Darkness.
It was the first thing Aelric felt—an all-consuming void pressing in from every side. No warmth, no light, no sound.
So this is death…
The thought drifted through his fractured mind, slow and heavy like fog settling over a frozen lake.
He remembered… fragments.
Pain.Betrayal.That smug smile on Lord Gavorn's face as the knife twisted into his gut.The temple priests turning their backs on him, murmuring about "divine will."The gods he prayed to—their silence more deafening than his screams.
Aelric had died a fool. Powerless. Alone.
But this… this wasn't the end.
In the depths of the void, something stirred.
A faint hum, almost mechanical, threaded with whispers not meant for mortal ears. Symbols danced behind his eyelids—silver and crimson runes that pulsed with life, alien and ancient.
Then, a voice.
Neutral. Hollow. As if it had forgotten how to care.
[Remnant System initializing…][Warning: User lacks divine authorization.][Proceeding with fractured integration…]
Aelric's heart—or whatever passed for it in this limbo—lurched. System? Integration? This wasn't the afterlife the temple promised.
The runes bled together, forming words in a language he somehow understood.
[Designation: Aelric Veyne. Status: Deceased. Eligibility: Rejected by Pantheon. System Type: Remnant.][Initiating Rebirth Protocol.]
Rejected by the Pantheon…
A bitter laugh clawed up his throat. Even in death, the gods had turned their faces away.
But another part of him—the part that had watched his home fall to raiders while the priests cowered behind stone walls, that had begged for justice and received only silence—felt… relief.
If the gods wanted nothing to do with him… then he owed them nothing.
The void shuddered. Pressure built in his skull as reality itself cracked.
[Destination: Realm Fragment - Veyndale, Borderlands.][Warning: Initial physical state: severely weakened.][Survival Probability: 18%.]
"Eighteen percent?" His voice was raw, scraping against invisible walls.
The system ignored him.
[Rebirth commencing in 3… 2… 1…]
The darkness fractured like glass. A wave of cold slammed into him—real, biting, merciless.
Veyndale — Borderlands of the Human Kingdoms
Aelric gasped awake, lungs burning, chest heaving. Snowflakes danced in the air, whispering around him like frozen ash.
He was lying face-first in the snow, body trembling, clad only in a thin linen shirt and coarse woolen trousers. The world smelled of pine, frost, and the faint copper tang of blood.
Above, the sky stretched in sullen grey clouds, sunlight weak and pale. Around him: trees, skeletal and bare, their branches clawing at the heavens.
A distant wolf's howl echoed through the forest.
Alive.
Cold, weak, aching… but alive.
He pushed himself onto his elbows, every muscle protesting. His fingers were thin, his wrists frail—the body of a malnourished youth, maybe sixteen winters at most.
It wasn't his old body. But it was his now.
The runes hovered faintly in his vision, translucent, like an afterimage from staring at the sun.
[Remnant System online.][Primary Objectives: Survive. Grow. Break the Chains.]
Break the chains…
Aelric's lips curled, breath steaming in the frigid air. He liked the sound of that.
A sharp crack—a twig snapping—pulled his attention to the treeline.
Three figures emerged from the underbrush, wrapped in furs and leather, crossbows and spears at the ready. Their eyes—hard, hungry—raked over him.
Bandits.
One of them, a scruffy man with a notched blade and missing teeth, sneered.
"Well, well… fresh meat," the man chuckled, stepping closer. "Little lost lamb in the borderwoods. Ain't your lucky day, boy."
Aelric's heart hammered in his chest. Weak. Frail. Barely a weapon at his disposal.
But inside… a quiet, simmering fire flickered to life. He wasn't the same fool who died begging for help.
No gods. No fate. Just him.
Eighteen percent survival… guess I better make it count.
...
Three bandits.
One frail body.No weapons.No gods to save him.
Aelric's breath steamed in the cold as his eyes flicked between them, cataloguing details — habits burned into him by years of being powerless, by watching predators stalk prey.
The leader — notched blade, confident stance, lazy cruelty in his eyes. Probably the mouth, not the brain.Second one — crossbowman, wiry, sharp-eyed. He'd kill first if a fight broke out.Third — young, nervous, spear too long for the woods. The weak link.
His muscles ached, his head swam, but his mind was clear. The Remnant System's faint runes hovered in his periphery, offering little — no flashy abilities, no overwhelming strength.
[System Functions: Basic Interface | Stat Analysis | Fragmented Skill Integration (Locked)]
Useless… for now.
The bandits advanced, crunching snow underfoot.
"Poor thing can't even stand proper," the leader sneered. "Probably a runaway from the villages. Maybe we skin him for his boots."
The nervous one hesitated. "Should… should we even bother? Look at 'im—he'll drop dead from the cold."
Aelric forced a shiver, let his lips quiver — let them see weakness.
Bait the fool. Always bait the fool.
He collapsed onto one knee, coughing into his hand.
The leader chuckled. "See? Easy."
The young spearman stepped closer, emboldened by weakness.
Aelric's eyes flicked to the ground — a jagged rock half-buried in snow, arm's reach away.
Risky. But better odds than nothing.
As the spear's tip jabbed toward him, Aelric lunged—not for the spear, but for the rock.
His fingers closed around the cold, rough stone, and in one fluid, desperate motion, he slammed it into the boy's knee.
Crack.
The young man screamed, collapsing. The spear clattered to the ground.
Aelric didn't hesitate. He grabbed the shaft, twisted, and drove the butt-end into the boy's throat. The scream cut off in a gurgle as the spearman wheezed and curled into the snow.
The leader's expression darkened. "Little bastard—!"
The crossbow clicked—loaded, ready.
Too slow.
Aelric hurled the spear—not at the leader, but at the crossbowman's legs.
The throw was weak, clumsy—but enough.
The spear tangled in the man's boots. He stumbled, misfired. The bolt thunked harmlessly into a tree.
Aelric surged forward, snatching the fallen spear mid-run. His body screamed in protest—lungs burning, vision tunneling—but adrenaline drowned it all.
The leader swung his notched blade, wild and sloppy with rage.
Aelric ducked low, rammed the spear butt into the man's gut, and pivoted behind him, yanking the shaft across the thug's throat.
Leverage. Precision. Ruthless.
The leader thrashed, gasping.
Aelric squeezed.
It wasn't strength. It was position. Technique. And a complete absence of mercy.
Moments later, the leader's body went limp.
The crossbowman cursed, scrambling to reload.
Too late.
Aelric closed the distance, swinging the spear's cracked shaft into the man's temple. He dropped like a stone.
Silence reclaimed the forest.
Aelric stood there, panting, every limb shaking, the bitter cold gnawing at his skin.
Three corpses—or close enough to it—surrounded him.
[Survival Probability: Recalculated — 22%.][First Kill Achieved.][System Fragment Integration Unlocked: Basic Resource Analysis.]
Runes flickered again, sharper this time. A faint overlay settled over his vision, highlighting the fallen bandits with small, floating symbols.
[Lootable: Crossbow | Notched Iron Blade | Tattered Furs | Coin Pouch: 4 Silver, 9 Copper | Minor Provisions.]
Aelric allowed himself a breath—a real one.
Weak? Yes. Frail? For now.
But he was breathing. Alive.
And he'd shown himself something more valuable than power:
He would not hesitate.
Not anymore.
Minutes Later
Wrapped in stolen furs, blade at his side, and provisions slung over his shoulder, Aelric trudged through the snow.
Ahead, the forest thinned. Smoke curled into the sky.
A settlement. Small, rough, but alive.
Veyndale, if the System's information held true.
A nowhere border town. Forgotten by kings, ignored by gods.
Perfect.
Aelric's lips curled, eyes narrowing with cold determination.
Let them forget me. Let them all turn their backs.
He would build from nothing. Grow. Adapt. Break the chains.
The gods abandoned him once.
This time?
He would never need them.