From Another World to Reincarnation

"...I'm back?"

Si Ming glanced at his hands and frowned slightly. His palms were fair and smooth, his nails soft, not hardened. No scars, no calluses. Without a doubt, these were the hands of a student or an office worker.

He'd once had a pair of hands just like these.

But he also remembered his soul being torn from his body in a sudden traffic accident—then crossing over, being reborn, and opening his eyes once more amid a mountain of corpses in another world. After that, there had been nothing but battle.

If he didn't want to die again, he had to fight.

Fight the starving wolves with their bloodshot eyes.

Fight the bloodthirsty mobs with their short stature, dusky skin, and crude weapons—creatures he couldn't tell whether to call goblins or Goblins.

Fight the monsters that could spew flames, poison, or blade-like gusts of wind—perhaps magical beasts, perhaps Chimeras, perhaps the classic Wind Wolves of another world.

Fight, fight, and then kill. With his fists, with stones, with rusted blades he'd scavenged, with bone halberds he'd stolen. He fought every life that stood in the way of his living a second time in that other world.

Until his body grew stronger, until his martial skills grew more refined. Until his will could kindle the soul-searing, shadowy flames along his blade, just like the Corpse Giant he'd overcome after countless trials. From then on, he finally knew what it felt like to truly be alive.

Night Battle Qi—that was what he called the power he'd honed. Under cover of darkness, its flames gave off neither light nor sound.

And once he possessed this power and incorporated it into his fighting style, he had become a shadow assassin, gaining the strength to protect himself.

At last, the perilous other world no longer made every step an ordeal. He had finally earned the right to feel safe, and something to rely on. When he'd adapted to the rules of that hostile world, found a foothold and a place to call home, and was preparing to take stock before making his mark...

—I'm back.

—I actually came back?

He was wearing the casual clothes he'd had on before crossing over, when he'd faced the truck. He was lying in a soft hospital bed. Several other strangers lay in beds around the room, apparently asleep, judging by their breathing and heartbeats. Outside the ward, a blonde, blue-eyed nurse hurried down the corridor.

Since when did hospitals in small third-tier cities hire Western nurses? Not important.

What mattered was that he really had returned to Earth, and that his body had truly recovered. The scar on his elbow, left by a fall from his bicycle in middle school, was just as it had always been. But the energy that had once surged through him, the strength forged and tempered in bloody battles, was—

"Hm?" He gently clenched his fist.

The soft hand of an office worker now held enough strength to dent the metal railing of the hospital bed with ease. His mind was clearer than ever, his senses keener than he'd expected. He could hear and see even better than he had in the other world.

So that was it. His body hadn't reverted; the two had merged. The powerful body from the other world had blended with his mortal Earthly form. Even the dark energy coursing through his body had grown a little stronger as his body and soul merged.

Had he already reached the rank of a knight...? It was a shame about all the equipment and treasures he'd worked so hard to collect.

Si Ming closed his eyes and relaxed his hand, feeling the invisible power slowly flowing within him. The familiar breeze of Earth felt almost strange to his senses. But for the first time in ages, he no longer felt as though danger lurked in every passing second.

It wasn't bad to be home.

At least he could play out a satisfying tale of a city's returning dragon king.

It was just a shame. He'd finally gotten used to fighting, gotten used to slaughter. The scent of blood had grown sweet in his nostrils. The stench of corpses no longer made him gag. The freedom of movement when he swung a weapon had become a pleasure, and the satisfaction of defeating powerful enemies had become a joy—yet now, without warning, he'd been taken from that law-of-the-jungle world and returned to this peaceful homeland.

It was all a little too dramatic.

"Phew—"

He took a deep breath, calming his heartbeat and relaxing his muscles.

He'd treat this like a vacation, a chance to rest. Perhaps after a while, he'd return to that nameless, gloomy wasteland as before.

Calm down.

—Don't bring the habit of slashing at anything he came across in the other world back to peaceful Earth.

Calm down.

—Don't smash everything in sight. There were no puppet soldiers hiding in the grass here, and not nearly so many rabid, rotting dogs lurking behind crates and barrels.

He'd start by greeting the other patients in the room and getting used to Earth's pace again. And he'd have to properly repay the kind person who'd brought him here from the truck accident...

His eyes opened. The young man's lips curved into the standard twenty-first-century office-worker smile. He braced himself on one arm, about to get out of bed, when he noticed something strange.

When had a black wristwatch appeared on his left wrist?

His thoughts were a jumble, and fragmented memories surfaced. He felt as if he'd seen this situation somewhere before. Maybe in a movie, maybe in a novel. And that meant—

A voice rang out.

A stranger's voice.

"Alien vs. Predator 2? Why this movie!? When did they make a sequel?"

Si Ming whipped around.

He clearly saw three blurry figures suddenly appear in the very middle of the ward. Their clothes were completely out of place in the surroundings.

How could something like this happen on Earth?

Or was this place not actually Earth!?

His thoughts clashed violently. His mind was far sharper than it had ever been, and he caught the crucial clues. The moment the three figures solidified, he took in the key details of their appearance. Then Si Ming swung himself out of bed, ready to move, while keeping the objects around him in the corner of his eye.

Three people, two men and a woman. The young man in the middle wore a short-sleeved outfit and a forehead protector. A strangely styled katana hung at his waist. His right eye was hidden by his bangs, making him look like a ninja from some Japanese anime. His presence stood out the most; Si Ming felt a faint warning from the area around his head.

To his left stood a slightly plump young man in a flak jacket. American-made, somewhat old-fashioned. A pistol and ammunition hung from his tactical belt, and he carried a rifle that looked like an HK416 by its specifications, but had so many attachments it resembled a Christmas tree.

To his right was a fashionable beauty, with the outline of a woman's pistol visible inside her handbag. Her looks were so unnaturally striking she seemed generated by photo-editing software, and her figure was perfect, like something out of a manga. Aside from that, however, she had nothing else going for her.

All three were stronger than ordinary people, with steady breathing and sure steps. But only the young man in the middle had even a hint of a murderous aura, and it wasn't much. Beyond that, the three of them shared only one thing.

They all wore black wristwatches.

The sleeping people in the other beds had the same accessory on their wrists, too.

The pearls of memory linked together, joining with the key details of what he'd just heard and seen. Infinite flow, reincarnation worlds, main missions, Gene Lock. So many terms he'd once seen only in discussions among beast-fighting groups had become tangible reality. That left one thing to do—

"A newcomer who's awake?" The short-attire youth noticed Si Ming first. The one who'd been shouting earlier was the Armed Fatty standing nearby. He raised his chin slightly and spoke as if giving an order.

"Hey, you. Go wake the others," he said.

Si Ming's gaze merely passed over him.

"I'll ask you one question." His voice was unhurried, yet carried a weight of authority. "What year did you arrive here?"

He asked, and the fat man gripping his gun answered reflexively.

"Year eighteen of the Heisei era... Why are you asking that!?"

"2007?" Si Ming frowned slightly. "Why'd you send me to Japan?"

"Hey! Is that how you show respect to your seniors? Don't get too cocky—" The katana-wielding youth's voice was angry.

Sharingan. Or something like it.

Si Ming guessed what lay beneath his bangs. He sensed his muscles tightening, his fingers shifting, and some unusual power about to activate.

Thump— The Japanese youth's head snapped backward. Si Ming had casually snatched up a medicine bottle from beside the bed and thrown it. Like a slow-moving cannonball, it slammed toward his right eye—

He dodged.

His reaction was quick enough, but the movement itself wasn't. His physical attributes might have been up to the task, but he was still lacking in actual combat experience.

The medicine bottle struck the wall.

The loud crash roused every newcomer who'd been pretending to sleep or hadn't woken up yet.

The nurse outside the ward paid no attention to the commotion within.

The heavily armed fat man reflexively raised his gun, while the fashionable beauty shielded her face and chest.

Crack— The sound of a bone breaking rang out.

As the katana youth dodged, Si Ming had already shot forward like a spring-loaded bolt. He avoided meeting the other man's gaze and slammed his shoulder into him, breaking several of his ribs. Then he plucked the katana from the youth's waist and, without drawing it, swept the sheathed weapon toward the fat man's throat!

"Guh—!" "Wah—!"

One grunt, one scream.

The fat man clutched his throat and dropped to his knees. The youth crashed into the ward wall. Si Ming immediately planted his feet, took a quick step to steady himself, and whipped a kick into the youth's head from the side!

The crack of bone sounded again. The coconut-busting kick shook the youth's enhanced skull. A mild concussion was enough to make his vision swim and his focus scatter. He fell to the ground and tried to get up, but Si Ming strode forward and stepped on the head he'd been trying to lift.

"First, I'm Chinese." Si Ming's voice was clear and cold. "Second, I'm not happy."

He was happy, but not happy.

He was happy because he was about to throw himself into another battle. He was unhappy because he'd been tossed into the East Sea Team's reincarnation world, where they'd been picking up people since 2007, and now he'd have to spend the coming days with these fools.

The fashionable beauty screamed, but her panic didn't drive her to do anything that would get her killed. Beneath Si Ming's foot, the short-attire youth, who'd recovered faster than expected, let out an enraged roar.

"Don't get so full of yourself! You damn n—"

Crack— His neck snapped. His life and his words ended together.

Si Ming raised an eyebrow slightly.

He hadn't thought he'd still hear that kind of death wish in 2025. Ah... He'd forgotten. It was still around 2007.

But that was all right, because—

—[Reincarnator Si Ming, you killed one member of your team. 1,000 reward points deducted.]

So this really was the original first-generation East Sea Team.