Chapter 0:


Rebirth of the mighty overlord

The desolate field lay painted in a deep shade of crimson, the dried blood staining the earth. A gruesome tableau unfolded—a battlefield strewn with severed limbs, blood-soaked torsos, and other remnants of carnage.

Atop a mound of human corpses stood a young man, his inhuman allure unmistakable. In his early twenties, he possessed long, silky black hair that fluttered gracefully behind him. His blood-red eyes bore into the enemy ranks, indifference etched on his face.

Gripping a long silver sword, its blade freshly coated in blood, he moved with lethal grace. The sword blurred as he slashed, decapitating foes faster than mortal eyes could follow.



"Damn it!"

Their heads flew, silver flashes against the night. Ellard, the battlefield's feared "Overlord," showed no mercy. Even mages attempting spells met swift ends—no chance to chant before their heads rolled.

Ellard's red pupils glinted coldly, his black robe billowing in the wind. Remarkably, not a speck of blood marred the fabric; it seemed to glow faintly, almost alive.

A bulky man, golden-haired and spear-wielding, lunged at Ellard. But Ellard planted his sword in the ground, defying gravity. He kicked the bulky man, then thrust his sword through abdomen and back, blood tracing its path.


The bulky man fell, but more enemies charged. Ellard's relentless slaughter continued. Their numbers hadn't dwindled despite a full day of battle.

"If death is your desire, death you shall have!"

Ellard's voice held no emotion as he closed in on the next foe.

From a hilltop, a handsome man with short white hair observed. Amusement danced in his eyes as he watched allies fall without resistance.

"Interesting. No wonder she fears him—the 'Overlord,' ruler of this blood-soaked domain."

Beside him stood a young man with short black hair, wind tousling it.

"Lord Arlo, permit me to face him," the black-haired man requested.

Arlos regarded him. "Honestly, I doubt even you can match him. He bears the goddess's blessing, operating on a different plane. But for her sake, we must try."

"You doubt my strength?!" The black-haired man's voice brimmed with displeasure.

"No, not your strength. But victory remains uncertain. We can't risk anything less than guaranteed success," Arlos soothed, as if calming a child.

The tension hung heavy in the air, like a storm gathering its strength before unleashing its fury. The black-haired young man, Ellard, stood defiantly, his knuckles white from clenched fists. Arlos, the enigmatic figure before him, exuded an air of calculated calmness.

"Relax," Arlos said, his voice a soothing counterpoint to the chaos around them. "There is no point in you joining the battle right now. I'm almost done sealing off the space here. It would be troublesome if he decided to move through space to escape."

As Arlos spoke, the very fabric of reality distorted, and a hidden magic formation revealed itself. The space within a thousand kilometers was sealed off, a formidable barrier woven from spatial magic.

"All done," Arlos declared, a smirk playing on his lips. "Now to get rid of him completely."

"But, even with a number like that, he can still hold his own," the black-haired young man retorted.

"Heh! We are not the ones who are going to kill him," Arlos replied. "Our job is to hold him back until that woman arrives."

Arlos's thoughts echoed in the silence. The blessings of a goddess had limits, and Ellard's fate hung in the balance. The moonlit sky bore witness as Arlos raised his magic staff, its orb glowing subtly.

"Raining lights!" he intoned.

From above, light cascaded down like celestial tears. Ellard, instincts honed by battle, shifted to avoid the onslaught. The ground trembled as each light bullet struck, leaving dust and destruction in its wake. Ellard's body absorbed the impact, blood trickling from his lips.

'In the end, it comes to this… Don't blame me for being cruel! You were the ones who brought this on yourselves!' Ellard's thoughts seethed, his sword flickering with suppressed power.

But then, a new threat emerged—a magic formation beneath his feet, spanning fifty meters in diameter.

"Ruler of battlefields!" A melodious voice cut through the chaos. A spatial rift opened, revealing a stunning woman with red hair and golden eyes. Her black gown clung to her curves, and her lips held a hint of danger. "You must die not for this world but for my own sake."

"Goddess of death," Ellard spat. "You orchestrated this plan!"

The goddess's cold laughter echoed. "Blame her for giving you her blessing. She got you caught up in the battle between us sisters. If you had stayed human, your life would have lasted longer."

"Shut up!" Ellard's rage surged. "Are you so scared of me that you had to use such dirty tricks? So much for being a proud goddess—you disgust me!"

His blood reaper sword pulsed, its power yearning for release. The battlefield trembled, gods and mortals entwined in a deadly dance. And amidst it all, Ellard's fate hung by a thread, woven by cosmic forces beyond his control.

The cosmic tapestry wove its threads, and Ellard stood at the precipice of fate. His mind raced, seeking an escape from the inexorable grip closing around him. But the walls of reality were unyielding, and despair settled like a shroud.

[… I'm sorry.] The voice echoed within Ellard's consciousness—a whisper of sorrow and regret. He knew its origin well, for it belonged to the very blade he clutched—the blood reaper sword, a weapon forged from the very depths of his soul.

The goddess of death, her golden eyes narrowed, observed Ellard's desperate glance at the sword. "You recognize this spell, don't you?" she taunted. "I'm sending you to the deepest part of the underworld! Farewell, strongest knight of that worthless goddess!"

With a snap of her fingers, Ellard disintegrated, his form dissolving into dust. The battlefield held its breath, and the goddess reveled in her victory.

"Sigh!" she murmured. "Thank goodness I arrived in time. Had I been too late, the outcome might have differed."

Ellard, once the feared Overlord and the goddess of vitality's champion, was no more. The cosmic balance shifted, and the goddess's lips curved in anticipation.

"Things will be quite interesting," she mused. "When that woman learns her strongest knight has fallen."

And in the celestial dance of gods and mortals, destiny spun its threads, weaving a tale of power, betrayal, and cosmic reckoning.