In a quiet hospital room, a teenage boy lay dying on a hospital bed. His name was Lan Hao Tian, a kind-hearted soul who had the misfortune of being born with a terminal illness. Now, he was approaching the final moments of his short life.
His body was pale and lifeless, his eyes dull as they stared blankly at the ceiling. A thought drifted through his mind:
"My vision is fading... Am I really going to die? If only I could live one more life... This life of mine... what a pity."
He once dreamed of achieving great things—of studying hard, becoming someone who could help his country, and contributing to society.
But reality had been cruel. His frail body had robbed him of the chance to do anything meaningful. In the end, all he could do was cling to his dreams with silent regret.
His heart stopped.
His limp hand slipped off the bed.
Just like that, he died.
...
Suddenly, a strange sensation stirred within him—something he hadn't felt for a very long time.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and found himself staring at two unfamiliar faces. They looked poor, dressed in patched and tattered clothes.
The man gently lifted him into his arms and smiled warmly.
"My son is awake."
Lan Hao Tian's mind reeled. His body felt smaller. The unfamiliar man had just called him "son." A thought struck him:
"Could it be… have I really been given a second chance? Is my name still Lan Hao Tian in this world? What a strange coincidence."
A smile formed on his face, and tears of joy welled up in his eyes. His previous life was filled with sorrow and regrets—this time, he would truly live.
Seeing him cry, the man panicked.
"Hey, don't cry, don't cry now."
His mother smiled and said gently,
"Can't you see? He's smiling through his tears. He's not sad."
"Oh, right... I guess I'm just being silly."
And so, Lan Hao Tian was reborn into a life surrounded by warmth and love. Though his new family was poor, his parents never let him suffer. He was deeply grateful and truly happy.
But it wasn't until he turned four that he began to realize how cruel this world could be.
On this island, there was a mine used to extract something called Will Crystals. Lan Hao Tian had no idea what these crystals were used for. He only knew they were transparent, incredibly hard, and oddly valuable.
Not just his parents, but almost every adult on the island was forced to work in that mine under brutal conditions.
They were paid meager wages, received little to no medical care, and deaths from overwork were tragically common.
The ones overseeing this misery? The so-called Imperial Navy of the Eastern Empire—an organization that claimed to be the embodiment of justice and righteousness wherever they went.
Lan Hao Tian sat inside his small home, teeth clenched as he thought about everything he had learned so far.
"The place I used to live… how peaceful and fair it was compared to this. No blatant oppression. No bloodstained 'justice' parading as law. These bastards make innocent people suffer endlessly. I swear—I will change this. I will spark a revolution and overthrow this broken world."
From that moment on, the fire of revolution began to burn within his heart. He was still small, still powerless—but the future was unwritten, and who could say what he might become?
...
One day, his parents burst into the house, panic written all over their faces. They said nothing—just rushed to the floor and began digging.
They clawed at the dirt frantically, carving a deep hole beneath the wooden boards of their home.
Lan Hao Tian stared, confused.
"Mom, Dad—what are you doing?"
His father kept digging, his hands caked in dirt, but somehow he managed a soft smile and said,
"In a moment, you'll hide down here. Whatever happens, no matter what you hear—don't come out. If you do, I'll be angry, alright?"
Lan Hao Tian said nothing. He knew. Whatever was coming—it wasn't good.
"Damn it… why am I so weak?" He cursed himself in silence.
He was small and helpless. He had no strength. Even the knowledge he had brought from his old world was useless here. Completely powerless.
But deep inside, he refused to give up. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to save the people of this world from the same suffering his parents endured.
Eventually, the hole was deep enough for a child to hide in.
His parents looked at him, tears running down their cheeks like they were saying goodbye forever.
They wrapped him in a tight embrace, their voices trembling.
"Stay here, sweetheart. Don't be afraid… no matter what happens."
Without another word, they gently lowered him into the pit, then used the sturdiest materials they could find to cover it. They camouflaged the surface with meticulous care—no one would suspect a child was hidden beneath.
BOOM!
An ear-shattering explosion tore through the island, shaking the ground and twisting the sky into chaos.
The first cannonball fell like the hand of death—those closest to its impact were turned to ash in an instant. But that was only the beginning of the nightmare.
One after another, shells rained down relentlessly upon the tiny island, ripping the earth apart. Towers of thick black smoke billowed upward through the crimson glow of fire, like demonic tendrils clawing their way from hell.
Wave after wave of artillery screamed down from the imperial warships anchored just off the coast—each shell a sentence of death for the helpless people below.
Screams, cries, curses—grief filled the air like a storm:
"Why? Why are you doing this to us?! We just wanted to live in peace!"
"Damn you! You call this justice?!"
"I don't want to die! Please—someone save me!"
"I can't accept this! This isn't fair!"
But the cannons showed no mercy. They didn't care. The screams were drowned out by fire.
Onboard one of the warships, a naval officer scoffed coldly:
"Hmph. Just commoners from some backwater island, daring to claim Will Crystals as their own? That's treason. Let this be a lesson—anyone who defies the Empire, no matter how small, shall face death without exception."
His voice was ice. The kind of voice that could freeze a man's soul—especially when it came from someone who claimed to represent justice.
Back on the island, blood painted the streets. Corpses lay scattered, broken, and burned—some whole, some in pieces. This wasn't a battlefield. It was a massacre. A glimpse of hell made real.
Lan Hao Tian's parents were no exception.
The bombardment had claimed the lives of the two people who had loved him most in this world.