.
What happens to people after they die?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not dead yet.”
It was a random answer to the sudden question my comrade, Hamel, asked while we were drinking. I had never really thought about such a thing. Instead of pondering it, I’d rather spend my time sharpening my sword a little more… or training with it.
“I’ve heard stories about reincarnation,” Hamel said.
“Then I hope I’m born into an ordinary family next time. I just want to live quietly.”
When I said I wanted to live a peaceful life, he laughed for a while, then asked again:
“Do you really mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Even now, so many people are suffering — from the Church of Salvation, the Demon King, and that thing [•••••]. Don’t you want to go back and save them?”
“I don’t care.”
Hamel sighed. “I never realized how much pain lies beneath your cheerful attitude.”
“Everyone has a painful past, don’t they?”
My friend nodded, raised his glass, and said, “When this is all over, let’s go monster hunting again.”
I chuckled. “Sure. If you can find a Joadiam — one of the top 100 demons of the Abyssal Realm — it might actually be fun.”
He snickered, took a sip from his drink, and set the glass down.
“I’ll try. Should I pray for you to find one?”
“I don’t believe in gods. I only believe in this.”
At that moment, Phileo stood up, [grasped his sword, Woornak], and began performing acrobatic movements with it.
As I swung my own sword, I laughed; he nodded in approval, seemingly once again mesmerized by my skill.
“Careful now. Don’t faint — I won’t be going too far.”
“Of course. I’ll be watching, my friend.”
Voosh—!
As Phileo walked through the ruined, desolate backstreets, he sank into deep thought… and suddenly—
He could feel their eyes upon him.
Phileo sighed. “Ouuh…”
“Hey, you! Come here!”
[A boy, no older than nine, with bloodshot eyes, appeared. From his tattered clothes and weak tone, it was clear he was a beggar.]
“Sir… please, could you spare a groum?”
Phileo sensed four more pairs of eyes hidden behind the crumbling ruins, secretly watching.
“They’re… my brothers,” the boy stammered. “I’m just trying to buy them some bread…”
[From his expression, it was clear he truly needed it.]
Phileo tossed the pouch from his pocket toward the boy. [When the boy opened it, he froze in shock — inside were ten platinum coins, worth nearly a hundred groum.]
Tears welled up in his eyes. “Sir…” he began — but by the time he looked up, Phileo had already vanished.
Five Months Later Crank Empire – Vioam Borderline
“COME HERE, EVEEEELYYNNNN!” [The 33rd Joadiam of Hell — Evelyn, a Dream Demon, a Succubus.]
Evelyn cackled, spreading her wings as she soared toward the boundless castle of the Demon King.
At that moment, Phileo invoked—
Fenris Sword Technique: Seventh Form — WRATH OF THE SKY DRAGON!
Evelyn was sliced into seventy fragments.
When Phileo landed on the ground, suddenly, around him—
Two Joadiams appeared. The 17th strongest demon of Hell — Belial, and the 2nd strongest — Akaza.
After a long and brutal battle, Ghislain managed to sever one of Akaza’s arms and succeeded in killing Belial…
Meanwhile, Phileo, using every ounce of his power, defeated Akaza — but at a terrible cost.
His Aura Core shattered, and the energy that once filled his body was now leaking away.
Phileo muttered weakly, “Tch… maybe I could’ve lived a better life…” Then collapsed to the ground — and closed his eyes for the final time.
“Y–Young Master! YOUNG MASTER!”
Phileo’s eyes suddenly flew open — he gasped, startled.
Before him stood a boy, no older than sixteen — a servant, shouting frantically.
At first, Phileo thought he had fallen into Hell again… But soon he realized the truth.
He was in the northern lands of the Kingdom of Lutania — in the Fenris County.
A barren, impoverished region at the edge of the kingdom, constantly forced to battle barbarian raids.
And Phileo… finally understood. This was the very land the Demon King had destroyed first — before time was rewound.
And now, he had been reborn as the heir of those lands.


CHAPTER 1 — Rebirth on the Ash-Stained Lands

The moment Phileo’s eyes opened, a pale daylight struck his face. The sky was ashen; the clouds looked torn apart by the northern winds. A sharp, dry cold drifted through the air. His chest suddenly throbbed with a familiar pain — the final moment of the battle resurfaced in his mind. The shattering of his Aura Core… the crushing force tearing through his organs… the cold silence of death.

But now? His heart… was beating. Before he could fully grasp this miracle, the boy standing before him cried out again.

“Y–Young Master! Please, look at me! You just collapsed—are you alright?”

Phileo narrowed his eyes, studying the boy’s face. He was a slim, freckled youth with sandy hair and a patched winter cloak draped over his shoulders. His eyes shimmered with panic and concern.

“I…” Phileo stammered. His voice sounded unusually young. “I fainted?”

“N–Not exactly… I mean, yes? I’m not entirely sure, but… you simply froze, and then fell!”

Phileo remained silent for a few seconds. In that silence, only the wind howled through the barren trees, mingled with distant wolf cries. Fenris lands… to be back here felt like some cruel jest. These were the very lands where, three years later, the Demon King’s first massacre would take place. Where hundreds of thousands would die. Where even Phileo’s corpse had never been found. Yet now… time itself was flowing backwards. He pushed himself upright. The boy rushed to help him.

“Are you trying to recall something, Young Master?” the boy asked.
“Yes,” Phileo murmured. “And no… at the same time.”
The boy blinked, confused, but didn’t question further.
Phileo drew in a deep breath. He looked at his arms, legs, his entire body. No wounds. No fractures. His Aura Core… His eyes widened. He felt a faint glimmer within. Cracked, but forming anew.
“That’s… impossible.”
Once an Aura Core shattered completely, it could never regenerate. A warrior would lose all ability to channel combat energy forever. But in this young body… The core hadn’t fully matured. That immaturity granted it a chance to be reborn. A spark ignited in Phileo’s mind.
This meant— He hadn’t merely grown younger. Time itself had rewound. The boy spoke again, pulling him from his thoughts:
“Young Master, shall I escort you to the manor? Winter’s getting harsher… and the Lady Duchess was looking for you.”
Phileo’s breath hitched.
“My mother… she’s alive?”
The boy stared, baffled.
“Of course… why wouldn’t she be?”
Phileo lowered his gaze.
His mother.
Duchess Elara Fenris.
A proud yet affectionate woman, sharp as steel and cold as the northern winds. In his previous life, she had died before his eyes during the Demon King’s first assault, shielding her people with her own body.
But now?
She lived.
His chest tightened, a tremor rising in his throat. As the cold wind brushed against his cheeks, something warm stirred inside him.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Let’s return.”
The young servant brightened immediately.
“Yes, Young Master! Please follow me!”
Phileo stood. Even with simple steps, he felt the contrast in his body’s strength — weak, untrained, fragile. His aura circulation was pitiful. His muscles were undeveloped. But his soul… The soul that had slain Akaza… That had defied the Demon King… That had endured a thousand battles… Now pulsed within the body of a boy. This was fate’s final mercy. This time, the barbarian raids would not erase Fenris. This time, the Kingdom would not fracture into civil war. And this time, the one who would stop the Demon King… Would be Phileo himself.

CHAPTER 2 — The Manor of Fenris and the Winter Queen
The Fenris Manor loomed on the northern hills: a massive structure of grey stone—weathered, cracked, and burdened under the weight of snow. Its gardens were untended; its banners faded. It looked even worse than Phileo remembered.
As the servant hurried ahead, he spoke anxiously:
“Young Master, the situation in the county… well, you know. Barbarian attacks keep increasing. Lord Ghislain is stationed at the northern border, and he hasn’t returned in months. The Lady Duchess is terribly worried.”
Phileo nodded.
Ghislain… his father.
In his past life, Ghislain had also died fighting the Demon King. But there was still time. Perhaps he could save him too.
When they reached the gate, two guards raised their spears.
“Young Master Phileo! Why were you outside alone? Did you skip lessons again?”
Phileo straightened, voice calm.
“It won’t happen again.”
The guards exchanged bewildered glances as he stepped inside.
Cold stones lined the hallways. The Fenris wolf banners hung dull and lifeless. Everything felt worn, exhausted, starved of hope.
Then— He turned a corner. And saw her. Duchess Elara.
Silver-haired, sharp-eyed, regal even in exhaustion. Her long white fur cloak swept the floor behind her. Yet her face… her face held years of worry.
“Phileo!”
She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Phileo froze. This warmth… he hadn’t felt it in so long. Her final words in his previous life still echoed in his mind—
“Run… Phileo… go…”
Then blood. Now, instead… Her warmth, her heartbeat, her embrace. His throat tightened. Tears welled in his young eyes.
“I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I made you worry…”
Elara pulled back, her gaze firm.
“You are my only child. Of course I will worry.”
A simple sentence—yet it broke and healed him all at once.
“Barbarian clans are stirring again,” she continued. “The royal court refuses to send reinforcements. Lord Ghislain fights with everything he has at the front, and you… you are the sole heir of our house, Phileo.”
Phileo inhaled deeply.
“Mother… I won’t trouble you again.”
Elara blinked.
“That… doesn’t sound like you.”
Phileo smiled faintly.
“Please trust me.”
She studied him—truly looked at him.
And in his eyes, she found not a boy’s gaze…
But the calm resolve of a warrior.

CHAPTER 3 — A Weak Body, a Warrior’s Soul
Back in his room, Phileo shut the door and exhaled shakily.

“This… will be difficult.”
His body was fifteen at most. His Aura Core was underdeveloped. His strength was negligible. But his soul… His soul was carved by war. He sat at the edge of his bed and reached inward, seeking the faint trickle of energy. There—weak, unsteady, but present.
“Good. First, stabilize the core. Then training.”
He closed his eyes and began a low-level aura circulation technique. Something he had mastered countless times before—now crude and primitive in this immature body. Hours passed as he forced the chaotic energy to settle. When he finally opened his eyes, sweat dripped down his brow.
“Progress.”
He stood, hands trembling from strain, yet a quiet pride blooming inside. A knock at the door.
“Young Master, your dinner.”
Phileo opened it to see the same freckled servant.
“What was your name?”
“O–Oh! I should have said earlier. It’s Lian, Young Master.”
Phileo nodded.
“Lian, tell me the current state of Fenris. The people, the soldiers, our supply lines—everything.”
Lian blinked in shock.
“W–Why do you need to know that?”
Phileo’s expression hardened.
“Because protecting this land is now my duty.”
Lian stared at him, eyes wide.
“Young Master… you’ve changed.”
Phileo gave a small smile.
“Keep it between us.”
“Yes! Of course!”
A warmth stirred in Phileo’s chest. This time, Fenris would not fall.
------------------------------------------
CHAPTER 4 — The Battle of Tomorrow

At dawn, Phileo woke and trained in the courtyard. Soldiers whispered as they watched.
“The Young Master… training on his own?”
“Didn’t he faint yesterday?”
Phileo’s arms shook, his breath ragged. His strength was feeble, his stamina pitiful.
But he continued. Because the Demon King’s return would not wait. A hand touched his shoulder.
“Young Master, stop! You’ll injure yourself!”
He turned—his mother stood there.
“I must grow stronger,” Phileo said quietly. “For Fenris.”
Elara paused, then sighed.
“I know… but you’re still just a child.”
Phileo met her gaze.
“I was, once. But not anymore.”
She searched his eyes—and again saw that unfamiliar, unnerving maturity. Then— A loud bell shattered the cold morning.

DONG!
DONG!
DONG!

Soldiers shouted:

“BARBARIAN RAID!”

Phileo’s heart clenched. Even with time reset… fate had not changed.
“Mother, stay inside.”
“Phileo? Where are you going?”
He walked toward the gates.
“To defend Fenris.”
CHAPTER 5 — First Blood, New Fate

Villagers fled in panic as twenty barbarian raiders charged from the northern ridge. The attacks weren’t supposed to begin for months—yet the timeline was already shifting. Phileo stood beside the spear-armed guards.
“Listen to me.”
The soldiers straightened, startled.
“Today, you will not fear. You will not retreat. Today, Fenris stands.”
They exchanged stunned looks. The frail boy they knew… spoke like a commander.
“The leader is in front,” Phileo continued. “I’ll take him. Hold off the rest.”
A guard stepped forward.
“Young Master, that’s—”
“Trust me.”
As the barbarians thundered closer, Phileo drew in every drop of inner strength. His cracked core flared with searing pain, aura trickling like scattered sparks. He exhaled. Then charged. His speed was weak. His power lacking. But his technique—that of a veteran who had survived a thousand battles—was flawless. The barbarian leader swung his spear. Phileo ducked. Slid beneath the blow.
Rose—and plunged his short blade into the man’s throat. Blood sprayed. The courtyard fell silent. A small, fragile youth… felled a barbarian chief in one strike. Phileo pulled his blade free.
“Now! Attack!”
Fenris soldiers roared and surged forward. Their morale exploded. In moments, the raiders were forced to retreat. Phileo sank to one knee, gasping. His core pulsed painfully.
“I’m still… far too weak.”
But he lived. And he saved Fenris. Soldiers rushed toward him.
“Young Master! Victory!”
“He killed the barbarian leader!”
Phileo lifted his gaze. Grey clouds swirled above. Winter was coming. But so was a new destiny. He placed a hand over his heart.
“Demon King…This time… I will defeat you.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER 6 — Shadows Falling on Blood and Snow

As the barbarian cries faded into the distance, an eerie stillness settled over the courtyard of Fenris Manor. Snow drifted from the grey sky in slow, hesitant flakes. The soldiers, still shaken, stared at Phileo with disbelief. His young body was trembling, drained by the fight… yet in his eyes burned a resolute fire. His breath was uneven. His stomach churned. His knees trembled beneath him. This body… truly weak. But his soul was stronger than ever. Phileo pushed himself upright. Several soldiers stepped forward to support him, but he raised his hand gently.
“It’s fine. I can stand.”
One of the men murmured in awe:
“Young Master… we’ve never seen you fight like this.”
Phileo glanced at the blood coating his blade.
“You should be more surprised that this is only the beginning.”
More whispers rippled among the soldiers. Their frail, sickly young lord had suddenly shown the ferocity of a warrior. It made no sense. Just then, the manor doors flew open. Duchess Elara rushed out, her fur-lined cloak billowing behind her. The moment she spotted Phileo, her eyes widened.
“Phileo!”
She hurried to him, hands trembling as she checked for injuries. Phileo offered a faint smile.
“I’m alright, Mother.”
Her gaze drifted to the blood on his sword, then to the fallen barbarian corpses… and back to her son.
“YOU… did this?”
Phileo didn’t lower his head.
“Yes.”
Elara’s breath caught. For years, her heart had ached at her son’s physical frailty. But now… the boy standing before her possessed the expression of a man who had walked through battlefields. Slowly, Elara knelt before him.
“You’ve changed, my son. Your eyes… they see differently now.”
Phileo spoke quietly, yet firmly.
“Because we no longer have the luxury of time.”
Elara shivered. Those words didn’t belong to a child. Not even to a young noble. They belonged to someone who knew his destiny. Someone who had already fought — and died.
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CHAPTER 7 — The Storm Gathering on the Northern Walls

After the barbarian raid, the people of Fenris gathered in the village square. Women clutched their children, men murmured worried prayers. But all their whispers circled around a single topic:
“Young Master Phileo… he killed the barbarian leader.”
“Is that really true? A boy so small…”
“The soldiers swear they saw it.”
As Phileo walked through the crowd, people bowed deeply. Yet among the gestures of respect, he also heard hushed doubts.
“What if something’s wrong with him?”
“What if misfortune follows?”
“No… maybe it’s a sign from the spirits.”
Phileo ignored them. His mind was elsewhere.
The barbarian attack had come far too early. In the original timeline, the first raid happened six months later. Which meant—Time had reset, but events no longer followed the same path. A frightening realization. If the enemy was moving sooner… he had even less time to prepare. While his thoughts raced, Lian sprinted toward him.
“Young Master! We’ve received an urgent report!”
“What is it?”
Lian struggled to catch his breath.
“A messenger from the northern watchtower. Smoke rises from the border.”
Phileo’s heart tightened.
“Smoke?”
“Yes! And not only that—destroyed villages!”
His jaw clenched. This… was the beginning of that event. The Black Winter Incident. The night when united barbarian clans obliterated thirty northern villages. But this catastrophe belonged to a timeline still two years ahead.
“Time is unraveling even faster…” Phileo murmured.
There was only one explanation. The Demon King’s forces were awakening early. And Phileo… was running out of time.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER 8 — The Father’s Shadow

Duchess Elara gathered all officers in the grand hall. Phileo stood beside her. Though many commanders exchanged uneasy glances at the sight of their young lord, Phileo paid them no mind. Elara spoke in a clipped tone:
“The smoke in the north and the growing barbarian movement… combined with Lord Ghislain’s continued absence… are deeply concerning.”
A familiar pain struck Phileo’s chest at the mention of his father. Lord Ghislain — the hero of the northern frontier. Brave. Sharp. Unyielding. Always leading from the front. In the previous timeline, right before the Demon King’s army advanced, Ghislain had vanished. His body had never been found. Phileo clenched his fists. Father… I won’t lose you again. One of the soldiers raised a hand.
“My Lady, we must send a scouting party. If something happened to Lord Ghislain’s unit—”
Phileo intervened.
“No. Sending scouts now is too dangerous.”
The room fell silent. A commander scowled.
“This is a war council, boy. Even your father would remain silent at a meeting like this.”
Phileo met his eyes, unflinching.
“Yet if he were here now, he would never send men to die needlessly.”
“You can’t possibly know that!”
Phileo’s voice did not rise. It didn’t need to.
“Yes, I can. The northern barbarian tribes are uniting. Any scouts you send will be ambushed. Not a single man will return.”
A tense stillness gripped the hall. The logic, however unnerving, was solid. Elara turned slowly to her son.
“Phileo… how do you know this?”
He paused. He could not reveal the truth. So he offered a half-truth:
“In recent months, I noticed unusual movements among the tribes. It was clear something was shifting.”
The commanders exchanged looks. It was plausible — unsettling, but plausible.
Phileo continued:
“We won’t face scouting reports. We’ll face refugees — because the northern villages… are already burning.”
A murmur of dread swept the room
“Prepare for them.”
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CHAPTER 9 — The Hidden Training

When the war council ended, Phileo returned to the courtyard and picked up his blade. His knees still stung from strain, but that would not stop him. This body is not a burden. It is my starting point. Just then Lian approached, carrying a heavy sack.

“Young Master, you asked for the old armory to be opened. These were inside.”
Phileo opened the bag.
Inside lay a rusty training dagger, a small wooden shield, and several old books. One title immediately caught his eye:
“The Fenris Wolf Technique — Foundational Aura Training.”
Phileo’s eyes sharpened. The ancient technique of the Fenris bloodline… In his previous life, it had been lost forever. But now? It had survived. He opened the book. The pages were yellowed, the handwriting old yet clear. The technique focused on earth-based aura compression — slow but exceptionally stable. Exactly what he needed. Phileo sat cross-legged, beginning the first stance. Lian blinked at him nervously.
“Young Master… that technique is incredibly difficult.”
Phileo closed his eyes.
“The technique isn’t the difficult part. The difficult part… is beating time itself.”
Lian swallowed, worry tightening his chest. His young lord had become… someone else. Hours passed. A subtle tremor formed around Phileo — the faint awakening of earth energy. Frost formed on the ground. Thin cracks spread across the stone beneath him. Phileo’s eyes snapped open.
“My shattered core… is beginning to mend.”
It was unbelievable. But the moment of triumph was short-lived. Because from far away… a horn sounded. The horn of Fenris watchmen. The emergency horn. Lian’s face turned pale.
“Y–Young Master!! A massive crowd is approaching the northern gate! They… they’re—”
“Barbarians?”
“No… villagers! Hundreds of them! Burned… wounded… fleeing!”
Phileo felt a chill crawl down his spine. The Black Winter Incident… has begun. This was the Demon King’s first ripple. And fate had already veered onto a new course. Phileo strapped his sword to his back.
“Lian. Prepare Fenris for the wounded. I’m heading to the northern gate.”
Lian shouted after him:
“You can’t go alone!”
Phileo didn’t turn.
“I’m not alone.”
This time… all of Fenris will stand with me.