Darkness still clung to him.
Leonhart's senses returned in pieces—first, the cold, damp ground beneath him, then the distant echo of dripping water. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of earth and something… foul. His fingers twitched. No, not fingers. Claws. Small, gnarled things that scraped against the stone.
What…?
His breath hitched. He forced his eyes open. The dim glow of the cave flickered across jagged walls, revealing shadows that danced and swayed. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs were wrong—too short, too weak. He stumbled, barely catching himself on what felt like brittle arms.
What is this? What happened to me?
Then it hit him. The battlefield. The betrayal. The searing pain of the mana blade piercing his chest. The last thing he remembered was the mage's cold, empty gaze before his world went black.
"I… I died."
The words left his lips, but the voice was foreign—high-pitched, rasping. A shiver ran down his spine. He needed to see. He needed to know.
Dragging himself forward, he found a shallow puddle where water had collected in the cave floor. Kneeling, he peered into its surface.
A creature stared back at him.
A frail, goblin-like thing with sickly green skin, jagged teeth, and wide, glowing yellow eyes. Its ears were long and pointed, its limbs scrawny and weak. A pathetic thing.
Leonhart's stomach twisted. "No… No, this—this isn't me."
But the goblin's mouth moved with his words. The goblin's expression twisted with his horror. He wrenched away from the water, scrambling backward, chest heaving.
This has to be a nightmare. Some cruel illusion.
He gritted his teeth, pressing his clawed hands against his temples. His mind—his memories—were intact. He was still Leonhart Vael. The Blade King. The strongest warrior humanity had ever known.
And yet… he wasn't.
His breaths were ragged, uneven. He forced himself still. Panicking would do nothing. He needed to think.
If I died… and I woke up like this… His hands clenched. Then this is reincarnation.
The realization was a cold, hard thing. One he couldn't deny.
A sharp hiss echoed from deeper within the cave. Leonhart's head snapped up. The sound was guttural, animalistic. He wasn't alone.
Instinct took over. He flattened himself against the cave wall, listening. His body was weak, but his mind was still a warrior's. He strained his senses, picking up the rustle of movement—small, quick steps, barely more than a whisper.
Other goblins? Predators?
Either way, he wasn't going to sit here and wait for whatever it was to find him vulnerable.
He forced himself to his feet, adjusting to the awkward balance of his new body. His muscles felt alien, sluggish. He clenched and unclenched his fingers—his claws—testing them. He had lost his strength, his power. But he wasn't defenseless.
"I survived worse," he muttered, voice steadying. "I'll survive this, too."
His reflection had shown him something weak. But he wasn't weak. He was Leonhart Vael, and this world had already taken everything from him once.
It wouldn't do so again.
With that thought burning in his mind, he stepped forward—into the darkness, into the unknown.
He would find out what this new life had in store for him. And he would carve his path through it, no matter the cost.
End of Chapter 2