Author

GloryOfPride

Co-author

Rax

Credit to

W.YK for taking part as Drake, Favos In Shadow

A.C.N for taking part as James, Lighting Carnival

K.H.K for taking part as The Great Plotter

L.Y.C.M for taking part as

S.Y.H for taking part as

Arc 1:The Early Age

Chapter 1:The beginning
My name is Kozuki, and I’ll admit it—I’m the kind
of guy who’d rather binge anime than brave the
sunlight. But even a certified hermit has to eat.
Hunger finally dragged me out of my apartment
that day, my stomach growling louder than the
final boss of a shounen arc. The fluorescent
lights of the 11/7 buzzed overhead, casting a
sterile glow over rows of instant ramen and
energy drinks. I’d just grabbed a basket when
the door slammed open.
“EVERYONE GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!”
The voice didn’t sound human. It was metallic,
distorted—like a villain’s dialogue filtered
through a voice changer. Four figures in ski
masks stormed in, gloved hands clutching
pistols. Time froze. My knees hit the linoleum as
two robbers swept their muzzles across the
room, while the others ransacked the registers.
Coins clattered, shelves emptied, and the air
reeked of sweat and gun oil.
They were almost out. Almost.
Then it happened.
The old security guard—a shriveled guy who’d
probably never thrown a punch in his life—
lurched forward like a background character
charging into a plot twist. He collided with the
nearest robber, sending the man’s mask
skidding across the floor.
“This old son of a bitch—!”
The robber’s face was… ordinary. Soft cheeks, a
mole above his brow. Forgettable. That’s what
made it worse.
The gunstock cracked against the guard’s skull.
A wet thud. Then gunfire erupted.
“They saw my face,” the unmasked robber
muttered, almost apologetic. “Didn’t wanna do
this, but… kill ’em all.”
Chaos. Screams. Bodies dropped like NPCs in a
cutscene. I scrambled for the door, but a rifle
butt smashed into my ribs. The last thing I saw
was the barrel’s black eye staring me down.
*Bang*.
Darkness clung to me like a second skin. No
sound, no gravity—just the hollow absence of
everything. Am I dead? The thought didn’t panic
me. After years of devouring isekai tropes,
floating in a void felt… familiar. Like the pre-title
screen of a new RPG.
Then, after an eternity (or ten seconds—time’s a
prankster here), her voice cut through the
silence.

“You are qualified.”

It wasn’t booming or ethereal. Just… kind. The
way a grandma might say, “You’ve passed the
exam.” A golden light erupted, burning away the
void, and there she stood.

The goddess looked like a Studio Ghibli heroine

aged into wisdom. Wrinkles framed her eyes like
sunbeam cracks, and her gold hair cascaded
down in braids woven with starlight. Her staff—
tall as she was—thrummed with constellations
trapped in its crystal. But her eyes… they were
Arctic blue, the kind that’d freeze your secrets
solid.
My chest tightened. This is it. The Truck-kun
payoff.
“Am I getting isekai’d?” I blurted, louder than
intended. “Hell yes! Do I get cheat skills? A
harem? I’ve been ready since middle school—”
She raised a hand, and my voice died mid-
fangasm.

“You are summoned to balance the universe,”

she said, her tone smooth but edged with
fatigue, like she’d given this speech a thousand
times. “The previous God of Death… retired
abruptly. You will inherit their duties.”
“Duties? Like grim reaper stuff? Cool. Do I get a
scythe? A sweet cloak?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. “You’re
*direct*, aren’t you? No. You’ll guide souls to
their final rest and… *correct* imbalances.” She
paused, studying me. “But you’re unprepared.
Unworthy.”
“Hey!”
“So you’ll start from zero.” She snapped her
fingers.
A sword materialized—not in a flashy burst, but
like it had always been there, waiting for me to
notice. Its scabbard was obsidian edged in gold
filigree, and a blood-red gem glowed where
blade met hilt. The moment I touched it, the air
hummed with a low, hungry frequency.
“The ‘Sword of Absolute Death’ ” she said. “Its
power is limitless—theoretically. But to you, right
now? Well It’s probably a fancy paperweight.”
I unsheathed it. The blade wasn’t metal. It was
void—a shard of the abyss I’d floated in
moments ago, devouring the light around it.
“What’s it made of?” I whispered.

I was still marveling at the sword’s otherworldly

craftsmanship—the way the gemstone caught
the light like a crystallized drop of blood, the
obsidian scabbard cold and flawless as a black
hole—when her voice sliced through my awe.

“Have you finished inspecting it?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” I said, running a thumb over

the gem’s unnervingly warm surface. “So how do
I use it? Secret command? Blood ritual? Do I yell
‘bankai’ or something—”
“Figure it out yourself,” the goddess muttered,
too quiet for mortal ears. Probably.
“Pardon?”
She cleared her throat, suddenly regal again. “It
is… your duty to uncover its secrets.
Procrastinate no longer. Your path awaits.”

Before I could protest, darkness swallowed me

whole. When light returned, it wasn’t the void’s
gold—this was green, dappled, alive. Sunlight
filtered through a canopy of leaves wider than
subway umbrellas, and the air smelled of damp
moss and something sweetly floral. A normal
forest? Sure, if normal forests had trees with
bark that shimmered like fish scales.
“May you have the best of luck,” echoed the
goddess’s voice, a chuckle clinging to the words
like static.
I stared at the sword. The sword stared back,
metaphorically.

“YOU OLD HAG!” I roared, voice scattering a

flock of neon-blue birds. “I WAS PROMISED
OVERPOWERED ABILITIES, NOT A GLORIFIED
LETTER OPENER!”
Silence. Not even the insects hummed.
Grumbling, I slumped against a tree. Okay. Fine.
So the goddess dumped me here with zero
tutorial—classic hard-mode isekai. I unsheathed
the blade again. The void-metal didn’t reflect
anything. Not the sunlight, not my face. It just…
ate.

“Alright, Sword-sensei,” I said. “If you’re so

‘absolute,’ show me a sign. A spark? A creepy
whisper? Anything.”
Nothing.
The forest seemed normal enough—rustling
leaves, chirping insects, sunlight pooling in
dappled patches on the mossy ground. *Too*
normal. Like the devs forgot to texture the boss
arena.
I’d barely taken ten steps when a sound froze me
mid-stride: a low, wet *crunch*, like a tree being
uprooted by something with too many teeth.
“What the hell was that?” I whispered, pivoting
toward the noise.
The underbrush exploded.
A lizard the size of a subway train lunged into
the clearing, its scales glistening like oil-slicked
armor. Fifteen meters of claws, fangs, and eyes
that burned like dying suns. It didn’t roar. It
*hissed*, a sound that vibrated in my molars.
For a heartbeat, I stood paralyzed. Then survival
instinct kicked in.
“OH SHIT, RUN!”
I bolted, sneakers skidding on damp leaves. The
ground trembled as the beast charged, its breath
hot on my neck.
“Why’d you drop me in a monster-infested
hellforest?!” I screamed at the sky, half-
expecting the goddess to laugh.

Something moved above me. A shadow dropped

from the trees—a mountain of a man, bare-
handed, landing like a meteor. He caught the
lizard’s jaw mid-lunge, muscles straining as he
forced its snapping maw shut.
“Leader, now!” he grunted.
A second man leapt down, sword raised. The
blade glowed crimson as he drove it into the
lizard’s eye. “Burn,” he muttered.
Fire erupted. Not ordinary flames—this was liquid
hellfire, devouring the beast in seconds. It
writhed, screeching, but the first man held firm,
his boots carving trenches in the soil.
When the flames died, the lizard collapsed,
charred and twitching.
Two more figures emerged from the trees: a
spearman with a scarred grin and a woman
twirling a staff etched with glowing runes.