1: Chapter 1 Four Lives, Four Worlds_1 1: Chapter 1 Four Lives, Four Worlds_1 “Who am I?”
“Where am I?”
“What am I doing?”
Young Master Gaven, who had just opened his eyes, wore a blank expression.
His mind was void, and the scene in front of him was utterly unfamiliar, yet tinged with a hint of familiarity.
The next second, a flood of mories—of past and present lives—surged forth like a tide.
Zhang You, Gaven.
These two nas tangled in his mind, like a chaotic ss of yarn, indistinguishable from one another.
In trendy terms, he was a ti-traveler.
Having lived an ordinary twenty-five years on Earth, he had, on a whim, attempted a daring hero’s rescue, seeking a bit of glory.
But not only did he fail to win the beauty, he was instead stabbed to death by a few teenagers with knives.
Then he crossed over to Felen, into the body of Gaven.
It was a start straight from hell; at that ti, Gaven had been sched against by his own brother and had beco a slave of the Santarin Association.
Leveraging the advantages of a ti-traveler, he overca myriad hardships and grew into a Legendary Warrior, ready to achieve great things—when the Arcane Catastrophe, unleashed by the strife of the gods, struck.
The collapsing Magic Network shattered the skies, rent the earth, and obliterated all that Gaven knew and loved.
From that mont, Gaven decided to gamble everything to prevent this calamity.
For this, he was willing to devise a rebirth plan, convincing the Moon Goddess Suren to lend him the High-grade Divine Artifact, the Tears of Sulun, in an attempt to activate the Star Moon Gate and start its ti-travel capability to return to the mont he arrived in this world.
It was unclear whether this traversal of ti exceeded the capabilities of the Star Moon Gate, or if his origins were too unique.
The Star Moon Gate exploded on the spot, utterly disrupting the flow of ti.
His Soul Consciousness wasn’t transported to Gaven’s youthful body, but rather back to his middle school days as Zhang You.
As a protective asure, the Tears of Sulun sealed away his overpoweringly strong soul, including most of his mories.
Even with his primary consciousness in a dormant state, the impact on his personality was significant.
He remained firm in his belief that this world contained Magic and wondrous powers, and that his self-taught fighting skills were proof of this.
Eventually, he beca obsessed with Psychic Power, teaching himself Psychic Control and Psychic Blast.
Unfortunately, these talents awakened the dormant soul of the Legendary Warrior, exceeding the body’s capacity—after all, in that world, there was no Magic Power to reinforce the body with Harmony.
In the end, he succeeded—succeeded in performing a Psychic Blast that shook himself to death.
The Tears of Sulun, a High-Order Artifact of the Moon Goddess, adjusted itself after such a significant deviation, restoring order from chaos and pulling his soul back to Felen, returning it to Gaven’s body.
But it was unclear which year it was now.
“Nort Knight Cavalry!
Follow into battle!” A spirited female voice pierced the sky, followed swiftly by the sound of thunderous galloping.
Gaven quickly rolled over and climbed to his feet, crouched at the top of the city wall, and saw a valiant figure, not her face, only her back, armored and with fiery red hair simply tied by a blue ribbon into a butterfly knot.
She led twelve Cavalry in a V-formation, charging fiercely toward three distant catapults.
Gaven’s earlier questions were now answered.
It was the Year of the Giant Serpent, the eighth day of the second ten days of deep winter.
In terms of Felen’s terminology—translated to Earth’s terms—it was January 18th, 1359, by the Valley Calendar.
The timing was neither good nor bad.
It was good compared to the last ti he had been sold as a slave to the Santarin Association.
The bad part, of course, was compared to going back to his mother’s womb or a toddler’s age.
If he had returned to that ti, he would have had much more ti on his hands.
As Gaven was sorting out the tiline, the battlefield outside the city saw a new developnt.
Hundreds of small creatures, half the height of an adult, rose from the ground, chaotically rushing towards the Nort Castle gates.
These sharp-nosed, large-nosed creatures with red eyes were called Goblins, known as little fools—they were the most nurous and most annoying creatures in Felen.
They were selfish and vile, capable of reproduction and infesting every corner.
It was an open conspiracy by the Goblin Tribe.
While the Nort Castle Cavalry Squad was striking out, attempting to destroy their siege equipnt, they took the chance to seize the gate.
With the Goblins’ stupid little brains, they couldn’t devise such a complex tactic—this was orchestrated by the Hobgoblin Chief behind them.
As Gaven ran towards the city gate, he checked his physical condition.
A catapult stone had just landed not far from him, and a piece of shrapnel heading his way was t by a wooden shield, which knocked him down and slamd him against the city wall, knocking him unconscious.
Aside from a slight concussion in his head, the most severe injury was to his left arm, which held the shield—likely a broken bone that hurt every ti he moved.
The wooden shield had flown off sowhere.
He felt around his waist, where his Combat Belt was stuffed full.
He had at least three bottles of Healing Potion for minor injuries, which comforted him.
Taking out a bottle, he drank it down, and imdiately, his wounds felt much better.
At least the piercing pain was gone, leaving only a tingling sensation—such were the wonders of Felen’s Healing Potions, not exactly a cure, but at least offering considerable on-the-spot relief.
He quickly wrapped and secured his broken arm with a long piece of cloth, grabbed a wooden shield, and strapped it to his left arm.
An abandoned hand axe.
A carelessly discarded Long Spear.
A Sharp Pig Slaughtering Knife.
Gaven ard himself with all of them in passing.
By the ti he reached the city gate, he was ard to the teeth.
And there, a Nort Militia was lined up, ready for battle.
Everyone who saw the leader couldn’t help but silently praise his formidable stature.
Gaven, now sixteen, stood at 1.7 ters, exceptional among peers.
But in the presence of the other, he was undoubtedly diminutive, barely reaching his chest and having to crane his neck to look up.
“Young Master Gaven, why have you co down?
Quickly, go back to the city wall—the Goblins will be upon us any mont.”
The fully armored figure added to his impression of solidity, making him seem like a mountain, though when he spoke, it gave off a jarringly earth-shattering tone.
Because it was her, and not him, the voice was just as crisp as that of an oriole.
If one were to only hear the voice, they might assu it was a girl of seventeen or eighteen.
Yet Gaven was accustod to this because he knew full well that not only did she have the voice of a young girl, she looked the part too—more delicate than most and with even more perfect features.
An internet term used to describe her couldn’t be more fitting—Vajra Barbie.
“Don’t forget, I’m a mber of the Nort Militia too!” Gaven exclaid passionately, looking every bit the inspired and fervent youth.
But with a shield in one hand and a long spear in the other, he adopted a stance that couldn’t be more quintessential of preparation to et the charge.
The people around him automatically made space for him.
Just because he was the first in line to inherit this castle, the current owner of Nort Castle, Rogan Nort, was his half-brother from the sa father.
Vajra Barbie Nola had no ti to concern herself with Gaven because the Goblins were almost upon them, clenched giant battle axes in their grasp, taking up a posture to receive a charge as well, and she shouted high, “Don’t be scared, everyone.
These are just so dumb Goblins, and we just need to keep jabbing like we do in training.”
Amidst a cacophony of clamor, those little green-skinned creatures surged through the wide-open gates.
When outnumbered, Goblins were notoriously cowardly, a little intimidation and they’d turn tail and flee.
But when they had sheer numbers on their side, they were infamous for their ferocity, willing to throw themselves at enemies several tis their size without hesitation.
The current situation was the latter.
Behind the castle gates, only a dozen or so militia stood, but outside was a crushing crowd, packing the entire gate to the brim.
“Loose arrows.”
Three or four dozen Nort Militia rose to their feet on the battlents, raining volleys of arrows down.
The Goblins hemd outside the gates beca living targets, with a good dozen or more falling instantly.
The Goblins behind them, heedless, continued their advance, trampling over their fallen brethren; the ones not yet dead would probably not survive under the relentless stomping of heavy feet.
“Raise shields, jab spears.”
Following the command, the Nort Militia at the gate sprang into action, including Gaven.
At this mont, he was neither a Legendary Warrior nor a world fighting champion but simply a mber of the Nort Militia, doing his job.
“Pull back your spears, and stab again.”
The militia hiding behind their shields couldn’t see their targets; they rely followed the command, repetitively pulling back their spears and jabbing forward.
Compared to a regular Nort Militiaman, Gaven had an additional twist before pulling back his spear.
It seed like an inconsequential action, but it was deceptive in its complexity.
It not only inflicted a rending damage to the target but also made it easier to withdraw the spear.
The Goblins pouring into the gate were pushed towards the center, where Nola stood.
At least two body widths cleared on either side of this Vajra Barbie, she appeared to create a narrow entrance.
But when the Goblins charged close, they realized they had made a fatal mistake.
This was indeed the site’s deadliest killer; when her giant axe swung into action, even the Nort Militia beside her were terrified.
The Goblins could be bundled two or three together, and still wouldn’t match a single blow of her axe.
Vajra Barbie’s agility also far surpassed the Goblins’ expectations.
Several that tried to slip by her got a swift kick for their troubles, flying back into their companions, all collapsing and struggling to stand.
Those treated like soccer balls t with instant death.
Hundreds of Goblins simply couldn’t break through the defense of a dozen or so Nort Militia.
The Militia archers on the towers sent arrows flying down as fast as possible, maximizing the carnage.
Eliminating this wave of Goblins was only a matter of ti.
Wuu wuu wu!!
With a series of resounding wolf howls,
two or three dozen wild wolves leapt out from the Goblin troops.
They had been crouching low, mixing in with the rest, using the Goblins as shields, only revealing themselves near the Militia lines to launch their attack.
Leveraging their impressive leaping ability, they bounded clear over the Militia’s heads and attacked from behind.
Goblins were renowned for their wolf-taming, an innate talent they possessed.
All kinds of Wolf Class beasts would hunt with them, so even serving as mounts, forming the formidable Goblin Wolf Cavalry.
Faced with enemies from behind, the previously disciplined Militia lines quickly devolved into chaos.
So continued to confront the Goblins while others turned to deal with the wolves.
The mont the wolf howls rang out, Gaven had cocked his spear at an angle.
A wild wolf happened to pick him as a leapfrog target.
Tragedy struck.
The wolf used its montum in a jump to impale itself, gut ripped open upon impact.
Rancid blood splattered all over Gaven.
Undeterred, Gaven dropped the spear, drew his sword, and with a swift motion, struck down toward his ankle.
Before the blade fully descended, a massive head lunged forth, its jaws agape, clearly intent on clamping down on Gaven’s ankle and pulling him down.
But its move was anticipated, thus it t the sa fate as its brethren.
Half its head was chopped off by the sword, dying instantly.
A swift sidestep followed, and Gaven’s right leg shot out like lightning.
A wolf that had just gripped an ankle and was about to exert force yelped, released its bite, and collapsed, unable to move.
Gaven’s kick was no trivial matter; he aid right for the wolf’s most vulnerable spot, its spine, shattering it with his kick.
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