The World I Wanted (世界が欲しかったもの / Sekai ga Hoshikatta Mono)

Morning sunlight slipped through the gaps of a crooked wooden shack. Dust drifted in the beams like glitter caught in slow motion. A small chicken stood on Hajime’s chest, puffed, proud, its claws digging through the thin blanket.

“Yama... It’s too early,” Hajime mumbled, eyes half-open.

The chicken blinked. “Cluck.”

He groaned, sat up, and ran a hand through the chaos that was his hair. Amber strands caught the light, his face a mix of exhaustion and amusement.

Outside, the morning air was cold. Hajime splashed water over his face from the barrel and sighed. Eisenwald always smelled of woodsmoke and bread dough at dawn.

He grinned, hefted a hay bale with one arm, and tossed it onto the cart like it weighed nothing.

Children laughed in the fields. One threw a pebble; another jumped on his back. He carried them both without breaking stride, laughing until they all tumbled into the grass. Life here in Eisenwald was small, peaceful, perfectly ordinary. Hajime loved it that way.

Later, while chopping wood, the old widow from next door hobbled over with tea.
“You remind me so much of your mother,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “Yeah… I miss her, too.”

She swatted the back of his head with her cane. “Then get back to work before she haunts you.”

He laughed, and for a moment, the world felt like it would never change.

That evening, Hajime walked to the hill behind the village. A lone grave rested under the tallest oak, marked by a rough wooden plank: Mom.
He knelt, laid a wilted flower on the earth, and watched the sun melt behind the hills.

One day, he thought, I’ll build a world without borders or tyrants—a world where people can… live freely.

The wind whispered through the grass.

Hajime was back at work before sunrise. His shirt hung loose over his shoulders, skin glistening with sweat as he split logs in a steady rhythm. The sound of the axe echoed softly between cottages.

He paused, squinting at the forest’s edge. Maybe today would finally be quiet.

A bee drifted past his face. Its wings buzzed once, then shot off into the trees.
The animals felt it first.

A flock of birds burst from the treeline, wings flashing white against the sky.
Goats bleated wildly, smashing their horns against the fence. Even Yama scrambled under a trough.

Hajime frowned. “What’s gotten into you all—”

A hunter stumbled from the woods, bleeding, clutching his ribs.
“Raiders… in black armor. Not from any faction I’ve seen. They have to be with the Thorned Pact (蒼嘆盟約 / Sōndan Meiyaku).”

The elder’s face went pale. “The Pale Requiem’s military leaders?”

The hunter nodded, trembling. “I saw their leader. A man… swallowed a wolf whole. No blood. Just the sound of chewing and laughter.”

The crowd fell silent.
One name left the elder’s lips like a curse. “Dreadbane (ドレッドベイン).”

Hoofbeats thundered down the road.

From the forest’s shadow emerged four riders clad in black-red armor, their leader towering above them. His helm was carved like a horned insect, eyes glowing ember-green.

“Eisenwald,” he said, voice distorted through steel. “The Council of Wretched demands tribute. Your grain, your tools, or your lives. Whichever’s worth more.”

Dreadbane stepped forward, lifted a berry from a basket, examined it, and crushed it beneath his boot. “This is what you think of us?”

A boy shouted, voice cracking. “That was ours!”

Dreadbane turned slowly. “Learn your place, boy.”

Emerald flame erupted from his palm. The hay cart ignited; screams filled the air.
Fire climbed the houses. Chickens scattered.

Hajime’s instincts roared. He shoved two children behind him. “Run!”

He snatched a shovel from the dirt and charged, aura already stirring. Gold-silver sparks flickered faintly along his arms, traces of Seiki (聖気), the life-energy every being carried.

He swung. Metal rang. The shovel cracked against Dreadbane’s helm.
The warlord barely flinched.

“A human without a Will (意志 / Ishi) dares to strike me?” Dreadbane laughed, low and hollow. “I admire that foolishness.”

He grabbed Hajime by the throat and slammed him into the ground. The dirt split beneath him.
Hajime coughed up blood, gasping.

“You should’ve stayed quiet, boy.”

Green fire spread across Dreadbane’s gauntlet and into Hajime’s skin. The air shimmered with heat.
Pain tore through him, but rage burned hotter.

“Get… out of our village!” Hajime shouted and drove his forehead into the monster’s mask.

Almost instantaneously, a blade of shadow pierced his stomach. Heat vanished. Sound vanished. Everything fell away.

White.
Weightless.
Silent.

A figure stood before him. Barefoot, luminous, clothed only in a woven leaf at his waist. His eyes were ancient and kind.

“I am the beginning of mankind,” the stranger said. “You can call me Adam (アダム).”

Hajime blinked, trembling. “Am I dead…?”

Adam shook his head softly. “Not yet. But your soul is ready to reignite.”

He placed a glowing hand on Hajime’s chest.
Golden-white vines spiraled across Hajime’s body. His heart burned, not in agony, but recognition.

“We share the same Will (意志 / Ishi)—the Will of Man (人の意志 / Hito no Ishi).”

Tears blurred Hajime’s vision. “Then help me create a world without misery.”

Adam smiled. “Arise, and carry out our Will.”

Light consumed him.

The ground was cold when Hajime opened his eyes.
Ash drifted from the sky. Eisenwald was gone.
The green flames recoiled from him now, bending away like mist before the wind.

Dreadbane and his men were long gone.

Hajime staggered to his feet, one hand pressed to his chest.
The faint glow of Seiki (聖気) pulsed beneath his skin.

He looked toward the burning horizon, grateful to somehow still be alive.
“I won’t let this second chance go to waste.”

The first spark of the Will of Man (人の意志 / Hito no Ishi) had awakened.