There was no pain.
There was no time.
Just… white.
An all-consuming whiteness. Soundless. Still. Pure in the way that bleach stings the lungs and snow hides corpses.
Han Seong-jin floated through it. Or maybe he was sinking.
He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even think, not properly.
But he felt.
A low pressure—like something vast, ancient, and unblinking had turned its attention toward him.
Then—
A voice.
Not one that came through ears, but directly into the bones of his mind.
"Ah. There you are."
The whiteness rippled, folding like paper until it peeled open to reveal… something.
It wasn't a man. It wore the form of one—a long, flowing mantle of infinite constellations draped over a body of flickering, shifting space—but it was not human. Its face was a void, masked with a porcelain smile.
The presence behind the mask was titanic.
"Han Seong-jin," the being said, amused. "My sincerest apologies. That wasn't supposed to happen."
There was no reply. Seong-jin's thoughts were still scattering like leaves in a hurricane.
"The truck, yes. That was… unfortunate." The entity chuckled like galaxies colliding. "A clerical error, if you will. You were not scheduled to die."
A pause.
"But what's done is done."
The whiteness shifted into an infinite plane of mirrors—each one reflecting different versions of reality. Worlds with floating continents, seas of fire, beasts that blotted out the sun, and civilizations built in the bones of dead gods.
"Normally, I would reincarnate you in the cycle of your world," the god continued. "But your case is… unique. And I do feel a measure of guilt."
The god extended a hand of smoke and stars.
"How about a new beginning? A new world. A chance to become something more."
A long pause. Then:
"You may choose your body. Your face. Your voice. And I'll grant you something most never receive: a System."
The void began to shatter like glass.
Then came darkness.
Heavy, wet, and suffocating.
He felt the pain of bones—tiny and soft—curling into a fetal form.
Muscles shrank. Breath shortened. The tightness of a womb pressed in from all sides. He remembered this from biology class.
He was being born.
Somewhere, someone screamed. A woman's voice, cracked and breathless.
The stench of blood and rot and sweat filled his nose.
And then—cold air.
Violent hands. A slap. His body convulsed.
He cried.
But his mind did not.
The System Has Been Installed.
[Initializing…]
You have been chosen by the Architect of Worlds. As compensation for divine error, you may select one of three unique System Paths.
Three holographic screens blinked in the void behind his eyes. Only he could see them.
They glowed blue, outlined in ancient runes.
[1] The Hero's Legacy
For those who desire justice.
Strength through acts of righteousness
Party-based skill enhancements
Favored by divine entities
[2] The Scholar's Path
For those who desire knowledge.
Access to lost spells and forbidden tomes
Mana manipulation
Immortal insight into ancient truths
[3] The Conquest System
For those who desire dominion.
Titles earned through blood and subjugation
Empire-building mechanics
Fear-based aura, cult influence, and military structures
He didn't even hesitate.
"I choose the Conquest System."
[System Bound: CONQUEST]
You are now a Conqueror.
Starting bonuses granted: 12 Stat Points.
Bonus Title: "The Ashborn" — You have died once and returned. Charisma toward the broken and damned is increased.
Cult Mechanics: Unlocked. Military Doctrine: Unlocked. Title Hierarchy: Unlocked.
His eyes opened.
They were red. Glowing faintly.
The first thing he saw was a cracked ceiling with black mold growing in the corners.
He was lying on rough straw. The smell of piss soaked the floor. Rats squeaked in the walls.
Someone slapped him.
"Stop cryin', freak," growled a woman's voice.
She was thin—emaciated, really—with wild black hair and hollowed-out eyes. One arm was covered in sores. Her pupils were pinpricks.
She staggered, reaching for another bottle.
A man lay passed out nearby, snoring into a pile of dirty rags. Burn marks traced his forearms. Needles littered the ground.
These were his "parents."
Baelgar—he would no longer be Seong-jin—watched them silently.
He was a newborn, but he was not weak.
His mind was intact. Sharper than ever.
And already, the gears of strategy were turning.
He could barely move yet. His limbs were tiny. His body helpless.
But the System glowed behind his eyes like a second soul.
[Allocate Stat Points]
Strength: 1
Stamina: 1
Agility: 1
Magic: 1
Charisma: 1
Intelligence: 1
Luck: 1
[You have 12 points to distribute.]
Strength: +2
Stamina: +3
Intelligence: +2
Charisma: +1
Magic: +2
Agility: +2
New Stats:
Strength: 3
Stamina: 4
Agility: 3
Magic: 3
Charisma: 2
Intelligence: 3
Luck: 1
The woman lit a pipe and laughed to herself, eyes unfocused. "Should've drowned you."
Baelgar closed his eyes. Not from fear. From calculation.
He didn't cry again.
Not once.
He would remember this.
The filth. The cold. The bruises.
He would crawl, walk, run, and one day burn kingdoms to the ground for less than this.
He would not plead. He would not pray.
He would build his own throne.
And they would all kneel.
To be continued…