Darkness.
Then light.
A sudden rush of cold air hit William Wilmot's face, followed by—
CRACK!
The sound of wood slamming against metal, a jolt of pain spiking through his temple.
William's eyes snapped open.
A classroom. Dingy fluorescent lights. Cheap desks. Cracked windows. The scent of chalk and mold.
What the hell?
Another CRACK! struck his desk—close, too close—and then came the yelling.
"You worthless waste of skin! Sleeping again in my class?! You think you'll ever amount to anything like this, Wilmot?!"
The man in front of him—middle-aged, balding, sweat-stained—stood with a cane raised in the air, spit flying from his mouth.
William's thoughts were fragmented, disoriented.
He was just... wasn't he just—
Etheria?
The name pulsed through his soul.
He was the Draconian Lord, the Mage King, the Dragonkin King. He had ruled the volcanic skies and burned back the armies of hell with one arm. He had built empires and ended centuries of war. He had died saving Etheria.
His last memory?
Garvara.
The Dragon Goddess had held him in her arms as he faded, whispering a promise in his ear.
"You will return, my love. You've earned peace, and I will see you reborn... in your world."
And now he was here.
But she left out a few important details.
Like the fact that 100 years had passed, and he would return not in his own body—but in this flimsy mortal shell, a teenager's wreck of a form, and with no parents, no status, nothing…
...except a younger sister suffering from Mana Leakage Syndrome, a slow, fatal condition. The boy whose body he now inhabited had racked up debts in desperation trying to save her.
And William—the real William—was stuck cleaning up the mess.
The teacher raised the cane again.
But this time, William moved.
His hand shot up—not fast, but inevitable, like gravity asserting its dominance—and caught the cane mid-swing.
The teacher's eyes widened. "What the—"
CRUNCH.
Wood splintered under William's grip like dried twigs. The cane crumbled into two jagged pieces.
The classroom fell into silence.
Gasps, whispers, the air turned electric.
William stood slowly, rising like a shadow stretching in the sun.
He stared into the teacher's eyes. "Don't touch me."
And with no further warning—
SLAP.
The teacher's head snapped sideways, cheek red from the blow.
Before anyone could react—
SLAP.
The other cheek.
The classroom lost its mind.
"Holy—he just hit Mr. Talden!"
"What the hell was that?!"
"He broke the cane! With one hand!"
William turned, dragging the weight of five hundred years of war and wisdom in each step.
He walked to the door without a word.
"W-William!" a student called out. "Where are you going?!"
William paused.
"I'm done sitting in rooms where idiots think they have power," he said, voice calm, distant.
Then he was gone.
Outside the building, the sun stung his eyes, the light too bright after years of molten skies and starlit battles. The streets bustled with noise, smog, and technology he barely recognized—drones zipping past, mana-powered vehicles humming down cracked roads, posters of gate raids and mercenary job boards cluttering holo-screens.
The new world.
The Gate Era.
A hundred years since the gates to other realms appeared. Monsters. Dungeons. Magic-infused tech. And from the looks of it, the weak were still crushed underfoot.
William's hand twitched.
His arm—whole, again.
His dominant arm, restored.
He exhaled and focused.
A familiar ding rang in his ears.
[System Activated]
Achievements: Active
AP (Achievement Points): 0
Inventory: Empty
Equipped Skills:
[Dragon's Blood] – Your body retains the resilience of a Dragonkin. Passive.
[Dragon's Heart] – Your mana pool dwarfs all others. Passive.
[Flame Surge] – Mid-tier Draconian Spell.
[Mana Infusion] – Channel mana to reinforce physical strikes.
[Magecraft: Reforged Arm] – Locked.
He sighed.
"Of course that one's still locked."
The Reforged Arm, his greatest invention—a spell of high draconic design that turned a missing limb into a conduit of pure arcane wrath. It had taken him 200 years to create.
Unlocking it now would be… easier. Hopefully.
But first—money.
He returned home to the miserable excuse of a slum apartment where the body's former owner lived.
Dust. Mold. A flickering mana lamp. A fridge with expired cans. No furniture, just a mattress.
On the shelf, he found it: a small lockbox containing a few hundred credits, and a silver locket with a picture of a girl—his sister. The only family he had now.
He took the money and left.
No notes. No goodbye. Just resolve.
Elsewhere, in a skyscraper piercing the clouds…
The Gangster King of New York, Jason Klaw, sat on a marble throne layered with gold plating and mana-warded sigils.
Overgeared. Overprotected. Overpaid.
A bastard with more connections than sense, and the Auctioneer of the Northern States, controlling every black market item from cursed relics to dungeon keys.
His men patrolled every floor of the tower. Drones circled the perimeter. No one got in without dying.
Until now.
KSSSSCH.
The intercom buzzed.
"Sir—there's… uh, an intruder."
Jason didn't even look up. "And?"
"A kid, sir. Teenager. Skinny. Wearing a hoodie and… a mask. A dragon mask."
Jason's brows furrowed. "What the hell?"
He turned to the massive display screens showing every camera angle of the building.
And there—standing at the front entrance—was a teenager, hands in his pockets, wearing a dark crimson hoodie and a black, draconic half-mask.
Jason scoffed. "A f***ing cosplayer? Are we taking walk-ins now?"
"Should we engage, sir?"
Jason leaned back in his throne and waved dismissively. "Yeah, kill the little sh*t. Or detain him. I don't care."
He turned back to the display—
BOOM.
The building shook.
Screams echoed through the radio channels.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
"South wing's blown open!"
"Alarm breach! He's in—HE'S IN THE BASEMENT!"
Jason turned, wide-eyed, to the basement camera feed.
The warehouse.
The one that held the priceless relics.
He watched, stunned, as the doors melted inward like wax.
Flames. Mana. Smoke.
And a silhouette walking through them like a demon born of war.
Eyes glowing through the mask. Hands crackling with dragonfire.
Jason stared at the screen, heart pounding.
"...F—"