Chapter 1: The Snowfield

I walked a life that never came to an end.

A snow-covered wasteland stretched endlessly before me as a trail of long, uneven footprints marked my passage, reminiscent of dark strokes against a pure white canvas.

I panted heavily, my every breath rising to the very edge of my throat. I staggered forward, each step unsteady in the bone-chilling cold that threatened to freeze my lungs solid.

Beyond the raging snowstorm, a faint flame flickered in the distance.

“I-I found it,” I gasped weakly.

How long had it been since I first began searching for the Primordial Flame? Hundreds of years? Thousands? Maybe even tens of thousands. I lost count ages ago. Time itself had long since lost its meaning.

Memories flashed through my mind—an eternity spent scouring the continent, dragging this cursed, undying body from one end of the world to the other.

The first time I realized I couldn’t die was during my third year as a hero cadet, during a field training exercise.

A demonic monster had lunged at me from the underbrush and sunk its fangs into my throat, tearing it apart. I could vividly recall how my severed head hit the ground and rolled away. All I could think of then was, Well, I guess that’s it. What a shitty life I lived.

But then unexpectedly, I came back to life.

Just like that, I didn’t die.

At some point, my head reattached itself to my body, my torn flesh knitting back together as if nothing had ever happened.

It was then that I first realized this: even death wasn’t up to me anymore.

Well, looking back, I wasn’t wrong, was I?

I graduated dead last from the Hero Academy—ranked 472nd out of 472 students—and became a bottom-feeder mercenary, crawling through one battlefield after another.

I watched as demons and monsters ravaged the continent, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake. I survived the war between the heroes of the Empire and those of the Republic, lived through the era when the Witch of the Night turned half the world into a frozen wasteland, and stood among the Final Five Heroes—the final hope of humanity—fighting the Demon God in our last desperate battle.

And when the Demon God chose to end their life, unleashing a dying curse that wiped out the entire human race—I lived.

Only I lived, chained to this wretched existence.

I tried clawing my chains and struggled to break free, but I survived.

“But now, this is the end,” I said softly.

I took a step toward the flickering flame that was burning defiantly in the storm. The Primordial Flame was said to have once set fire to the Tree of Creation, the very thing that shaped this world and birthed the Seven Gods.

I spent an eternity searching for this mythical relic, its existence uncertain.

One more step, and just as I reached for the fire, with a loud rumble, the ground shook violently. From beneath the snow, something massive erupted, and out came a golem, its body, a masterpiece of ancient machinery, gleaming with an eerie brilliance. I had encountered these ancient guardians countless times before as I wandered the continent in pursuit of the remnants of a myth. A fist swung toward me, too fast to dodge. My body crumbled under the impact, my head burst apart, and my limbs twisted at unnatural angles. My insides spilled onto the snow, staining the pristine white with streaks of red from my gloopy blood.

It was an instant death without a glimmer of hope. Even those who possessed superhuman powers and were blessed by the Seven Gods, namely heroes, would never survive wounds like these.

“Phew.”

But me? The scattered remains of my body turned to gray ash, dispersing into the wind. The soul stigmata etched onto my left chest flared with light, returning my body to its original state in an instant.

Being too familiar with this situation, I unsheathed my sword without batting an eye.

I cut through the raging snowstorm in a single, fluid stroke. There was no burst of aura nor any deafening explosion that shook the earth. Like a stream flowing effortlessly, my sword slipped between the gaps in the guardian’s sturdy armor and cleaved its core in two.

The ancient sentinel, which had stood watch over this sanctuary for untold ages, collapsed with almost laughable ease.

Without warning, applause rang out the moment the guardian fell, and I turned my head toward the source of the sound.

“Good swing,” a familiar voice called.

“Yuren.”

A young man stood there, golden hair shining like the sun itself. With a slender frame and features so androgynous they could belong to either a man or a woman, he approached with a faint smile.

“You used to struggle so much just to wield a sword,” he remarked.

“It’s because I learned a lot from you.” I let out a quiet chuckle and added, “Maybe now, I’m closer to the peak of the Sun Sword Style than you were.”

“Oh, what’s that you say? Is that a challenge?”

“Take it however you want.” I smirked, shrugging.

Before Yuren could respond, a loud, booming laugh cut through the wind.

“Hahahha! Bringing down that huge guardian like that with a single strike! As expected of you, Brother!”

A towering man in a worn robe strode toward me, grinning broadly. He tapped me on the shoulder with a hand as large as a pot’s lid.

“You’ve been relying too much on your sword lately. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all the hand-to-hand combat I taught you?”

“Relax, Berald. I remember every move you taught me,” I said to the towering man.

How could I forget? The man never once lost patience as he trained me with unwavering dedication despite my hopelessly clumsy physical ability.

“Hmph. Despite saying so, you didn’t use any of the spells I taught you.” Another voice cut into our conversation.

Trailing behind Berald, a petite woman in a wide-brimmed hat and holding a long cane scowled at me. Her fiery red hair flickered like embers in the snowstorm.

“Sorry, Senior Sophia. Magic is a bit…”

“I know. With your pathetic amount of mana, real spells are beyond you. I was just messing with you.”

“Still, I’ve been studying a lot. I even solved two out of the ‘Three Conundrums of the Great Sage’ you used to go on about,” I said, showing off a bit.

“Oh, please. Magic isn’t just theory.”

Funny, coming from the person who always insisted that perfect theory was the essence of magic. I bit back my retort, chuckling.

Yuren, Berald, Sophia—they were comrades I shared countless battlefields with.

Then, a voice as warm as spring melting away the snow called out to me.

“Are you alright?”

“Iris.”

A woman in pure white robes stepped forward. Her soft pink hair cascaded over her shoulders. A black blindfold covered her eyes, and yet, even then, she was utterly breathtaking.

She reached out with a worried expression, placing a gentle hand over the soul stigmataon my chest.

“You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.”

“I can’t die, remember?”

“But you still feel pain!”

She always said that. Whenever she said it, she had that same sorrowful expression. Instead of answering, I pulled her closer and pressed my lips against hers.

“Y-you always do this to avoid answering me!”

Her cheeks turned as red as a ripe peach as she scolded me, flustered. I smiled faintly and stepped away, turning my gaze back to the flame in the distance.

“That’s the Primordial Flame, isn’t it?” Yuren murmured beside me.

I nodded.

“We finally found it.”

“It took long enough.”

The endless journey was finally nearing its end.

“Not much farther now, Brother!”

“Hurry up already!”

The others urged me forward. And so, I took another step toward the flame, toward the end—toward the only way to finally, truly die.

In the middle of the vast snowfield, I finally stood before the brilliantly burning flame.

“It’s smaller than I imagined.”

The flame was only the size of my fist, yet the unfathomable power I felt emanating from within left no doubt that this small flame was indeed a mythical relic.

“But isn’t it strange that something so small holds the power to burn away a soul stigmata?” I asked.

No one answered me.

“What do you think will happen when my soul stigmata is burned away?”

There was no reply.

“I guess that’s when I’ll finally die for good, right?”

Still, no one responded.

“Hey, why is everyone suddenly so quiet?”

I turned to look back at my companions, but all I saw was an empty snowfield. All that I saw was the howling blizzard and the silence that blanketed the world like a shroud, a pure white and endless expanse.

I had always known, but I was just pretending not to. Deep down, I already knew that there was no one left in this world to answer me anymore.

“Haha…”

A dry laugh escaped my lips as I sat down on a nearby rock, setting down the bundle I had carried on my back for what felt like eternity. For countless years, so long that even my soul had worn thin, these had been my most precious treasures.

“Yuren.”

I unsheathed an old, battered sword and planted it into the ground.

“You were the greatest hero and swordsman I ever knew.”

It was because of the courage he taught me that I made it here.

“Berald.”

Next, I placed a tattered robe on the ground.

“At first, I thought you were insane—a man who graduated from the Mage Division but never used magic, just fists. But you were right. To reach the pinnacle of hand-to-hand combat, one must understand magic as well.”

It was because of the perseverance he taught me that I made it here.

“Senior Sophia.”

I laid down a broken staff.

“I’m sorry I could never use the magic you worked so hard to teach me.”

It was because of the wisdom she taught me that I made it here.

“And finally… my beloved Iris.”

My fingers trembled as I clutched the final item left in my bundle, a black blindfold. An imprint that would never fade. I still remember the warmth of her lips and the way her touch felt.

“Thank you… for loving someone like me.”

It was because of her love that I could make it here.

I exhaled softly. Taking the blazing flame in both hands, I slowly lifted it toward the soul stigmata engraved on my chest.

Silently, I recalled the faces of those who had become my only family in a world where I did not even remember the faces of my parents.

A friend, braver than anyone; a brother, incomparably steadfast; a mentor; wiser than the rest; and a lover, the kindest of all.

A suppressed sob escaped my lips as the emotions I had suppressed for so long turned into a deluge, finally overflowing. Tears flowed down my cheeks with intermittent moans and sobs, but I did nothing to stop them.

I had so much I wanted to say, yet there was nothing left to be said. In this snowfield where no one remained to listen, only the wretched cries of a lone man were carried away by the falling snow. With a loud whooshing sound, the flames flared as they devoured the soul stigmata, sinking into my body.

***

“Dale! Dale Han!”

A harsh voice bellowed in my ear.

What’s happening? Who’s calling my name?

“You’ve got some nerve, sleeping in my class!?”

Whoosh!

I heard the sound of wind being torn apart as a massive hand, as large as a pot lid, came swinging toward me. Before my mind could even process it, my body moved first.

Smack!

I caught the incoming wrist, yanked it toward me, and drove my fist into the attacker’s solar plexus. At the very moment my fist made contact, I released a burst of mana.

I subconsciously executed Energy Burst, a technique Berald had drilled into me.

Boom! Crash! Snap!

With a deafening explosion, the unidentified man went flying, smashing into the lectern and shattering it to pieces as he tumbled to the floor.

And then, silence followed. I frowned as I glanced around at the students, all staring at me with their mouths hanging open in shock.

“Huh?”

Where the fuck was I?

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