voice remaining distinctly audible amid the battlefield chaos.


    His sword flowed like water, each strike finding the enemy''s vulnerabilities. Though physically powerful, the barbarians lacked systematic training; their savage chops appeared crude against Adrian''s precise swordsmanship. However, the numerical disadvantage soon became apparent, forcing Adrian''s squad to retreat step by step.


    "Adrian, the left flank is collapsing!" Thomas''s shout came from the side—a fellow academy classmate, cautious but reliable.


    Adrian quickly assessed the situation. The left flank indeed showed gaps; if breached, the entire defensive line would crumble. He turned toward the danger zone, cutting throats and cleaving skulls as he moved, his actions flowing seamlessly like a choreographed dance.


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    "Wind Sword Fifth Form: Mountain Return Willow Sweep!"


    One of the academy''s most difficult techniques displayed terrifying effectiveness in Adrian''s hands. Eight barbarian warriors fell before him like harvested wheat. He successfully stabilized the left flank, though sweat now soaked his forehead and his breathing grew labored.


    The battle raged for three full hours, with the hillside defense wavering. Adrian''s armor was saturated with blood—impossible to distinguish between enemy''s and his own. A bone-deep gash in his right arm sent tearing pain through him with every sword stroke, yet he gritted his teeth and endured, becoming the spiritual pillar for his soldiers.


    "Fall back to the second defense line!" Marcus ordered, fatigue evident in his voice. "We need to regroup!"


    The soldiers began an orderly retreat while Adrian covered the rear, ensuring every wounded man could withdraw. Just then, his peripheral vision caught something unusual—a black-robed figure appeared among the barbarians, starkly out of place. The stranger wielded a peculiar bow, its arrowhead emanating an eerie purple glow.


    "Beware the black robe!" Adrian had barely shouted when he saw the purple-glowing arrow already released, flying directly toward Thomas who was supporting an injured comrade.


    In that moment, time seemed to freeze. Adrian didn''t think—he instinctively lunged forward. He clearly saw the arrow slice through air as his body intercepted its path between the projectile and Thomas. He felt a violent impact, followed by searing pain in his chest—the arrow had penetrated his breastplate, embedding deeply near his heart.


    "Adrian! No!" Thomas''s cry seemed to come from a great distance.


    Adrian collapsed to his knees, an iron-like taste filling his throat. Looking down, he saw the arrow shaft protruding from his chest, purple substance spreading from the wound, invading his blood vessels like poisonous vines. Excruciating pain followed, yet strangely, his thoughts remained extraordinarily clear.


    "Re...treat..." he struggled to issue his final command before collapsing heavily.


    The sky spun in his vision as battlefield clamor gradually faded. Adrian knew his time was limited, the toxin rapidly corroding his life force. Oddly, the expected fear never arrived; instead, a peculiar calm overtook him. He recalled Instructor Leon''s words: "A true swordsman doesn''t fear death, but understands it, embraces it, like embracing the inevitable shadow within life."


    His vision blurred as the world''s colors gradually faded. Adrian felt breathing become difficult, his heartbeat slowing, life ebbing away like fine sand in an hourglass—slowly yet inevitably.


    At the edge of consciousness, a silver flash entered his vision. Initially, he thought it a hallucination—sunlight reflecting off armor—but soon realized it was a woman''s long hair. Amid the chaotic battlefield, a silver-haired woman in a white dress approached him, her steps light as if the battlefield posed no obstacle.


    "How... is this... possible..." Adrian mumbled weakly, suspecting he had succumbed to death''s final delusions.


    The silver-haired woman knelt beside him, her countenance cold and beautiful like moonlight, her eyes an unnatural light purple. Stranger still, the surrounding battle seemed to halt—sounds vanished, leaving only him and her, as if they''d been drawn into a separate, isolated space.


    "Brave soul," her voice was melodious like clear springs, yet carried echoes not of this world, "your sacrifice shall not be forgotten."


    She extended her slender fingers to touch Adrian''s forehead—soft yet ice-cold. In that instant, a strange energy surged into his body, burning yet mysterious. Adrian watched a silver rune extend from her fingertips onto his skin, then sink into his flesh and disappear. Pain instantly receded, replaced by an unprecedented lightness.


    "What I give you is neither curse nor blessing," the silver-haired woman whispered, a mysterious smile playing at her lips. "It is a contract, a responsibility, and your soul''s new journey."


    Adrian wanted to ask more, but words failed him. The woman''s silhouette began to fade, the world collapsing around them. In the final moment, he glimpsed a flash of compassion in her eyes, as if she foresaw the destiny awaiting him.


    Then, everything surrendered to darkness.


    Adrian felt himself freed from bodily constraints, consciousness drifting through boundless void. Here existed no light, no sound, no concept of time—only endless tranquility and nothingness. He tried recalling who he was and why he was here, but memories resembled torn parchment, leaving only fragmented pieces. He remembered his name, the sword academy, his battlefield death, but everything else became blurred and distant.


    Throughout this immeasurable void, Adrian''s consciousness alternated between clarity and haziness. He couldn''t determine whether he dreamed or had truly died, entering some strange afterlife. The only constant was the silver rune on his arm, occasionally visible, pulsing faintly as if reminding him of some unfulfilled mission.


    He felt himself floating, drifting like a feather pushed by invisible currents. Time lost meaning here—perhaps minutes passed, perhaps centuries. Occasionally, he seemed to hear distant voices, glimpse blurred images: ancient buildings, mysterious rituals, war and ruins, kingdoms rising and falling...


    Were these hallucinations or reflections of some reality? Adrian couldn''t tell. He only knew that in this endless darkness, something was changing him, reshaping him, infusing him with some incomprehensible power.


    Then, when the void seemed eternal, when he nearly forgot he once lived as a person, a distant light appeared—faint yet unwavering, like the first star in a night sky.


    The glow gradually expanded—warm, bright, vibrant. Adrian felt a force pulling him, extracting him from nothingness.


    The rune burned hot again, light penetrating darkness, enveloping him.


    Adrian Felton—brilliant student of Astor Kingdom''s Sword Academy, young deputy captain who sacrificed himself in a border battle—was being summoned back to the world''s stage.


    But the world he would awaken to was no longer the one he had known.