Chapter 1: Another Transmigration

Beneath the blazing twin suns of Equinox, a world ruled by strength and power, the atmosphere buzzed with the presence of countless warriors. The ground shook beneath the weight of their numbers—billions of them, each a master of their craft, each a force to be reckoned with.

It was a world shaped by relentless conflict, where martial artists rose to near-divine status, and the harsh demands of survival devoured the weak.

And above this chaos, stood the Wraithblade Sentinel, a solitary figure clad in a worn Taoist robe. His appearance defied expectation—no shining armour or gleaming weapons.

Yet he moved with a quiet, restrained menace, his unadorned attire hiding the raw, terrifying power within. His mere presence, looming over the battlefield as if death itself had assumed a human form.

Before him, an unparalleled army assembled. Billions of warriors, from ancient clan masters to warlords who had overthrown entire kingdoms, stood shoulder to shoulder.

Their combined might have the power to reshape Equinox itself, a sea of raw energy quivering with anticipation. United by a single purpose—to end the reign of the Wraithblade Sentinel—they prepared for the clash.

"CHARGE!!!"

The battle erupted with a deafening charge, the earth trembling beneath the advancing horde. Warriors soared through the air, their fists crackling with energy and weapons shimmering in the sunlight.

But the Sentinel remained still at first, his tattered robe fluttering in the wind, his gaze calm and unyielding.

When he finally moved, it was as though time itself slowed. His form blurred, slipping through a thousand attacks with effortless precision. Each motion, each flicker of his gaze, brought down wave after wave of enemies.

His movements alone were so fluid and precise that the billions surrounding him appeared as mere puppets, crumbling in heaps at his feet.

With every breath, the Sentinel wove destruction with an almost serene grace. Warriors capable of splitting mountains and reforming the earth fell to his blows as if they had never known strength. His robe whipped through the air as he spun, dodged, and struck—a blur of simplicity concealing unimaginable power.

The battlefield became a slaughter. The combined force of billions was nothing against his raw dominance. Every punch, every kick, every weapon hurled at him was met with an unstoppable counter. Blood and bodies covered the ground, transforming the once-vibrant plains into a graveyard of defeat.

The billions fought with everything they had, fueled by fear, desperation, and the frail hope of triumph. Yet, against the Wraithblade Sentinel, hope was nothing more than a mirage.

His gaze, serene and unwavering as a still pond, watched the warriors fall one by one, their strength eroding like sand before an oncoming storm.

But then, a deafening roar erupted from the masses. "GET HIM!" The cry reverberated through the skies, carried on the wind by millions of voices. They surged forward as one, a relentless tidal wave of martial fury.

From the hands of masters, spiralling dragons of pure spirit energy unfurled, roaring and twisting toward their target. Tigers of shimmering light, their claws sparking with deadly intent, sprang from the battlefield.

Lightning cleaved the heavens, and vengeful storms raged in their wake. The very elements seemed to conspire with the warriors, converging into a single, cataclysmic strike aimed at one man.

Amidst this maelstrom of power, the Wraithblade Sentinel stood untouched, a solitary figure in the tempest. His tattered Taoist robe fluttered gently as the ground trembled beneath him.

As the array of spells approached, he confronted their fierce assault with a composed disposition—unshaken and eerily tranquil, as though the storm before him was of no significance.

With a slow exhale, the air around the Wraithblade Sentinel seemed to be still. His sigh, soft and deliberate, resonated across the battlefield—not merely a breath, but the embodiment of one of his hidden arts—"Sigh of Skadi."

As the sigh escaped his lips, a chilling air filled the air. The charging dragons halted mid-flight, their roars silenced in their throats. The lightning fizzled and froze in midair, sparks suspended like frozen stars.

The spirit tigers and elemental beasts froze, and shattered like delicate illusions, vanishing before they could strike. The colossal surge of energy, the culmination of thousands of attacks, lingered in the air for a heartbeat before disintegrating into silence.

In that instant, the battlefield was enveloped in stillness. The unstoppable force of millions was rendered null and void by a single sigh. The Wraithblade Sentinel, his expression indifferent, lowered his head slightly as if the effort had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"Don't fret!" a voice rang out from the crowd, a desperate attempt to bolster the reeling masses. "He can't keep using such powerful moves forever!"

Hope flickered briefly among the warriors. They clung to the belief that even someone as formidable as the Wraithblade Sentinel couldn't sustain such overwhelming power indefinitely.

Surely, the gap between them could be bridged if they pressed harder, and fought longer. They were billions strong, an army the size of a continent, and he was just one man.

But as the Sentinel stood there, silent and unyielding, his eyes cold and unwavering, a creeping doubt began to seep into their hearts. What if they were mistaken?

Suddenly, a chill swept the battlefield, its icy grip tightening. What began as a mere nip grew into a bone-deep cold. Breath misted in the freezing air, and an ominous tension pervaded.

Without warning, the sky darkened. The twin suns of Equinox dimmed beneath a strange gloom. Warriors looked up in fear as light twisted unnaturally.

Amidst the cowering martial artists, an old sage with sharp instincts widened his eyes in horror as the moisture on the battlefield crystallized into countless tiny lenses.

But... He was mistaken. It wasn't just the battlefield—nor merely the world. Within a radius of 111 light-years, all moisture in space had crystallized into countless lenses.

Yet, in the next moment, Wraithblade mused, 'Hmm, these light beams will take 111 years to reach here.'

'Let's speed up those photons,' the Wraithblade decided. Focusing on distant beams of light, he bent them to his will, manipulating the very essence of energy.

Photon particles accelerated, breaking past the time and space constraints, accelerating far beyond their natural limit—3.5 billion times faster than the speed of light. They streaked through space, passing through the lenses aimed at Equinox, and in less than a heartbeat, the beams reached the realm.

As the light entered Equinox, the lenses scattered throughout its atmosphere concentrated the incoming beams, converging them into a single point at the heart of the battlefield. Tension thickened in the air, the looming doom pressing down like a suffocating weight.

The Wraithblade Sentinel stood unmoved, eyes fixed on the gathering energy. In a whisper, he uttered: "Kugelblitz."

Time and space warped as light, chill, and air converged into the singular point. The atmosphere strained, and reality seemed on the edge of collapse.

An event horizon appeared—a black void consuming all. Space bent toward this cosmic singularity, light unable to escape.

The battlefield fell into darkness, save for the ravenous edge of the void.

The Wraithblade Sentinel raised his hand, directing the black sphere toward the masses. It advanced with grim inevitability.

Paralyzed, the warriors had little chance to react.

As the Kugelblitz neared, chaos erupted. Screams filled the air as the void consumed everything, obliterating entire formations and mountains of power in an instant.

In its aftermath, 71% of the army—their bodies, their energy, their very essence—was consumed by the event horizon in the blink of an eye, leaving only a profound silence where billions once stood.

The remaining warriors, stunned and horrified, could only watch as the force continued its inexorable drift, a grim testament to their fleeting existence in the face of such overwhelming power.

The Wraithblade Sentinel, his hand still raised, looked over the battlefield, his face expressionless. To him, this was nothing more than another step in his path, another display of the power that none could challenge.

With a cryptic utterance, the Wraithblade Sentinel spoke, "Sanguine Slaughter Records, Ultimate Intent… " This incantation signalled the activation of a formidable and chaotic spell.

"Entropic Death"

As the technique took effect, the warriors experienced a deep and bewildering change. Time appeared to speed up beyond their control, leading their bodies to age rapidly. They were engulfed by an overwhelming feeling of deterioration.

The spell unleashed a wave of entropy, a force that shattered the natural order of matter and energy. The environment around them became a chaotic maelstrom, where physical structures, living organisms, and even the smallest particles underwent unpredictable alterations.

This led to a state of disintegration and transformation, creating an atmosphere of complete disorder and unpredictability. The once-stable reality was now a realm of shifting and dissolving forms...

When the dust finally settled, silence reigned over the battlefield. The once-mighty army was reduced to mere whispers in the wind. Amidst the desolation, the Wraithblade Sentinel stood alone, untouched and unbroken. His tattered Taoist robe fluttered gently in the fading light of the twin suns.

"Hah—hah," a ragged breath echoed across the blood-stained battlefield.

"Hmm?" The Wraithblade Sentinel turned slowly, locking eyes with another solitary figure amidst the carnage.

The Wraithblade Sentinel glanced at this person, a flicker of curiosity passing through his distant gaze. 'This squid lived? ' he mused, his expression unchanged. But as he studied the exhausted man more closely, realization dawned. 'Ah, I see... a child of fate.'

Before him stood a soldier, panting heavily, his baggy eyes and trembling hands betraying his weariness. Yet, despite his obvious fatigue, the man's defiance hadn't wavered. His voice, though weak, carried a venomous intensity as he whispered, "DAN KYORIN, You Monster!"

"Hmm," Kyorin hummed, regarding the soldier with serene indifference. His height and sturdy build exuded a silent strength, while the scar trailing down the right side of his face lent him a fierce appearance.

His navy hair fell in loose waves, framing his sharp features, while his deep yellow eyes, adorned with a spiral lotus pattern, gleamed like moonlit flames—distant, detached, and uncaring.

The soldier's body shook with rage and fear. "You... how dare you?! I... Yoon Jun will kill you" he bellowed, pouring every ounce of strength he had left into a final charge. His blade swung with desperation, coming mere inches from Kyorin's skull, close enough for Jun to believe in his victory for a fleeting moment.

"My brothers... I did it," Yoon Jun thought, his mind racing as he imagined avenging his fallen comrades. But the cruel reality of the battlefield waited to greet him.

*Grip.*

Yoon Jun's sword froze mid-swing and stopped effortlessly. Dan Kyorin had caught the blade between his fingers, halting it with a calm precision that sent a wave of disbelief crashing over the soldier.

"I-Impossible," Yoon Jun gasped, staring in shock at the man before him—at the monster known as the Wraithblade Sentinel.

"Heengh!" 

Yoon Jun gritted his teeth, straining to retrieve his sword, which remained trapped between Kyorin's two fingers. His efforts were in vain. Yoon Jun was nothing more than a flickering ember in this chaotic land, while the man he faced—the so-called monster—was the very embodiment of chaos itself.

"You've got quite a brilliant radiance in your eyes, young man," Kyorin commented, observing Yoon Jun's fierce struggle.

"A-Are you mocking me?! You demonic, crazed savage!" Yoon Jun spat, venom lacing his words as the rage of losing his loved ones burned deep within him.

Kyorin narrowed his eyes, unfazed by the insult.

With a simple motion, Kyorin shattered the sword with ease. Yoon Jun flinched, the sound of breaking steel filling the air.

'Danger,' Yoon Jun thought, his instincts flaring. He quickly abandoned his broken sword and retreated a few steps. But Kyorin was relentless, closing the distance in an instant. He threw a powerful punch toward the retreating warrior—*thud*—yet his fist was abruptly stopped by an invisible barrier.

"I see... so it was the 'Aegis of the Dao'," Kyorin muttered, his eyes briefly flickering with recognition at the unseen protection surrounding Yoon Jun.

"Interesting," Kyorin murmured, feeling his fist ensnared by an invisible thread. He glanced up at the sky, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. "Just how many children will you send off to die, O Lady of the Stars?"

Sneering at the heavens, Kyorin withdrew his fist and formed his hand into a straight palm. With a powerful incantation, he declared, "From the cradle of the void, where silence reigns and worlds are destroyed, I call forth the end of all, where realms falter and shadows fall..."

"Elden Nihil"

As the incantation ceased, a spectral radiance of greyish-black and white burst forth from Kyorin's hand, fizzing with an aura of desolation. With the release of Elden Nihil, the force of destruction throbbed with vitality, puncturing through the fabric of reality.

The 'Aegis of the Dao' crumpled instantly under the overwhelming power, disintegrating into nothingness and leaving an abyss in its wake.

'Am I going to die? ...' Yoon Jun's final thought echoed as he closed his eyes, a veil of finality descending. Looming over him, Dan Kyorin contemplated with weary resignation, 'Another century free from the rise of martial artists.' Yet a darker thought surfaced: 'Must I continue this endless existence? '

In a rare moment of hesitation, Kyorin's hand wavered, and the shockwave of his delayed strike sent the soldier reeling. Yoon Jun's stunned face mirrored Kyorin's own turmoil—a struggle to allow a life to persist.

Kyorin's once-distant gaze turned melancholic, memories flooding back. 'Over 2,000 years of rebirth,' he mused, his frustration deepened by time. 

As he stared into the distance, a profound weariness overcame him. 'Once again, branded a monster by ancient prophecies,' he thought, burdened by centuries of conflict. 'The endless fighting, the ceaseless bloodshed—has it all been for nothing? '

His frustration boiled over, his soul aching with the weight of his eternal fate. 'How many more lifetimes of endless torment must I endure? ' he wondered, a crushing resignation settling in. 'I am exhausted by this perpetual struggle, this role I never chose, this endless violence.'

Kyorin's heart ached with despair, longing for escape from the cycle that defined his existence.

Kyorin's gaze lingered on Yoon Jun, a tempest of conflicting thoughts roiling within him. He recalled the Lady of the Stars' cryptic prophecy—that only her 'children of fate' could hope to defeat him. 'But why...' he fumed, 'send such feeble beings to challenge me? '

His jaw clenched in irritation, but beneath it, a begrudging respect for the divine figure's words lingered. There had to be some truth to her claim, however absurd it seemed now. With a weary sigh, he resolved to give her prophecy a measure of consideration, despite the evidence to the contrary.

"Oi, kid," Kyorin's voice, edged with fatigue, cut through the air. Yoon Jun, with blood dribbling from his lips and barely standing, met his gaze with a blend of defiance and desperation.

"Do you want to kill me?" Kyorin's questioned.

Yoon Jun, on the brink of unconsciousness, replied with fierce determination, "More than anything."

Kyorin nodded, struck by Yoon Jun's raw intensity—a stark reminder of his ceaseless cycle of conflict. Here was yet another soul driven by a purpose that promised only more bloodshed.

As Kyorin's gaze met Yoon Jun's, he offered a chance... no, not a chance but a solution to end their mutual suffering.

"Very well, I will grant you one strike—one strike only," Kyorin declared, his voice heavy with finality. A spectral, crimson light formed in his hand, shaping itself into a massive greatsword. He passed the weapon to Yoon Jun, saying gravely, "Here, take this."

Yoon Jun, awestruck, stammered, "T-This is... Sanguine," recognizing the fabled blade of the Wraith, known for its insatiable hunger for life.

'He still has this godslaying blade, yet didn't use it,' he thought, bitterness creeping into his mind. The futility of their struggle hit him harder now than ever before. He swallowed, feeling the sting of realization. 'No... he never needed it to defeat us.'

His gaze drifted to Kyorin, who stood apart, his detachment as impenetrable as ever. Jaw clenched, Yoon Jun spoke with a begrudging recognition, "Wraithblade Sentinel Dan Kyorin, you are unmatched, but today... you will fall."

Kyorin remained unmoved, his icy demeanour undisturbed, eyes steady as if Yoon Jun's words barely registered.

Yoon Jun's fingers clasped the hilt of Sanguine, the god-slayer sword. It hummed with raw power, feeling almost too grand to be tangible. Yet, even armed with this blade, he doubted its sufficiency— 'No, it must be sufficient,' he reassured himself.

'If it were any other weapon, it wouldn't even leave a scratch on that beast,' Yoon Jun pondered, his eyes fixed on the monster. 'But with this sword...' He felt a surge of determination. 'I can bring him down.'

"To make things easier, I will deliberately lower my guard," Kyorin said, his voice ever-distant and uncaring. "Remember, normal attacks are useless against him. Strike with the intent to kill."

With a firm grip on the sword, Yoon Jun took his stance, readying for the decisive blow.

"Phew" He exhaled deeply, channelling all his strength into a single strike. With unwavering resolve, he raised the sword and swung it down, letting out a cry, "Heavenly Annihilation Strike."

In a flash, Yoon Jun's sword reached the monster and struck at its heart—Hah.

But immediately after the strike, Yoon Jun fell to his knees. He turned back, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "My sword reached him."

*Drip-Drip*

A gaping wound tore through Kyorin's chest, blood pouring out in heavy streams, mingling the iron scent with the acrid stench of battle. Despite the pain, he remained upright, his face marked by a faint grimace, the only indication that he was injured.

'Hmm, it's been some time since I've felt this kind of pain,' Kyorin thought, his inner voice somewhat muddled after taking such heavy damage after a very long time. 'Looks like I didn't lose all my senses after all these years.'

"Looks like I did it."

Kyorin's gaze met Yoon Jun's, hollow and devoid of emotion. Blood pooled around him, marking the violence of their confrontation. Thick, dark blood dripped from his lips, painting a grim picture of his mortality.

Initially, Yoon Jun's face held a triumphant smile, but it soon faltered as he watched in horror. Despite the severe injury and blood loss, Kyorin remained unperturbed. The wound in Kyorin's chest was rapidly filling with new bone and muscle—Kyorin was transcending his limits.

"H-How? How are you still healing from that attack?" Yoon Jun gasped, seeing the wound close with horrifying speed. This was a sign—a sign that Kyorin had ascended into the realm of transcendence.

"It was impossible after all," Yoon Jun murmured, resigning himself to his fate. "It's over," Kyorin confirmed.

"Yeah, it's over," Yoon Jun echoed, accepting the end. Following which, a silence descended.

.

.

.

.

.

As the silence stretched, Yoon Jun gazed up at Kyorin and noticed that the healing had ceased, seemingly restrained.

"Wait... Why?" he asked, desperation in his voice. Kyorin, with a final touch of calm, replied, "Isn't it clear?" He whispered, his voice barely audible as he sat in a pool of his blood.

"I've accepted my time has come. Furthermore... I am tired, tired of this never-ending conflict." The scene was haunting, and Yoon Jun gazed at Kyorin with a mix of disbelief and reluctant reverence, touched by the tragic resignation of a soul ready to relinquish his burden.

Suddenly, an epiphany struck Yoon Jun: 'We were no different after all.' As this realization dawned upon him, tears streamed down his face as he knelt beside Kyorin.

Kyorin's voice, calm and final, cut through the backdrop of the weeping Yoon Jun. "It's your win. The monster will die soon… why are you crying?" he asked, his tone aloof yet laden with resignation.

"No... Wrathblade, you're wrong... very wrong..." Yoon Jun choked out, trembling as he curled into a fetal position on the ground.

His mind grappled with the grim reality, 'By what cruel fate are we cast into this chaos? ' He realized with a heavy heart that killing the monster wasn't a victory.

"There's no glory here," he murmured mournfully. "In this war, there are no victors... perhaps," he added with a laboured breath, "Only death laughs last."

Kyorin absorbed Yoon Jun's words, a rare, gentle smile forming on his lips. 'Ah, I understand now...' he mused, grasping the truth in Yoon Jun's despair. 'This was indeed a battle with no victors.'

He reflected deeply, pondering, 'Perhaps if I had chosen a different path, if violence had never been our way, this child of fate... might have changed me and my methods.'

The words of the star fairy echoed in his mind—"They can end your suffering" was not about 'killing' him but about 'changing' him.

A deep regret washed over him, the futility of their struggle starkly apparent. 'Good grief... What an unpleasant ending,' he thought, his heart weighed down by a lifetime of endless conflict.

As he looked down, Kyorin saw his blood mixing with the earth. But—*Gurgling sound of the river*—suddenly, his vision overlapped with a unique, unfamiliar scene—a hauntingly beautiful crimson trail merging with the river, staining its surface red.

'What is this? ' he wondered, blinking as the surreal sight grew clearer, as if two realities were blending, just like his blood with the river.

His gaze remained on the merging blood and river, his life essence dissolving into the current.

As his eyes grew heavy, Kyorin closed them, surrendering to death's chill. His last vision was the merging blood and river, starkly illustrating the futility of their battle and the elusive nature of true victory...

*Drip*

Yet, as if pulled from the brink, a raindrop fell on his cheek, stirring him to consciousness. When he opened his eyes, the world had changed: the twin suns were gone, replaced by a solitary sun, which was soon obscured by the looming clouds, followed by a gentle rain. His body lay by the crimson riverbank.

'What is this?' he mused, his thoughts fragmented and carried away by the gentle murmur of the river, its whispers weaving through the fabric of his consciousness.

"Oh, this punk is still alive," said a man in a weathered leather jacket and hazard mask.

Startled by the stranger's sudden appearance, Kyorin looked up with a mix of confusion and curiosity. 'Where is this? Who am I? ' he pondered silently, his face reflecting his uncertainty.

To be continued...