Souta Fujimura never thought his life would end so suddenly.
One moment, he was walking home through the crowded streets of Tokyo, exhausted from another late shift at his part-time job. The next, there was a blaring horn, bright headlights cutting through the night—then pain.
A heavy impact. His body flying through the air. The suffocating force of metal against bone.
Then—silence.
As he drifted into darkness, a single thought echoed in his fading consciousness.
"So, this is how I die?"
But death wasn’t the end.
The void swallowed him, stretching endlessly in all directions. No body, no pain—just the remnants of his thoughts, floating in nothingness.
Then, the darkness shattered.
A golden light engulfed him, warm and all-consuming.
A voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the void.
"O lost soul, you have been chosen. Your time in one world has ended, but your destiny in another begins now."
Before he could question what was happening, the light pulled him forward. His consciousness spiraled into the unknown.
Then—everything went white.
The first thing he noticed was the scent.
Not antiseptic like a hospital, nor the faint mustiness of his Tokyo apartment. Instead, the air was thick with sandalwood, fresh lotus flowers, and the lingering warmth of burning incense.
Slowly, his eyes opened.
Above him stretched an intricately carved wooden ceiling, golden depictions of celestial beings dancing across its surface. Silken curtains swayed gently, revealing towering sandstone walls and an open balcony overlooking a vast, sunlit city.
His body felt different. Stronger. Heavier. His arms, once slim and unremarkable, were now bronzed and lined with faint scars.
Then, he caught sight of the bronze mirror standing nearby.
The reflection staring back wasn’t his own.
The man in the mirror had deep brown eyes, sharp regal features, and long black hair tied in a warrior’s topknot. And on his forehead, a golden symbol pulsed faintly, intricate and alive.
Memories—not his own—flooded his mind.
A name surfaced from the depths of his thoughts.
Prince Surya.
Firstborn son of Maharaja Veerajit, ruler of Suryavarta.
A prince.
A warrior.
The heavy doors to his chamber burst open.
A woman in flowing silk, her dark hair adorned with golden ornaments, rushed toward him, her eyes brimming with emotion.
“My son!” she gasped, kneeling beside him. “Prince Surya, you have awakened!”
His mother—Queen Maitreyi, the memories whispered—cupped his face gently, her touch warm and familiar.
“We feared the gods had taken you,” she whispered.
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His lips parted, but no words came out.
Everything—the **foreign body, the grand palace, the overwhelming flood of emotions—**was too much.
The last thing he remembered was the accident. The blinding headlights. The truck. The pain.
And now, he was here.
A prince.
A stranger in his own body.
His head ached as he struggled to process it all. But deep in his chest, a fire had already begun to burn.
This was no dream.
This was his new reality.
The World of Suryavarta
Over the next few days, Surya learned about the world he had been reborn into.
The Suryavarta Empire was a land of warriors, sages, merchants, and common folk, all bound by the sacred order of Dharma.
The Kshatriyas were the warrior class, sworn to protect the land with sword and strategy.
The Rishis were the sages, masters of knowledge and divine power, wielding mantras that could bend the elements.
The Vaishyas were the merchants, the lifeblood of trade, bringing gold, spices, and rare goods to the empire.
And the Shudras were the artisans and farmers, the foundation of society.
Yet, in this world, even the commoners were not defenseless. Every village trained in self-defense. Even the simplest mantras were known to ward off illness or bring strength in battle.
And at the heart of it all stood Indraprastha, the grand capital.
From the open balcony of his chambers, Surya could see it—a city of golden sandstone buildings, towering temples, and market streets teeming with life. The grand Rajya Sabha, where the nobles and ministers gathered, stood at its center, connected by sacred rivers and stepwells that shimmered in the sunlight.
This was not a land of helpless peasants or warring barons. This was a kingdom built upon order, strength, and devotion.
And as the crown prince, he was expected to be its protector.
The Summons
On the third day, his summons arrived.
The Rajya Sabha, the royal court of Suryavarta, was a grand hall lined with massive stone pillars. Murals depicting the kingdom’s history stretched across the walls. The scent of burning camphor filled the air.
As Surya stepped inside, hundreds of nobles, ministers, and warriors turned to look at him.
At the far end of the hall, seated upon an enormous golden throne, was his father.
Maharaja Veerajit.
He was a man of great stature, broad and powerful, his dark beard streaked with silver. His sharp gaze locked onto Surya the moment he entered.
Beside him sat Queen Maitreyi, poised and regal.
The murmurs of the court were barely whispers, yet Surya could feel the weight of every gaze upon him.
The king’s voice was calm, steady.
“You have awakened, my son. Are you feeling better?”
Surya bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Maharaja.”
The moment those words left his lips, a deep, rumbling voice spoke.
“Well?”
The court fell silent.
A towering figure stepped forward.
Senapati Rudra.
The General of Suryavarta’s armies. His broad shoulders and scarred arms told stories of countless battles. He was not a man of many words. But when he spoke, the court listened.
“Can he still be called the prince of the great empire of Suryavarta?”
The murmurs stopped.
Without waiting for an answer, Rudra turned to the king.
“Let him prove it.”
The king nodded once.
“The duel shall take place at sunrise tomorrow.”
The Duel Begins
Rangashala, The Royal Arena of Indraprastha was a grand structure of stone and marble, built centuries ago for warriors to prove their strength. Towering stands surrounded the circular combat pit, where nobles and generals watched the battles unfold. The ground was a mixture of sand and red clay, stained with the blood of past warriors.
Surya stood in the center, gripping the sword at his waist.
His opponent stood a few meters away—Virat, the youngest son of Senapati Rudra.
A warrior in his own right, Virat was known across the kingdom as a prodigy. The same age as Surya, yet his skill with the blade had already earned him a reputation beyond his years. His stance was relaxed, his grip firm on his sword’s hilt.
A true fighter.
Surya exhaled slowly. His body remembered how to fight. His muscles knew how to hold the sword, how to shift his weight.
But could he actually win?
The horn sounded.
Virat moved first.
Fast.
Surya barely had time to react before Virat’s blade came toward him in a precise arc. He raised his sword just in time to parry, the impact sending a jarring shock up his arms.
His muscles moved instinctively, shifting his weight, his feet sliding into a defensive stance. But Virat pressed forward, his attacks relentless.
Surya was losing.
Yesterday—The Discovery
The night before the duel, Surya sat alone in his chambers, his mind restless.
Then—something flickered in his mind.
A blue translucent screen appeared before his eyes.
[Divine Boon Unlocked]
? Asura’s Strength (Passive): Enhanced physical capabilities beyond a normal warrior.
? Mantra Mastery (Active): The potential for full mastery of all four elements.
? Astral Perception (Passive): The ability to see supernatural beings and hidden energies.
? Battle Instinct (Passive): Sharpened reflexes that improve in real battle.
His breath caught.
These skills—they weren’t there before.
The Prince Surya of his memories had not possessed them.
And then, his gaze locked onto the most shocking ability of all.
Mantra Mastery.
It was impossible skill to have.
His training had yet to begin. His power, unrefined. His skill, uncertain.
And now, in the heat of battle, he would have to use it.
