Chapter 1: Memories of the Sword God

Zien closed the biography of Evan Crowe, slowly savoring the final passage.

'It’s close, but the order is all wrong.'

Rank 8 Gate.

In all of human history, a Rank 8 Gate had only appeared twice. Their difficulty was beyond comprehension.

The first was the World-Devouring Serpent Gate, which required a raid of 400 participants.

The second was this very place: The Demon King’s Castle, Demoniac.

The Demon King, a being born for slaughter, was immortal. His demonic energy choked the palace, and a single swing of his blade could tear through the fabric of space itself.

No matter how legendary Evan was, defeating the Demon King without a sacrifice was impossible.

That was why he had resorted to it—the Mutual Destruction technique taught by the Sword God himself.

The ultimate salvation: pouring one’s very life into the blade.

Moon Sword.

A blade thrumming with true energy surged toward the Demon King. Light collided with darkness. The two forces twisted together, became entangled, and finally faded into nothingness.

That was the end.

True to a Rank 8 Gate boss, the Demon King had delivered a fittingly dramatic parting line.

And Evan... well, no.

"That’s how I died."

He had been twenty-seven at the time.

A man who had reached the absolute pinnacle of swordsmanship in the history of the Sabers.

Evan Crowe.

His life was the stuff of legends, but as a human being, it left much to be desired.

'No regrets, though... that was just the kind of guy I was.'

The biography claimed Evan’s techniques and knowledge died with him. But that story had just changed.

The memories of humanity's greatest hero had returned to Zien—the academy’s biggest failure.

Now, with his past life reclaimed,

Zien existed somewhere between Evan and his current self.

Evan possessed the overwhelming power Zien had desperately craved, while Zien held the peaceful life Evan had yearned for in his final moments.

In this library, the failure and the hero had been given a second chance at each other’s lives.

The first words out of Zien’s mouth upon returning to his dorm were, "This is pathetic."

To think a Saber—one who fought under the banner of humanity—could fall into such a wretched state.

"I’m a total wreck."

To put it bluntly, his reflection was bloated and soft. Academy students lived lives defined by grueling, hardcore training. How had he let himself go this far?

Zien closed his eyes and focused on his internal condition.

He began circulating mana through his meridians using the breathing technique of the Sword God, only to click his tongue in annoyance.

"Tch. Residual Mana."

Residual Mana occurred when mana clumped together, physically blocking the blood vessels.

Mana was like muscle—it only grew when pushed to its limits. Most students never suffered from this because they trained properly.

But Zien, lacking any talent for mana control, had focused blindly on swordsmanship. This was the result.

Scrape.

Zien pulled his report card from the desk drawer.

'Is it even possible to go lower than this?'

If someone had actually bothered to guide him, it wouldn't have been this bad. But no professor wasted time on a bottom-feeder with no hope.

'At least that makes things simpler.'

The pattern on the back of his hand began to shift.

The Stigma of Zien, who couldn't even summon a Magic Tool, was transforming into the mark of the hero Evan.

It was undeniable proof that Zien had inherited the mantle of his past life.

'My Stigma. To think I'd reclaim Black Hyang, of all things.'

To the untrained eye, it looked like a simple tattoo, but the Stigma was the core source of a Saber's power.

"Better verify it."

Zien opened the testing app on his phone and hit scan. A red flash burst from the screen.

Beep!

An error in the latest software.

With most of the skills scrambled and pixelated, it seemed the Stigma’s powers hadn’t transferred perfectly.

'Probably because the Stigma doesn't match the body yet.'

Every skill except the first was currently unusable.

'Should I just reset them? No... at least the first one is working.'

Unlike innate Magic Arts, which were tied to talent, skills were acquired through experience.

For a freshman who hadn’t even stepped into a real Gate, having a single skill was incredibly rare.

'Too valuable to delete... I'll just have to unlock them again.'

As Zien studied the app, his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding!

Zien’s expression hardened as he read the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠text.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised."

A body ruined by Residual Mana and grades at rock-bottom—Zien was the perfect target for the principal's wrath.

The principal's office was a shrine to extravagance, featuring a massive wooden desk, a giant TV, and the cloying scent of luxury incense.

"This is your second counseling session, isn't it?"

Principal Selphis looked Zien up and down with obvious disdain before sliding a document across the desk.

"What’s this?"

Zien’s voice was flat with disbelief as he skimmed the paper.

"A repayment request for the government subsidy."

"Isn't that usually for expelled students?"

"It’s for those about to be expelled. Frankly, I have no idea how you were even admitted. I’m tempted to call for an investigation into our recruitment board."

Selphis continued in a sneering, irritated tone.

"Stigma Studies, History, Acting, Potions, Mana Application—you’ve failed every single one. And now your Dueling grade is an F as well. Swordsmanship was supposed to be your specialty, yet you’re a disgrace to the Arcana name."

Selphis stood and opened the window.

The sun washed over the academy grounds, illuminating a massive iconic statue below.

"Arcana is the prestigious institution where the great hero Evan graduated. We have always sat at the top of the academy rankings, and that will not change. We have an image to maintain. An elite image!"

'The great hero... god, this is embarrassing.'

A "hero" with a biography in the library. Zien—Evan, in his past life—had indeed graduated from this very academy.

'Though back then, it was called Arpia.'

Zien met Selphis’s gaze with a steady, confident look.

"So what you're saying is that I'm unfit for this academy. Right?"

"Ahem, at least you have some common sense. A failure like you wearing the Arcana badge... it makes me look bad as principal."

Makes him look bad, huh?

From the same man who was just singing praises for the "great hero."

Unlike his old self, Zien remained perfectly composed.

"I’ve already spent every last coin of that subsidy."

Sabers were born with their power—their Stigma. They risked their lives to combat the endless Gates that plagued humanity.

And talent was always in short ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠supply.

To encourage them, the government offered incentives: tax exemptions for wealthy nobles, and for commoners like Zien, a nine-million-coin subsidy—roughly three months' salary for an average worker.

It was a fortune to Zien, but pocket change to Selphis. The principal clicked his tongue.

"That’s not my concern. The government is footing the bill anyway. It has nothing to do with me."

"Wanting me expelled sounds like a personal issue for you, Principal."

"Don't bother struggling. Look at you—you're out of shape, soft, and slow. How is that the body of an aspiring Saber?"

It was a blatant personal attack, but Zien couldn't argue with the facts of his current condition.

"...Then how about this."

Zien pointed to a poster hanging behind Selphis.

"What if I place at the top? Would you withdraw the expulsion then?"

Zien offered a faint, self-assured smile.

"Excuse me?"

Selphis’s brow furrowed as he turned around.

"Ha... ha-ha!"

A dry, mocking laugh escaped him as he shook his head.

"You're delusional. Completely mad. A defective student who can't even summon his Magic Tool thinks he can enter an off-campus tournament?"

Selphis’s eyes grew cold.

"Listen closely. The entry requirement is a Single Digit rank—meaning the top nine students in your year. The geniuses. What is your rank again?"

"162nd."

"Hmph. Dead last."

Bottom of the entire freshman class.

Selphis let out a long sigh.

"...It’s impressive in its own way, really. But you're not the talent we're looking for. Why haven't you just quit? To be blunt, you don't have what it takes to be an active Saber. You'll never graduate. Why wait?"

"One chance. That’s all I need."

"Opportunities are for those with the minimum qualifications."

"If I can't prove my worth, I'll resign on my own."

Selphis narrowed his eyes at the sudden proposal.

"Is that a promise?"

His primary goal was to get Zien off the books before the next audit team arrived. There were plenty of students who deserved to be cut, but he wanted to start with the very worst.

'The audit is in a month... I need him gone by then. A resignation looks much better on the records than an expulsion. Yes.'

Selphis put on a stern face to hide his internal calculation.

"Since you're so insistent, I'll give you one shot."

"Thank you."

"The next Virtual Gate evaluation exam. If you don't score near the top, you're out."

"Can I train independently until then?"

"Independently? As in skipping classes?"

"Yes."

This was music to Selphis's ears. He’d prefer it if Zien wasn't even seen on campus.

"Fine. Approved for personal training."

He didn't care what kind of training Zien did. The Virtual Gate evaluation was the biggest part of their grade—a simulation of a Gate raid hosted by the school, but scored with real-world stakes.

Every student stayed up all night preparing for it. The idea of the dead-last student scoring high?

'Utterly impossible!'

"Understood," Zien said with a nod.

Selphis maintained his grim facade but was cheering internally.

'Heh, the talentless pig just signed his own pink slip.'

Selphis patted his stomach with a satisfied grin, completely oblivious to the storm that was about to hit his academy.

My Previous Life Was the Strongest Sword God

The hallway outside the office was teeming with students.

It was a crossroads where different paths converged, often leading to unpleasant encounters.

Thud.

Someone Zien was about to pass reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Well, well... I almost didn't recognize you. Hey! Daven, look who it is."

The one who grabbed him was one of Daven Storm's lackeys. Daven was the student Zien had clashed with at the beginning of the semester.

They had fought a duel without a professor present. Zien hadn't just lost—he'd been humiliated.

It could have ended there, but that was when Daven's bullying had started.

"He can't even summon his Tool. He's trash. I lost interest weeks ago."

Daven's eyes were cold and full of contempt.

He had stopped caring about Zien once the boy started falling apart. Residual Mana had turned Zien's body into a mess, and his repeated failure to summon a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Magic Tool was proof enough.

In Daven's eyes, he wasn't even a Saber anymore.

To make matters worse, Zien’s physical decline had robbed him of his sword skills, making him no longer worth the effort of bullying.

"Kukuku, man, that’s cold. You two used to duel and everything."

Daven’s two cronies snickered. To Zien’s eyes, these "Sabers" were nothing more than immature children.

"Are ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we done?" Zien asked.

As he turned to walk toward his dorm, Daven's face contorted.

"Is this nobody really trying to walk away while I'm talking?"

Veins popped on Daven's forehead. At six-foot-three, his physical presence was genuinely imposing.

"Pathetic. I almost felt sorry for you, but it looks like the loser’s finally lost his mind."

"Whoa, Daven, take it easy! We're in the hall. Professors are all over the place."

The cronies started to panic as the situation escalated.

"You two should remember this: always crush punks like this early. If you let them walk tall, they start thinking they're your equals."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. Look, the girls from the B3 dorm are waiting. Let’s go."

Daven’s scowl softened at the mention of the girls.

"Hey, dead last. I'm in a good mood today, so get lost."

Zien watched them walk away with cold, calculating eyes.

'Was that it?'

With the memories of his past life, this kind of bullying felt like child's play. He was mostly just disappointed that aspiring Sabers would act so petty.

He realized then just how much the world had changed in a century.

Humanity, comfortable in its victory over the Gates, called this a peaceful era. The desperation and gravity of the past were gone, replaced by the arrogance of the modern Saber.

"The world’s changed too much."

Zien found it truly regrettable.

Back in his dorm, Zien sat straight down at his desk.

'First, the principal gave his approval. Now, it's time to build a schedule.'

No one understood the value of planning better than Zien—especially for a Saber. It wasn't just about saving time; it was about maximizing every ounce of training efficiency.

'Physical growth is fundamentally tied to mana.'

With his circulation blocked, Residual Mana was causing his body to swell. But with proper circulation, mana would flow through his system, boosting his potential and sensitizing his muscles for combat.

It was the key to everything.

'Mana circulation takes priority before any workout.'

Zien’s pen flew across the paper.

The next step was obvious. Once his mana was stabilized and his body optimized, it would be time for physical conditioning.

Zien’s pen began to move once more.