NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Paul woke with a pounding headache. The mattress he slept on was hard, and the air in his small Brooklyn apartment was thick with the smell of the city: a combination of pollution, street food, and poverty. At 22, Paul had never known stability or security. Orphaned since birth, he had bounced between foster homes and the streets, quickly learning that life was not kind to the weak.
He glanced at the cracked clock on the wall. 7:00 a.m. He had to get up for his job as a dishwasher at a seedy local restaurant, but he didn't feel like it. The pay was meager, the boss a tyrant, and the customers rarely friendly. But Paul didn't have the luxury of being picky. Every dollar he earned was another dollar toward survival.
As he walked down the dilapidated stairs of his apartment building, he passed his neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, a Vietnam War veteran, a frail old man with straggly white hair, who called out to him.
"Paul, you should be careful who you keep," he said gravely. "These guys you're seeing will only bring you trouble."
Paul smiled bitterly. "Thanks for the advice, Mr. Jenkins. But sometimes you don't get to choose your friends."
He stepped out into the street, where the sound of horns and the shouts of street vendors created a familiar cacophony. His steps inevitably led him to the restaurant, where he immediately fell into the monotonous routine of dirty plates and incessant reprimands.
At the end of his shift, exhausted and with scraped hands, he was greeted by a group of men in an adjacent alley. Among them was Dominic, a guy Paul had recently hooked up with, but who had a shady reputation. Dominic offered him shady "deals," often legal ones on the edge of the law.
"Paul, you did a great job the other day," Dominic said with a predatory smile. "I have another mission for you. Well paid this time."
Paul hesitated. He knew it implied something shady, but the lure of gain was too strong. "What do you want me to do?"
Dominic put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, just a small delivery. We'll meet up tonight, at the same place."
That evening, Paul joined Dominic and his group. The atmosphere was tense, but Paul tried to hide his concern. They were supposed to deliver a package to a contact of Dominic's, but things quickly turned sour. The contact, suspicious, accused Dominic of treason, and a fight broke out. In the chaos, Paul received a violent blow to the head. The pain was searing and darkness enveloped him.
In the stifling darkness of the night, Paul's fate was taking shape inexorably. The pale moonlight barely illuminated the darkness that enveloped the sleeping city. He could feel his pulse beating in his temples, an irregular rhythm that seemed to announce the inevitable. Around him, the distant murmur of city life continued, ignoring the silent agony that seized him.
Paul lay there, on the cold asphalt of a dark alley, his body bruised and his mind clouded with pain. Flashes of memories swirled in his mind, fleeting moments of his earthly life flashing before his eyes in a kaleidoscope of sensations and regrets.
He remembered the tumult of his youth, the carefree laughter and the unfulfilled dreams. But those memories seemed so distant now, eclipsed by the cold reality of his imminent end. Fate, the undisputed master, had reserved a final test for him, a confrontation with his own mortality.
Paul lived his entire life in New York City, where he studied, did his activities, and did his stupid things. Unfortunately for him, life was not kind to him, he was an orphan from birth. Indeed, his mother died just after giving birth to him. So he had to live a life without support, without an example. It was really hard, he was always rejected by others, his existence was compared to that of a plague. As for his father, he never knew him and he never wanted to meet him because he did not consider the individual who had abandoned his pregnant mother, left to fend for herself.
Rage built up inside him as he thought about the recent turn of events that had led him to this situation. But he could only blame himself.
And as the night slowly swallowed up his last thoughts, a glimmer of hope was born in the darkness. A light that would transcend the boundaries of life and death, that would open the way to a new existence. For in that moment of agony, on the threshold of eternal oblivion, as Paul lay there, on the threshold of eternal darkness, images of his past life swirled in his mind, like fragments of broken glass. He saw again the moments of happiness and pain, the faces of those he loved, the choices he had made, good or bad. Each memory was like a sharp blade, piercing his soul already bruised by physical pain.
Suddenly, a strange sensation invaded him, as if his entire being was being sucked into an invisible vortex. A whirlwind of light and shadow enveloped his mind, transporting him to an unknown elsewhere. In this state of semi-consciousness, he felt an irresistible force pulling him away from his dying body, as if an invisible hand were drawing him towards a new and unexplored destiny.
The sounds of the city slowly faded, replaced by an oppressive silence. The flashes of street light faded, leaving a deep, soothing darkness. Ryan floated in this ocean of darkness, lost between sleep and wakefulness, between life and death.
When he opened his eyes, he saw only blurred faces and heard muffled voices. Pain radiated from every part of his body. He tried to stand up, but his strength was failing him. The blows continued to rain down, relentless, until everything went black.
Death was a release.
———
Paul didn't know how long he had been in the dark. He woke up suddenly, feeling soft and warm around him. He wasn't in New York anymore. He wasn't in that sordid alley anymore. Looking around, he realized he was in a garden filled with swords stuck in the ground.
Paul blinked, stunned by the dim light that bathed this strange garden. The air had a metallic scent, as if the ground was full of steel. Before him, hundreds of swords shimmered in an unearthly light, stuck in a strangely living soil, which seemed to whisper under his hands.
He tried to straighten up, but his body didn't respond as it was used to. He felt weak, clumsy. A strange softness surrounded him, as if his body was wrapped in a cotton blanket. He looked down and, to his amazement, saw tiny, chubby hands, barely able to support themselves on the ground.
"A baby?" he thought, terror tightening his chest. "What the hell is this?! I'm… I'm dead. That's the last thing I remember. That alley… that guy with a gun… and now this?"
He crawled on all fours, observing the strange place with growing confusion. Then he heard a whisper behind him, voices low but authoritative. He turned his head and saw, in the distance, a group of people. Imposing figures, draped in luxurious clothing, were watching the babies in the garden. One figure in particular caught his attention.
"No, this can't be…" he thought, his breath quickening.
Chiron Runcandel. The legendary man. The patriarch of the Runcandel family. A figure so imposing and charismatic that he dominated every scene he appeared in Swordmaster's Youngest Son. Paul knew her by heart. In his previous life, when he lived in a monotonous grayness, the only real spark of happiness he had found was in the pages of the novels, manga, and webtoons that he read tirelessly.
Paul remembered his long, lonely nights in his tiny apartment in New York. The days were an endless cycle of drudgery and boredom: a dull job he hated, coworkers he couldn't stand, and a city that always seemed to want to crush him under its weight. But every night, when he got home, he threw himself on his bed, his phone in hand, to escape into imaginary worlds. These stories were his escape, his breath of fresh air.
Among them, Swordmaster's Youngest Son had been a particular obsession. Paul was fascinated by the Runcandel family and their intrigues. The intensity of their world, their ruthless code, their thirst for power, all of it captivated him. But more than that, he admired Jin, the cursed and complex hero who fought against a cruel destiny to become stronger. He had felt a strange connection with him, an understanding of what it was like to want to rise above your condition, even if, in his own life, he had never found the courage to do so.
And now, before his eyes, stood Chiron Runcandel himself. Not a drawing, not a fictional character, but the man in the flesh. The aura he gave off, even from a distance, was overwhelming. Paul felt his breath catch, unable to tear his eyes away. This was no longer fiction. This was real.
"This is a joke, right?" he thought, his throat dry. "How did I go from my insignificant life to… this?"
He had often dreamed of escaping the banality of his existence, fantasized about what it would be like to live in these worlds he loved so much. But he had never imagined that it could happen, especially not in this way. To die, to be reborn, and to find himself at the heart of the universe he knew so well.
He, Paul, the ordinary man whose only pride was to have read more series than he would have liked to admit. He was a spectator, not an actor. And yet, the garden of swords, the distant voices of the members of the Runcandel family, and the overwhelming presence of Chiron clearly told him that all this was true.
Paul felt a shiver run down his spine. In this world, Chiron Runcandel was not only a patriarch. He was a living legend, the 55th head of the most powerful sword family to ever exist. A man who ruled over his children like a god, merciless to those who failed, but implacably fair. And Paul had just found himself face to face with him… not as a mere observer, but as an actor.
An actor who now bore the title of Chiron Runcandel's son.
Paul felt his mind reel with the weight of realization. He wasn't just in a different world; he was in this universe.
But he didn't have time to digest this revelation. He suddenly noticed another baby beside him. A boy, just like him, on all fours. The baby had a serious expression, his piercing black eyes staring out at the garden with an almost supernatural intensity.
"No… this can't be… Jin Runcandel?"
Paul froze. The puzzle in his head fell into place, piece by piece, with terrifying precision. He had been reincarnated. But not in just any role. He was the twin brother of Jin Runcandel,the contractor of the shadow god Solderet, the one who would shake the world.
His heart was pounding in his chest.
"But why me? Why here? And why now?"
He looked at his little trembling hands, then at Jin, then at Chiron in the distance. A thought then slipped into his mind, cold and implacable:
"If I am here, nothing will be the same."