In the cliff of felg. The four wings of demon stand tall looking down at the humanities last hope.
One of the wings of demons, Drazkon. He appears to be clean in the outside, but he is one of the most terrible demon one can meet.
"What a shame Kein. If only you get that power a little bit sooner, it could been a little bit more annoying... and fun" Drazkon said as he get closer to Kein.
"Drazkon... You... are not below the current demon lord" Kein said. Drazkon eyes widen and glows.
"Ah.. so you noticed?" Drazkon asked.
"Like hell I wouldn't. A demon lords generals is supposed to be weaker than the demon lord" Kein thought as he look up, "This guys... are not below the current demon lord".
"Ah.. won't answer me? Are you dying? Oh my how unfortunate" Drazkon said as he turn his back.
"This is the end of humanity!" Drakzon stated as he laughed.
Kein stake his sword on the ground. As he looks up to the demons. Others are keeping silence but he knows they look down on him.
"Even if it will cost me everything now!" Kein shouts, he then activited his technique.
Light gather around kein as the air swirls around him. The sword glows as his eyes brighten. "This is my last chance!" Kein thought as he activited his technique, Last Hope.
Drazkon, noticed kein and jump away as fast as possible. But he is too late. The light engulf the entire Felg Hill. The sacrifice of the last knight of the Gods.
"This is the path you choosen Kein?" The Goddess whispered to Kein.
Kein is plunge into absolute darkness and silence.
The light of Last Hope didn't just burn; it screamed.
Kein felt his soul being pulled through a needle's eye. The faces of the Four Wings of the Demon Lord distorted like melting wax. Drazkon's laughter was the last thing he heard—until it was replaced by the rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of an axe hitting wood.
Kein's eyes flew open. He wasn't breathing sulfur and blood; he was inhaling woodsmoke and the sharp, freezing scent of pine needles.
He was lying on his back, staring up at a thatched ceiling he hadn't seen in a decade. The air was biting—the kind of cold that only existed in the northern reaches of the Varkas Kingdom, the land ruled by the iron-fisted House of Iron-Skald.
"Kein! If you're done daydreaming, the wood won't stack itself! The adventurers will be coming through the pass by noon, and they'll want hot water and a warm hearth!"
The voice hit Kein like a physical blow. He scrambled up, his legs feeling strangely light and short. He ran to a polished brass plate hanging by the door.
A teenager stared back. Messy hair, clear eyes, and a face that hadn't yet been hardened by years of holy war. He was back in the village of Oakhaven, hundreds of kilometers away from the capital, tucked away in the dangerous North.
"Oakhaven," Kein whispered. His voice cracked.
He stepped outside. The village was a chaotic, crowded hub. Being the farthest settlement before the Forest of Monsters, it was a "Heaven for Adventurers." Mercenaries in mismatched plate armor shouted over mugs of ale, and merchants haggled over the price of monster gallbladders.
But Kein's eyes went straight to the communal well's ledger, where the village elder tracked the season: The 12th Day of the Month of the Iron Wolf.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. In his past life, on the 15th Day of the Month of the Iron Wolf—just three days from now—a "Stray Horde" from the forest would descend on Oakhaven.
In his past life, it was a massacre. He remembered hiding in the cellar, listening to the screams of his adoptive parents as they held the door shut. By the time the Iron-Skald knights arrived, there was nothing left but ash.
"Kein? You look like you've seen a ghost, lad."
A large hand settled on his shoulder. Kein turned and saw Marcus. His father. Beside him stood Elara, his mother, carrying a basket of winter herbs. They looked younger, healthier, and completely unaware of the slaughter waiting for them in seventy-two hours.
Kein didn't speak; he simply threw his arms around them both, trembling.
"Whoa! What's this then?" Marcus laughed, patting Kein's head. "Had a nightmare about a Forest Troll?"
"Something like that," Kein muffled into his father's tunic.
He pulled away, his eyes scanning the dark, oppressive treeline of the forest. He needed to know his standing. He needed his Light.
"Goddess?" he called out in the silence of his mind.
Silence.
He pushed deeper, searching for the warm, golden resonance that had defined his entire adult life. He reached for the "Proxy" connection, the divine link that should have been his birthright.
Nothing. It wasn't just that she wasn't answering—it felt as if the sky itself was hollow. The "Knight of Light" was reaching for a sun that had gone dark.
"Why?" Kein whispered to himself.
He knew she was there. He felt the faint, lingering warmth of her final words on Felg Hill, but now, it was as if a heavy iron veil had been dropped between the mortal realm and the heavens. He was a commander without an army, a mage without mana, and a son about to lose his parents for the second time.
"Kein, the fire won't start itself," Elara reminded him gently, moving toward their small cottage. "And Marcus, Soren is back at the tavern. He looks worse for wear—try to keep him from starting a brawl with the Iron-Skald scouts, will you?"
Kein froze at the name. Soren.
In his past life, Soren was a one-armed drunk who died in the massacre. It was only years later, through rumors and old records, that Kein realized Soren had once been a candidate for the 10 Swords of the Continent before a tragic betrayal broke his spirit.
Kein looked at his small, sap-stained hands. He had no holy magic. No authority from King Valerius. No favor from the Goddess.
He looked at the Forest of Monsters.
"If you won't speak to me, Goddess... then watch me," Kein whispered.
He didn't head for the woodpile. He headed for the tavern. In three days, the blood would flow. If he couldn't use the Light to save his parents, he would use the only thing the demons couldn't take from him: his memory of how the world falls.
The redo hadn't started with a miracle. It started with a boy walking into a room full of killers, looking for a man who had forgotten how to lead.