Crack... Crack...

  In the dim depths of a cave, a fire crackled and roared, casting flickering light across the rocky walls. Shadows danced wildly as the fmes fred, illuminating the chamber with a warm, unsteady glow.

  Curled up beside the fire was a boy—no more than twelve or thirteen. He was wrapped in a massive bck animal pelt, its rough surface still smeared with patches of uncleaned fat that gleamed faintly in the firelight. The pelt reeked faintly of blood and beast—coarse, primal, wild.

  The boy’s face was smooth as polished jade, his features delicate yet striking. His long crimson hair spilled over his shoulders, soft and unruly. But what truly set him apart was the mark—a rge, fme-shaped scar spreading across the left side of his forehead, curling past the edge of his eye and down his cheek. The burning-red pattern gave him a mysterious, almost sacred aura.

  His eyes were shut tight, his body trembling faintly as if gripped by unbearable pain. Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

  Then, the boy’s eyes suddenly fluttered open. Confusion flickered across their depths as he took in his surroundings. The firelight danced in his pupils, but behind them, a torrent of emotions surged—doubt, astonishment... and something close to disbelief.

  “No... way...” he murmured, voice hoarse and disbelieving. The cave, so still and quiet, now echoed faintly with the weight of that whispered sentence. He reached out from under the pelt and rubbed his eyes.

  Closed them. Opened again. Rubbed harder.

  Then he spped himself across the cheek.

  The sharp sting was real.

  Finally, he exhaled, long and slow, as acceptance began to settle in.

  The confusion in his eyes gradually faded, repced by a glimmer of curiosity. And then, almost as if it were a ritual now familiar to him, he muttered again—quiet, but clear:

  “I think... I’ve transmigrated. Again.”

  …

  "My name is Taiichi."

  "The vilge fortune-teller, an old blind guy with a fir for the dramatic, gave me that name. Said it was a name worthy of destiny, that I was born for greatness. Naturally, my young, impressionable self took his words as gospel."

  "As a kid, I believed I was chosen. One day, I thought, the Digital World would come knocking, begging for my help."

  "But the older I got, the more I realized... I wasn’t chosen. I was screwed."

  "I died at twenty-four. Twenty-four! Just after passing the civil service exam!"

  "Honestly, I think it was the damn name that cursed me."

  "I used to think my life was a tragedy."

  "Until I got a second one."

  "In that second life... I was Yoriichi Tsugikuni."

  "A world of demons and swords. A world where I was born knowing my purpose."

  "In just a few decades, I cut a path from one end of the nd to the other."

  "And when it was over—when my mission was fulfilled—I vanished into the mountains and finally lived the peaceful life I’d once only dreamed of."

  "Years passed. I grew old. I closed my eyes one final time..."

  "But when I opened them again... I was alive."

  "At this point, I’m seriously starting to think... I really am chosen by fate. Even if there's no Digimon in sight."

  …

  In the dim cave, Yoriichi Tsugikuni stood up slowly, still wrapped in the thick animal hide, surveying the space with sharp, thoughtful eyes.

  He had always been alone. Had no regrets at life’s end. So this new twist? He accepted it quickly.

  The first thing to do was clear: figure out where the hell he was.

  The cave was small—barely seven square meters. Judging by the bone-deep chill in the air, it was winter. Even with the fire bzing and the heavy pelt around his shoulders, Yoriichi shivered.

  “Primitive society, maybe?”

  He scanned the cave. No modern tools. Beside the fire y a crudely carved wooden fork and knife. Definitely handmade, not machine-crafted. Next to them sat a rough wooden bowl, half-filled with a yellow, lumpy paste.

  “Food, I guess? Is that... curry?”

  He gave it a doubtful sniff, then turned his attention elsewhere.

  In a corner, there was a neat stack of firewood—about two meters long, half a meter high. The air was thick with smoke and char, but ced faintly with another scent.

  “Sea air?” He sniffed again, brow furrowed. Then something by his foot caught his eye.

  A sword.

  “A bde?”

  He crouched swiftly, lifting it with both hands. It was massive—nearly two meters long, a two-handed weapon. The design was sleek and straight, the scabbard carved with delicate wave-like patterns. The hilt, about 40 centimeters long, was too thick for his hand to grip fully.

  He unsheathed it, expecting the cold glint of steel—but instead, the bde that emerged was matte bck. Even the edge was bck, absorbing the firelight like a void.

  “A bck bde? Even the edge… no sheen at all. Matte finish?”

  He drew it further. Everything—scabbard, hilt, bde—was bck. The sheer weight of the design gave it a somber, imposing feel.

  The bde was about 5 cm wide, its spine more than 1 cm thick. A sword like this should’ve been heavy.

  But in Yoriichi’s hands, it was light. Too light.

  Near the base of the bde, a single character was etched: 灭. "Destruction."

  The craftsmanship... it reminded him of something—bdes from the Swordsmith Vilge in his previous life.

  Holding the bde, something instinctive took over. His grip shifted, both hands wrapping around the hilt. Without thinking, he swung.

  The tip of the sword sliced the cave’s ceiling in utter silence.

  Crack! Pebbles rained down as a deep groove appeared above him.

  “Hm?” Yoriichi shielded his eyes from the falling debris. When he looked up again, a long, clean scar stretched across the cave roof.

  “Nice bde.”

  He frowned slightly, deep in thought. “A weapon like this... in a world that can forge such craftsmanship, there must be civilization. Unless... this sword came with me?”

  “And my strength…”

  He ran his hand along the bde, feeling its smooth, silent hum. Then he rose, sword in hand, and walked to the cave’s mouth.

  Beyond it—pitch bck.

  A freezing wind screamed through the opening, forcing Yoriichi to step back and retreat to the warmth of the fire.

  “Too cold. I’ll check out the surroundings tomorrow.”

  He huddled back near the fmes, tossing on a few more branches. Slowly, the warmth crept back into his limbs, and with it, exhaustion. His eyes drifted shut, and soon, he was asleep.

  …

  That night, Yoriichi dreamed.

  The sea. Sunshine. A sandy beach. A small seaside town filled with simple, kind-hearted people living humble, peaceful lives.

  He was one of them. No swords. No demons. Just peace.

  That dream world... it was paradise.

  …

  When the first light of dawn stretched across the horizon, Yoriichi awoke.

  He sat up slowly on his stone bed, gazing bnkly at the fire’s dying embers curling upward in wisps of smoke.

  There was no doubt left in his voice now.

  “I’ve really... transmigrated again.”