Michael's eyes widened in surprise as he lifted the heavy lid of the iron box.
What he saw inside was beyond his imagination.
At the top was an old but carefully folded black Waffen-SS uniform. The color of the fabric had faded a bit, but the runic symbols on the collar were still clear. A unit patch was sewn on one side, and a small Iron Cross pin was in the chest pocket. Michael ran his hand over the texture of the fabric—cool, but with a strange weight.
Beneath the uniform was a Walther P38 pistol—rust blooming on the black metal. He paused for a moment, staring. He had seen this gun in World War II movies many times, but holding it in his own hands—it was a completely different feeling.
Next to it was an old leather folder, hardened with dust, with dried brown stains in some places—which might have been blood.
Michael opened it slowly—inside were old yellowed papers, handwritten notes in faded ink.
A few black-and-white photographs.
And on one side was an identity card—"Waffen-SS" written largely at the top, and "Friedrich Keller" at the bottom.
The photograph showed a young German soldier—tight-fitting uniform, SS runes on the left collar, jaw set with determination, and eyes cold and unyielding.
Michael's brows knit. The man bore a resemblance to his grandfather. Was this Friedrich Keller… or had his grandfather lived under a false name?
He wasn't surprised by the idea. In a war where capture meant death or worse, adopting a false identity to survive made sense. But what did shock him was the truth behind the card: his grandfather had been SS.
The Waffen-SS—an organization infamous for its brutality, for its dark and twisted worldview.
Then his eyes fell on the handwritten note—
"Ostfront, März 1945"
"Sonderauftrag" (special mission)
And there were a few words he couldn't make out. Michael could read a little German, but most of the writing was unknown to him.
The largest photograph showed five men standing in the snow, all dressed in SS uniforms. In the middle was an officer—holding a black box. Michael suddenly understood—this was the box that was now in front of him inside the iron trunk.
Michael put the photos and papers aside and carefully took the small wooden box out of the iron box.
Its surface was carved with strange symbols—shaped almost like a tree, though its branches twisted like coiled serpents. Around the emblem were small runic marks Michael didn't recognize at all.
"Hmm… so this is what all of this is about… Alright, let's see what's inside."
He lifted the box in his hands. It felt oddly cold, more like metal than wood.
The box was locked, and he noticed a small keyhole.
Michael then remembered something and pulled a tiny key from his bag, its surface etched with the same strange markings.
After he slid the key into the keyhole, a golden light shimmered from the runic marks, and the box unlocked.
Michael expected something expensive inside the box, but all he saw was a ring.
However, it didn't look like an ordinary ring—dark silver metal, with a delicately carved symbol that was gray at one moment, and then a light blue glow the next.
Michael held out his hand. The metal was surprisingly warm.
Was it an old relic? Something the Ahnenerbe stole during the war? or some so called Nazi "super secret weapon" project.
Then, without thinking any further, he slipped it onto his finger.
The moment it touched his skin, the ring blazed with blue light, and a violent shock surged through his entire body.
"A–ah!" His body trembled, his knees buckling as he collapsed to the dusty floor.
Before his eyes, a translucent screen blinked into view—
[SYSTEM BOOTING...]
[CONNECTING TO HOST...]