The night was black as ink, and neon lights blurred across the wet asphalt. Dragging legs that felt like lead, Wanghou had just stepped out of the office building. The cold touch of the keyboard still lingered on his fingertips, while his mind was filled with unfinished reports and his boss's insistence that they "must be handed in tomorrow morning."
He gave a bitter laugh and thought mockingly, Was this the fate of a corporate slave? Thirty-five years old, with no home, no car, and no partner, crushed by work every day until I can barely breathe, without even the time to look up at the stars.
Just then, a piercing horn tore through the quiet night.
Wanghou instinctively looked up, only to see an out-of-control heavy truck charging straight toward him like a roaring steel beast, bringing a rush of wind with it. Its glaring headlights blinded him, and the shadow of death descended in an instant.
It's over...
That was Wanghou's last thought.
He did not even have time to feel afraid. A burst of dizzying agony struck him, and his consciousness seemed to be torn apart by an enormous, invisible hand before plunging into a bottomless vortex of bizarre sights. Fierce winds howled in his ears as countless unfamiliar images flashed before his eyes-ironwood trees towering into the clouds, a Black-Patterned Leopard covered in fearsome scales, a resolute-eyed boy holding a heavy black-iron sword, and an old, austere manor engraved with the word "Baruch."
The images were unfamiliar, yet they carried an eerie sense of recognition, like marks etched deep into his soul. Wanghou wondered blankly, Am I dying? Or is this my life flashing before my eyes? But these scenes clearly aren't from my life...
He had no idea how much time passed. It felt like an instant, yet also like an eternity, before Wanghou's consciousness finally broke free of the chaos.
His eyes snapped open to a rough stone ceiling. A faint scent of pinewood mingled with rust lingered around his nose, utterly different from the smells of coffee and printer ink in the office building.
"Hiss..."
He pushed himself upright, only to discover that his arms were far thicker than before. His skin was dark and coarse, covered in fine calluses left by years of spear and sword practice. Instinctively, he raised a hand to feel his face. It felt firm and weathered, nothing like his own face, which had grown somewhat pale from too many late nights.
Looking down at his body, he saw that he wore a dingy gray vest made of magical beast hide. His muscles were powerfully defined, every inch brimming with explosive strength. This body was unbelievably strong, a world apart from the "office weakling" who spent years tapping at keyboards with aching shoulders and neck.
Wanghou was utterly stunned.
This was not his body!
Panic seized his heart. He struggled to get out of bed, only to find that his body's memories were completely different from his conscious mind. Even the motion of lifting his legs carried a soldier's crisp efficiency.
Just then, unfamiliar memories flooded his mind, forcefully merging with his own and leaving him no room to resist-
Hillman, captain of Wushan Town's garrison, a sixth-level warrior. In this small frontier town on the Yulan Continent, where magical beasts prowled and danger lurked on every side, a sixth-level warrior was already powerful enough to keep the area secure. He had single-handedly built Wushan Town's defenses. Skilled with a spear and solid in swordsmanship, he was the most trusted friend of Hogg, the Baruch Clan's old patriarch. With neither wife nor children, he considered Wushan Town's safety his responsibility and took particular care of the Baruch family's two mischievous boys-especially the eldest, Linley, whose refusal to give up always reminded him of his younger self.
The Yulan Continent... Wushan Town... the Baruch Clan... Linley...
Those names exploded like thunder in Wanghou's mind.
He had read this novel! Coiling Dragon! The fantasy novel that had accompanied him throughout his youth!
Wanghou's pupils contracted sharply, and his heart pounded as though it would burst out of his chest. He was not dreaming, nor was this some hallucination after death-he had transmigrated! He had transmigrated into the world of Coiling Dragon!
Wild joy and fear intertwined, battering his nerves. He was overjoyed that he had not died, that he had gained such a powerful body and arrived in a fantasy world full of extraordinary encounters and hot-blooded adventure; he was afraid because this was a world where the strong reigned supreme and death could come at any moment, where magical beasts ran rampant, the Church acted tyrannically, and human lives were worth no more than grass.
What made his heart sink further was how clearly he remembered the Baruch Clan's future-Linley's father, Hogg, would be killed by a duke of the Finland Kingdom while investigating the disappearance of Linley's mother, Lina; although the magical beast tide unleashed by Dylan would rescue Linley from the Radiant Church's imprisonment, the Baruch ancestral manor in Wushan Town would also be destroyed; and the extraordinarily gifted young Linley would bear a deep blood feud, watch helplessly as his beloved teacher Doehring Cowart's soul was annihilated while fleeing for his life, and teeter on the brink of destruction several times, climbing over mountains of corpses and through seas of blood before reaching the pinnacle.
Linley's life was a legend, but it was also a life filled with blood, tears, and regret.
"The Coiling Dragon World, year 9990..." Wanghou counted on his fingers. His heart suddenly jolted, and his breathing quickened. "According to the timeline, Linley should be... six and a half now?"
That was precisely the age when Linley had only just begun to grasp swordsmanship, clumsily practicing in the hills behind the manor with the wooden sword his father had made!
There was still time for everything!
As soon as that thought emerged, a flame ignited in Wanghou's heart. In his previous life, he had been an unaccomplished corporate slave, full of passion with nowhere to put it to use. Now that he had been given another life and arrived in this magnificent world, was he really going to muddle through an entire lifetime just as he had before?
No!
I'm going to get stronger! I'm going to survive!
More importantly, perhaps he could change the Baruch Clan's fate and Linley's fate! He did not want to see that stubborn boy bearing a deep blood feud and walking alone through the darkness.
He threw off the beast-hide blanket and strode out of the room.
Outside stood the stone houses characteristic of Wushan Town, with winding flagstone paths between them. The sounds of children playing drifted from afar, along with the clang of hammering from the smithy-that was Hogg forging farming tools. The air was filled with the fragrance of grass and trees, so intoxicatingly fresh that breathing it into his lungs seemed to make even his soul feel a little lighter.
Wanghou drew a deep breath and turned his gaze toward the manor on the eastern side of town-the Baruch Clan, the place where he had grown up, and the place he would protect with his life in this lifetime.
As captain of Wushan Town's garrison, he and Hogg were brothers who had grown up practically sharing the same pair of pants, and he had always treated the Baruch family's two boys as his own nephews. But the original Hillman had been a rough, forthright man who was poor with words. Though his strength as a sixth-level warrior was considerable, he knew nothing of detailed instruction. When it came to Linley's sword practice, he had only offered blunt remarks such as "Don't slack off" and "Swing harder."
But now, he would never do that again!
Wanghou wasted no time and headed straight for the garrison's armory.
The storeroom was piled with standard-issue spears and chopping sabers, all weapons used by the garrison members on patrol. They were spotted with rust and had an air of age about them. He rummaged through the dusty weapons, his gaze passing over them one by one before finally settling on an entirely black shortsword in a corner.
It was a shortsword forged from refined iron, no more than two feet long, its weight just right for a six-year-old child. Its blade had been polished smooth and sharp, and soft demon wolf hide was wrapped around the hilt, giving it an excellent grip. Hogg had forged it especially for him when he had become a fifth-level warrior. Later, when he switched to a spear that suited him better, the shortsword had been forgotten in the corner and gathered a thin layer of dust.
"You're the one."
Wanghou picked up the shortsword and brushed the dust from its blade with his fingertips, a trace of warmth flashing through his eyes. This sword would be his first gift to Linley, and the starting point of his path as a protector.
He also dug a fine-grained whetstone out of a corner of the storeroom, crouched on the ground, and patiently honed the blade to an even sharper edge. He even rubbed the scratches on the scabbard with animal fat until it gleamed.
Only after finishing all this did he head toward the hills behind the Baruch Clan's manor.
Sure enough, just as he reached the edge of the dense woods in the hills, he saw a small, thin figure swinging a sword made from plain wood beneath the warm autumn sun.
The boy was about six and a half years old, dressed in linen clothes washed almost white. His small face was taut, and fine beads of sweat covered his forehead, sliding down his cheeks and splashing onto the dry soil, where they spread into small dark patches. The wooden sword in his hands swished through the air, every move carrying a stubborn refusal to give up. Even though his arms trembled slightly from the aching pain, he did not stop.
It was Linley.
Yet to Wanghou, a sixth-level warrior, Linley's swordsmanship was riddled with flaws-his center of gravity shifted too far forward when he exerted force, and his footing was unsteady, as though he might fall at any moment; the angle of his wrist rotation was slightly off, preventing him from bringing out the blade's power; and his timing was even more impatient, his swings driven entirely by brute force.
These flaws might not amount to much in childhood, but once they became habits, correcting them later would take ten or a hundred times the effort, and might even affect his future comprehension of the way of the sword!
Wanghou sighed inwardly. In the original story, Linley had forced himself to build a solid foundation through precisely this sort of clumsy practice. His perseverance truly was extraordinary.
Absorbed in practice, Linley suddenly sensed someone behind him. He spun around, holding his wooden sword across his chest as he eyed the newcomer warily. His clear eyes held the stubbornness peculiar to the young. "Who's there?"
Looking into the boy's clear eyes, Wanghou felt something stir within him. He slowed his steps, a rough yet gentle smile appearing on his face as he lowered his voice to a soft, deep tone. "Linley, it's me."
Before you continue