From Alien Lands to Samsara

"...I'm back?"

Si Ming glanced at his hands and frowned slightly—his palms were fair and smooth, his fingernails soft rather than hardened. There were no scars, no calluses. Without a doubt, these were the hands of a student or an office clerk.

He had indeed once possessed such hands.

But he also remembered his soul being ripped away in a sudden traffic accident—transmigration, rebirth, opening his eyes once more in a sea of corpses and blood in another world. And after that, there was only combat.

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

Fight against those ravenous, red-eyed wolf packs.

Fight against those bloodthirsty clusters of short, dark-skinned creatures wielding crude weapons—whether one called them Goblins or something else.

Fight against those monsters that could spew fire, virulent poison, or blade-like winds—be they magical beasts, Chimera, or the classic Wind Wolf of other worlds, he fought them incessantly.

Fight, fight, and then slaughter. With fists, with stones, with rusted blades scavenged from the ground, with bone halberds seized from the fallen. He fought every life that stood in the way of his second chance at living in that strange world.

Until his body grew stronger, until his martial arts became more refined. Until his will could ignite a soul-searing, dark aura upon his blade, much like the Corpse Giant he had struggled so hard to defeat. From that moment on, he finally felt the tangible sensation of being alive.

Night Battle Qi—that was what he called the power he had refined. Under the cover of night, this aura would emit neither sound nor light.

And after possessing such power and integrating it into his fighting style, he had transformed into a shadow assassin, gaining the strength to protect himself.

The sinister other world was no longer impassable. He finally possessed the qualifications and the backing to feel at ease. And just as he had finally adapted to the rules of that world where enemies lurked on all sides, established a foothold, and was preparing to settle down and truly display his prowess...

—I'm back.

—I actually came back?

He was wearing the casual clothes he had on when he faced the truck before his transmigration. He was lying in a soft hospital bed. In the ward, there were several other strangers lying in their respective beds, who, judging by their breathing and heartbeats, were in a deep sleep. Outside the ward, a blonde, blue-eyed nurse was hurrying down the corridor.

Since when did hospitals in third-tier cities hire Westerners as nurses? —That was unimportant.

What mattered was that he had indeed returned to Earth, and his body had indeed recovered. The scar on his elbow from a bicycle accident in middle school remained unchanged, just as it had been in the past. Yet, the energy that had once surged within him—the power honed through bloody battles—was...

"Hmm?" His five fingers tightened slightly.

Within his soft clerk's palms surged a powerful force capable of easily denting the iron railing of the hospital bed. His brain was clearer than ever, his senses sharper than he had imagined. He was even more perceptive than he had been in the other world.

So that's how it is; it wasn't a restoration, but a fusion. The strong body from the other world had merged with his mundane Earthly vessel. Even the dark aura flowing deep within his shell had increased by a small margin following the overlap of body and soul.

—Has it reached the rank of what could be called a Knight... It's just a pity about all the equipment and treasures I worked so hard to collect.

Si Ming closed his eyes and relaxed his grip, feeling the slow surge of that invisible power within his shell. The familiar wind of Earth felt somewhat strange to his senses. But he truly no longer felt the constant, pervasive sense of crisis that had haunted every second of his time in the other world.

Returning to his homeland wasn't bad.

At the very least, he could stage a "City Dragon King Returns" style power fantasy.

It was just a pity; he had already adapted to combat, to slaughter. Blood had become sweet and refreshing in his nostrils. The stench of corpses no longer made him nauseous. The stretching of his limbs while wielding weapons had become a pleasure, and the joy of defeating strong enemies was satisfying—yet, here he was, having returned from that dog-eat-dog world to this peaceful homeland without warning.

It was all a bit too dramatic.

"Hoo—"

He took a deep breath, relaxing his heart rate and muscles.

Treat it as a vacation, a period of rest. Perhaps after some time, he would return to that nameless, dark Wasteland just as he had in the past.

Calm down.

—Do not bring the habit of slashing at everything you meet in the other world into peaceful Earth.

Calm down.

—Do not feel the urge to smash everything you see. There are no puppet soldiers hiding in the bushes here, nor are there so many corrupt, vicious dogs hiding behind wooden crates and barrels.

He would start by greeting the fellow patients in the room to re-adapt to the rhythm of Earth. And he would have to properly repay the kind soul who had sent him here from the scene of the truck accident...

He opened his closed eyes. The young man's lips curled into a standard twenty-first-century white-collar smile. He braced his hands, preparing to rise from the hospital bed. However, it was then that he noticed a strange sense of dissonance.

Since when was there a black wristwatch on his left wrist?

His thoughts were chaotic, fragmented memories flooding his mind. He always felt as if he had seen this situation somewhere before. Perhaps in some movie, perhaps in some novel. And this meant—

A sound rang out.

An unfamiliar voice.

"Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem? Why this movie!? When did they release a second one?"

Si Ming turned his head sharply.

He clearly saw three blurry figures suddenly appear in the very center of the ward. They were dressed in attire completely out of place for the current environment.

How could such a situation occur on Earth?

Or was this place not Earth at all!?

Thoughts collided violently in his mind. A brain far clearer than before allowed him to capture the key clues. The moment the three figures solidified, their key features were reflected in Si Ming's eyes. Si Ming rolled off the bed, ensuring his movements were fluid while his peripheral vision locked onto everything usable nearby.

Three people, two men and one woman. The young man standing in the middle was dressed in short-sleeved combat gear and wore a forehead protector. A uniquely styled katana hung at his waist. A lock of hair covered his right eye, making him look like a ninja character from some Japanese anime. His presence was the most prominent, and in the area of his head, Si Ming could sense a faint warning sign.

To his left was a slightly chubby peer wearing a bulletproof vest. It was an American model, the specifications a bit retro. There were pistols and ammunition on his tactical belt, and he held a rifle in his hand that looked like an HK416 by its specifications, though it had so many accessories it looked like a Christmas tree.

To his right was a Fashionable Beauty, and the small handbag she carried had the silhouette of a lady's pistol. Her appearance was abnormally beautiful, as if generated by photo-editing software, and her figure was as perfect as a product of two-dimensional art. Beyond that, however, there was nothing else of note about her.

The physical strength of all three individuals exceeded that of an ordinary person; their breathing was steady, and their footsteps were firm. Yet, only the youth in the middle carried a faint aura of lethality, and even that was not particularly heavy. Aside from this, there was only one other similarity shared among the three.

They all wore black wristwatches.

The people sleeping on the other hospital beds also bore the same ornaments on their wrists.

The pearls of memory strung themselves together, coalescing with the intelligence points heard and seen earlier into a coherent whole. Infinite flow, reincarnation world, main mission, Gene Lock. Many terms that had previously only been seen in beast-fighting groups had now become tangible realities. Thus, there was one more thing that needed to be done—

"A newcomer who's awake?" The Short-Attire Youth was the first to notice Si Ming, while the one who had been shouting earlier was the Armed Fatty standing to the side—he tilted his chin slightly, issuing a command as if it were a matter of course.

"Hey, you, go wake the others up," he said.

Si Ming's gaze merely swept past them indifferently.

"I shall ask you a question," his voice was unhurried, yet carried an inherent, oppressive majesty. "What year did you come here from?"

He asked, and the fatty, who was clutching his gun tightly, spoke subconsciously.

"Heisei 18... Why are you asking about that!?"

"2007?" Si Ming frowned slightly. "Why did they send me to the Japan side?"

"Hey! Is this how you respect your seniors? Don't get too arrogant—" the Katana Youth said, his tone laced with anger.

Sharingan. Or something similar.

Si Ming guessed the secret hidden beneath his bangs, sensing the tensing of his muscles, the movement of his fingers, and some kind of special power that was perhaps about to be unleashed.

Bang— The Japanese youth jerked his head back violently. A medicine bottle that Si Ming had casually snatched from beside the hospital bed and thrown flew like a low-velocity shell, smashing toward his right eye—

He dodged.

The reaction was timely, but the movement was not swift. His physical parameters might have been up to par, but he was ultimately lacking on the level of actual combat.

The medicine bottle hit the wall.

The loud noise caused all the newcomers who were feigning sleep or had not yet woken up to rise and look up.

The nurses outside the corridor remained indifferent to the commotion inside the ward.

The Armed Fatty subconsciously raised his gun, and the Fashionable Beauty shielded her face and chest.

Crack— The sound of bones breaking rang out.

The moment the Katana Youth dodged, Si Ming's figure had already lunged forward with the speed of a catapult. Avoiding any possibility of eye contact, he delivered a shoulder strike that directly snapped several of the youth's ribs. He then casually snatched the katana from the youth's waist; without drawing it, he swept it, scabbard and all, toward the fatty's throat!

Gurgle— Waa—

A muffled grunt, a scream of pain.

The fatty clutched his throat and fell to his knees, while the youth slammed into the ward wall. Si Ming immediately stopped, stepped forward to steady his stance, and delivered a whip kick that struck the youth's head from the side!

The sound of bone cracking rang out again; this blow, strong enough to shatter a coconut, successfully shook the youth's reinforced skull. A minor concussion was enough to make him see stars and lose his focus. He fell to the ground and tried to crawl up, but Si Ming had already strode forward and stepped on the head he was trying to lift.

"First, I am Chinese," Si Ming's voice was clear and cold. "Second, I am very displeased."

He was happy, yet very displeased.

He was happy because he was about to throw himself into a new battle. He was displeased because he had actually been thrown into the East Sea Team reincarnation world that recruited from 2007, forcing him to coexist with these ignorant things for the days to come.

The Fashionable Beauty let out a scream; her panic prevented her from making any dangerous, suicidal moves. And under Si Ming's foot, the Short-Attire Youth, who was recovering faster than expected, let out an angry roar.

"Don't get carried away! You ch—"

Snap— His cervical vertebrae broke, and his life and words ended together.

Si Ming raised his eyebrows slightly.

He really hadn't expected to hear such a death-seeking slur in 2025. Ah... he had forgotten, it should still be around 2007.

But it didn't matter, after all—

--[Reincarnator Si Ming, killed one fellow team member. Deducting 1000 reward points.]

It really was the original first-generation East Sea.