Arthur's Note:
This tale is not meant for the faint of heart. It is a story of blood, steel, and willpower. A story of a man who clawed his way against fate itself, who desired strength above all else, and would claim it regardless of the cost—whether it meant scarring others, breaking the world, or destroying himself in the process. The world you are about to enter is merciless, twisted, and unforgiving. Do not expect salvation here. Do not expect mercy. Expect only struggle….
The storm had raged for hours. Black clouds loomed over the horizon like a suffocating shroud, spilling endless rain onto the land. Lightning struck across the heavens, and thunder shook the ancient earth.
At the heart of the storm stood a colossal fortress, its towering spires piercing the night sky like obsidian knives. Crimson windows wept with streams of rain, glowing faintly as if lit by the embers of some eternal jade within.
Inside, the halls were silent—too silent. The air was thick with the musk of age, decay, and forgotten memories. In one of the grand chambers, upon a throne of cracked marble, lay a young man motionless, his form draped in dust and shadow.
And then—his eyes snapped open.
A faint glow lingered in his gaze, pale and sharp as moonlight. Slowly, he sat upright, pressing his hand against his temple as confusion clawed through his mind. For a moment, he felt disoriented, as though torn between centuries, between death. But then realization struck him like a blade to the chest.
"…Ah" he muttered, his voice hoarse but carrying a strange certainty. "So it worked. The Ivory Moon has not betrayed me."
He stood up, his steps heavy but deliberate, his shadow stretching unnaturally long across the chamber floor. The man—once known to the world as the demonic blood lord Naro—stood once again at the beginning of his tale.
But this was not the same man the world had once seen. No, this Naro was forged by failure, honed by loss, and resurrected by desperation. He clenched his fists, a cruel smile forming across his lips.
"This… is my second chance."
The world around him was known as the Nyx Realm—a realm unlike any other. Here, power did not come from bloodlines, nor kingdoms. It came from fragments of chaos itself—mysterious objects scattered across the land, each one pulsating with unfathomable energy.
These relics were known simply as Nyx.
Some appeared as delicate spheres that could summon firestorms with a whisper. Others took the form of jagged shards that bent the will of ice. A broken wand that could command tempests. A cracked mirror that could fracture reality. An ancient blade that devoured its wielder's soul in exchange for unmatched strength.
The possibilities were infinite. The dangers, immeasurable.
To the weak, Nyx were curses. To the greedy, they were temptations. To the strong—they were stepping stones toward godhood.
And Naro had returned to pursue the power to reach immortality.
Rain hammered against the windows as Naro strode toward the castle gates, each step echoing like a war drum. He did not yet know how far back the Ivory Moon had hurled him. Months? Years? Decades? His brain was still foggy, the power of the ivory moon was just too much of a burden to the soul.
But one truth burned clear in his mind: this time, he would not falter. This time, he would seize everything.
Even if the world itself drowned in darkness.
"Hm. It seems I've lost the Ivory Moon Nyx. How unfortunate." Naro snorted, his voice sharp with both annoyance and irony.
When he opened his eyes again, he realized the truth: he had been sent back, far back—to the moment he was first transmigrated from Earth into this world. He had nothing left from his years of conquest. No legendary treasures.. No Ivory Moon. Only a decaying castle, a chest of silver coins, and a single rank one common Nyx—barely worth mentioning.
He let out a long, heavy sigh.
"…From scratch, then. From nothing, I shall rise once more."
As his words lingered in the air, a sudden flicker of light appeared before him. A tiny figure emerged, glowing softly like a lantern in the dark. It was a fairy—barely the size of his palm, with short white-silverish hair, round purple eyes, and a smile far too cheerful for this ruined castle.
"Hello, master!" she chirped in a sweet voice. "It seems like you're finally awake! Do you want me to prepare some food?"
Naro's expression remained cold, his gaze piercing through her as though she were nothing but air.
"No need."
The fairy blinked in surprise but quickly bowed her head and floated away in silence.
Every household in the Nyx Realm possessed such a fairy—bound spirits that maintained homes, prepared meals, and ensured basic survival for their masters. To most people, they were invaluable companions. But to Naro, they were just tools. He had no time for comfort.
He turned and pushed open the heavy castle doors.
The night air hit him instantly—cold, damp, and laced with the scent of wet earth and rotting leaves. He stepped out into the storm, his boots sinking slightly into the mud. The ancient forest loomed around the castle, its twisted trees whispering like specters.
Naro closed his eyes and released his aura, letting his soul's energy spread outward. A faint ripple shook the air.
"…Rank one," he muttered. His power was at the very bottom once again.
But this time, he knew the path forward.
Without hesitation, he walked into the dark forest. Branches cracked under his steps, and unseen eyes followed him from the shadows. He remembered this place well. The village hidden within these woods—small, poor, and weak—would soon become his first stepping stone.
In his past life, he had ignored it, never even expected what was hidden within. But now, every piece mattered. Every step was part of the climb.
The trees grew thicker, the air colder. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf's howl echoed through the storm. Naro's lips curved into a faint smile.
"…Let's see what fate throws at me first."
Naro walked for hours through the storm until the forest finally gave way to a small settlement. The village stretched before him like a wound upon the land—filthy, broken, and hopeless.
Everywhere he looked, he saw suffering. The people were gaunt and ragged, their eyes hollow, their movements sluggish. Children sat by the muddy roads, their bellies swollen—not from food, but from starvation. Their weakened abdominal muscles could no longer hold their intestines in place, leaving their bodies deformed in misery.
It was a place suffocating with despair.
Naro, dressed in his clean dark coat and standing tall with a sharp presence, stood out immediately. His physique, his aura, even the way he walked marked him as a stranger—an outsider. Villagers glanced up at him with curiosity and fear, before quickly lowering their eyes, not daring to meet his gaze.
He walked calmly down the main road until his eyes met the sight of a towering wall of stone that divided the village in two. On one side: the slums, the starving, the forgotten. On the other: the rich, the comfortable, the ones who lived off the misery of others.
The gate in the wall was guarded by two armored men. Their stance was strong, their expressions stern.
"No one from the outer walls is allowed inside," one of the guards barked.
Naro's lips curved into a thin smile. Without a word, he reached into his coat and flicked a silver coin toward each of them. The coins clinked against their palms.
The guards exchanged glances, their stern faces cracking into nervous awkwardness.
"Ahem… you may enter," they muttered, stepping aside.
Naro walked past them without another look.
Inside, the difference was staggering. The inner walls bustled with more life—merchants shouting, shops open, people walking with fuller faces and brighter clothes. It was no paradise, but compared to the misery outside, it felt like another world.
Naro moved with purpose, ignoring the stares that followed him. He counted his steps carefully until he reached a forgotten corner of the district. There, tucked between taller buildings, stood a small, shabby-looking shop. Its wooden sign was faded, the windows cracked, the door half-rotten. To the casual eye, it looked abandoned.
But Naro knew better.
He pushed the door open, and a musty scent of dust and age greeted him. The shop was empty except for a single wooden counter at the far end. A small bell sat upon it.
Ding.
The sound echoed faintly through the shop.
Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows behind the counter. It was a woman, tall and graceful, her body wrapped in dark robes. An owl-shaped mask covered her face, the sharp beak glinting in the dim light. Her voice was low and smooth, carrying a sultry edge.
"What brings a handsome man like you to this place?" she purred, her tone laced with amusement.
Naro's expression remained frozen, his eyes cold as steel.
"I want to purchase the Dark Iron Sword you have."
The woman tilted her head, intrigued. "The Dark Iron Sword? Hm… most overlook such a thing. You're either a fool—or you know something others don't."
Naro said nothing.
She gave a soft laugh, the sound muffled behind her mask. "Very well. But I should warn you, it's nothing special—just a common weapon. Most who buy it end up regretting wasting their coin."
Her words were laced with mockery, but Naro didn't flinch. He knew the truth.
And hidden within that shabby Dark Iron Sword was a rank 3 Nyx, a secret no one else in this time knew—except Naro.
In his previous life, a nameless boy had stumbled across it, growing strong enough to reach the Third Realm. With such strength, the boy had risen to the level of an elder, serving under kings and ruling over mortals.
But this time, that sword would not fall into anyone else's hands.
It would be Naro's. In this world for a human to get more powerful they have to advance in realms, there is a total of nine ranks of realms; rank one to five are considered mortals.. rank 6 and above are immortals.
Nyx were the core of power in this world. Just like realms, Nyx had ranks.
Ranks 1 to 5 were considered mortal Nyx—common, often repeated. Many of the same Nyx could exist at these ranks, and while they offered useful abilities, none could make their wielder truly exceptional on their own.
Ranks 6 and above, however, were entirely different. A unique Nyx existed at these levels—there could be only one of its kind in the world. To find one was nearly impossible. To possess one was to wield unmatched influence. These Nyx were immensely rare, highly coveted, and could turn a single mortal into a living legend. Of such Nyx was the 'ivory moon nyx' that Naro possessed.
With that in mind, Naro stepped out of the shop, Dark Iron Sword in hand. The village's poor streets faded behind him as he made his way back through the forest, the storm having finally calmed to a drizzle.
Reaching the castle, he entered silently, closing the heavy doors behind him. He raised the sword slowly, inspecting it.
"It seems my memories served me right," he muttered softly, almost to himself. "This sword… it has a hidden rank 3 Nyx within it."
Despite the words, his expression remained impassive—cold and unreadable. But a small flicker of satisfaction passed through him. Even he couldn't deny it: obtaining a rank 3 Nyx this early in his second life was a tremendous advantage.
In his previous life, Naro had struggled for years to understand the world's system. Mortal Nyx had been abundant, but true power was rare. He had spent countless days learning, training, and scavenging before he had ever seen a rank 3 Nyx. And reaching the third realm with that power… that had taken even more years of relentless effort, pain, sacrifice and bloodshed.
Now, in this new life, that long, exhausting climb had been shortened; the Dark Iron Sword was enough to give him a head start few could dream of.
He tested it carefully, feeling the faint pulse of energy hidden within. It was subtle, restrained—but unmistakable.
A rank 3 Nyx. One step closer to the power he craved. One step closer to dominating this merciless world.
Naro's lips curled into a faint smile.
"…Then let us begin."