Chapter 0: The Beginning of the Reincarnator
I am twenty-four years old. My name is Amorn Tree, a simple adventurer—and a reincarnator.
I have no clear memory of why I was reborn into this world. In my previous life, I was just a retired soldier, discharged at the age of seventy-nine, and died alone of old age. Then I opened my eyes and found myself in the body of an infant—strangely, lying in a basket abandoned in the middle of a forest!
"How cruel," a voice muttered. "What must one's heart be made of to leave a newborn out here, in the wilderness?"
I turned to see an old woman dressed in tattered, antique clothes—like something out of a period film. She scooped me up and took me home, giving me the name
"Amorn Tree."
Her little house in the woods was surprisingly clean. My gaze, however, fell on a row of glass bottles filled with brightly colored liquids, each neatly labeled. I couldn't read the writing.
"Here, baby, drink this."
She pressed a bottle of milk to my lips. I sucked at it reflexively.
"Ugh," I thought. "Can this even be called milk? It only faintly resembles it—and tastes awful!"
I realized then: this would be my life for the foreseeable future…
---
Eight years passed since she found me.
I must have been around eight or nine years old. Every day, I lived with that old woman, and she taught me countless things about this world—its language, how to brew simple remedies, where to find forest herbs.
"Amorn, come help me carry these to burn."
"All right, Grandma. You sit; I'll take care of it."
She settled into a chair, then frowned as she watched me work.
"You're not like other children your age," she said.
"Really?"
"When we go to the town, you never show interest in toys or sweets like other kids, and your words feel so…cold."
That made sense—I still remembered everything from my past life. I said nothing and kept hauling the crates.
"You're so distant," she sighed. "Even the one who raised you."
In my previous life, at my age, I was toothless and feeble—and no one complained like this! I bristled.
"It's been a long time," I said. "You've never told me your name."
The old woman gave a soft smile.
"Then call me Mother. I've searched and struggled to feed you—my efforts are beyond measure!"
Her comparison stung a bit.
"I suppose…," I answered. "But calling you 'Mother' feels strange."
She laughed.
"You talk back! Now hurry and finish—if we dawdle, the sun will set."
"All right, all right."
She closed her eyes and leaned back, enjoying the breeze. Then a cough wracked her frail frame.
Hack!
I dropped the box and rushed over.
"Are you all right? I'll bring you more medicine."
"I've taken what I have," she rasped. "But it's almost gone. Tomorrow, you must come to the town with me and buy more."
"Why don't you make it yourself, as you used to?"
"I'm too old now. I can't forage for ingredients anymore."
"Let me go for you," I offered.
"No, you'll get lost," she chided.
"I've lived in these woods for years—I won't lose my way."
"Don't argue; I've been alive longer than you."
Her old trick.
"Fine," I muttered, and returned to my task.
---
The next morning, I awoke early to make breakfast—but something felt wrong. Mother was already sitting in her chair, staring at the table, unmoving.
"Mother? Are you awake?" I called softly.
She didn't answer. As I drew closer, my heart froze.
She wasn't breathing.
She had been taking her medicine regularly—at increasingly large doses—ever since I arrived. I knew this day would come, just as it had come for me in my past life.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. The pain of losing the one who raised me from infancy was unbearable.
After I buried her, I returned to the house and began to search for clues. That's when I noticed a sheet of paper on the table, covered in writing.
"A deathbed will?" I whispered, smiling through my tears, and began to read.
> "You must be surprised to wake up to this. You might think, 'How odd that I woke before her today!' Ha ha."
Mother's humor still shone through even in her final words.
> "Now, listen carefully. In the second drawer of my desk you will find a letter. When you turn eleven, deliver it to the 'Starmanus Academy' in town. It's a school of magic and swordcraft. Simply give it to the headmaster, and you'll be admitted without examination."
Magic and swordcraft? Does magic fire as fast as a bullet? I'd love to see it…
> "Try your best.
From: Chloe Luna."
Chloe Luna. The name made me ache.
Two years later, I turned eleven. I took the letter to Starmanus Academy. Of course, I faced many challenges—entering without tests, meeting all kinds of people, both good and bad. But life is that way, and I had to prove myself by any means necessary.
And so, the journey began…
---
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