Chapter 2

### Act 1: The Dreamer

"Warning: Excessive blood loss, life in danger—"

"Warning: Cardiopulmonary function declining, life in danger—"

When Sophie woke up, her mind was still echoing with the high-frequency warning sounds from the intense battle. The sound was like a file scraping inside her head, causing her a splitting headache.

Right, he remembered that he was supposed to be in the game, fighting alongside his comrades from the "Divine Might" guild in the mountains of Orkash, resisting Madara's army of undead. The leaden sky was howling with cold winds, and countless dark creatures were pouring down from the dagger-like peaks, endless and boundless, like a black tide. There were tens of thousands of skeletal armies, necromancers hidden in the sea of bones, and bone dragons and cold spirits circling in the sky...

They were surrounded on all sides; they were doomed.

His first reaction was to curse in his heart. Those Firethorn bastards, their incompetence had dragged down the allied forces, allowing the enemy to flank them from behind. What a damn outrage!

Then he checked his condition. Not being dead was a pleasant surprise, considering Madara's army usually left no survivors. However, he immediately frowned. The injuries were too severe—fatal wounds to the vital areas, and he had also been infected with necrotic poison.

Wait, necrotic poison?

Hadn't he already completed the Perfect Body quest? How could the body of the Silver Clan be affected by such low-level dark corruption? Bug? What are you doing, developers?

He didn't have much time to question this. The young man weakly coughed and struggled to sit up from the dusty floor. He realized that the dark corruption was a minor issue; a priest could dispel it. The more pressing concern was stopping the bleeding. Though not a top player, he was experienced enough to understand the situation with a quick check.

Sophie groaned and casually pushed aside the half-remaining skeleton that was on top of him. These low-level troops of Madara seemed non-existent to him—after all, it was the 44th year of the Second Era, and Madara was still summoning these low-level cannon fodder, which only wasted soul energy. Clearly, the minds of the necromancers in Okato had been completely corroded by negative energy, making them inflexible.

He still had the energy to complain, but then he realized that pushing the skeleton aside was somewhat difficult. The penalties of being in a weakened state were severe; normally, he could easily push aside a bone dragon.

When was the last time Sophie had been in a near-death state? It had been almost a few months. The combat power of the Divine Might guild was not just talk; if it weren't for the incompetence of the Firethorn group, his record of never dying would have continued.

Thinking about this, the young man couldn't help but feel gloomy. The Holy Order's defeat would surely be a hot topic on the forums.

While thinking about these trivial matters, he reached back to touch his backpack—but it was empty. Sophie was taken aback and then cursed.

"These Madara bandits!"

Cursing aside, he still needed to stop the bleeding. A healing potion would be best, but a bandage would also work. These items should not be lacking on the battlefield; generally, no one would bother with the backpacks of the cannon fodder, which were full of healing potions and bandages, especially bandages. Before the battle, he had even seen a rookie carrying a full backpack of bandages.

What a joke, thinking that carrying more bandages would prevent death?

He instinctively tried to get up, but as he turned over, he froze—wait, was this still the mountains of Orkash?

He should have seen this scene: desolate grass, jagged white rocks scattered across the steep slopes, bodies strewn everywhere, ravens flying silently over the silent battlefield, and the tattered Great Light Cross flag of Graces fluttering on the hilltop. However, the scene he imagined did not reappear in the young man's eyes.

There was no howling north wind in the mountains of Orkash, no silent shadows moving like ghosts, and no bone-chilling cold that could freeze the air into a layer of dry powder.

All of this seemed like an illusion. When the illusion shattered, he found himself lying on the floor of a quiet, old, and dilapidated room. The floor was made of smooth wooden planks, and there was a conspicuous, blood-red stain...

He couldn't help but be stunned and instinctively touched his chest. But a sharp pain interrupted his action, and the young man grimaced. The wound was his, and the blood was his...

But where was this place? He had a vague familiarity with the style of the room. The main hall was on the ground floor, and the second-floor corridor led to various rooms. The guest room, kitchen, and storage room were on the lower level. Yes, this was the architectural style of the southern region of Erwin, and it wasn't a room that ordinary people could afford—though it was old, it was clear that the original owner had some status.

Southern Erwin, Sophie couldn't help but feel a bit dazed.

How long ago was that memory? The mountains of Song, the windpipes of the border town of Buchi, sounding so melodious, like a dream from the past. But now, wasn't that Madara's territory? In his memory, Erwin had already fallen, during the Third Black Rose War.

"Why am I here!"

"Wait..."

"Buchi... Buchi." Sophie repeated the name.

Yes, he remembered.

His name was Brand, born in Bracchus. He had a half-Cadrigal bloodline from his mother, but he didn't appear noble because of it. His father was just a commoner, and although his grandfather had participated in the November War and received the Candlelight Medal, it was ultimately just a once-glorious knightly family.

No!

Sophie suddenly felt a sense of alarm. What was all this nonsense? No, he was Sophie, a citizen of the People's Republic of China.

But a voice in his head told him—

"You are Sophie, and you are Brand."

A sudden chill ran down Sophie's spine. He held his breath and realized that his memory seemed to have gained something. It was the memories of a young man named Brand, flooding into his mind like a tide, or an uninvited stranger, barging in.

Sophie's breathing quickened, and his pupils dilated. He immediately remembered the desperate and heart-wrenching sword strike, and the terrifying white skeleton.

He struggled to break free from this terrifying scene, but as his memories filled in, he became exhausted. His head throbbed, and sweat poured down his forehead.

Ha, he suddenly remembered how he got here—indeed, it was a great battle, a fierce conflict between the Church Knights of Graces and Madara, surrounded on all sides, in a dire situation. He remembered his character dying at the hands of a necromancer.

After the brilliant green light of the disintegration ray, the world turned dark...

That was the game's setting; death should last twelve hours. But who could explain why a normal death in the game brought him here?

This world—

His mind was in chaos. If there was a word to describe the only thought behind his chaotic thoughts, it was—absurd.

Absurd!

He suddenly understood the absurdity of what had happened to him. He had crossed over!

His soul had crossed over into the body of a dead man named Brand!

No, it should be said that they had merged.

Sophie's hands tightly gripped the floor, his knuckles turning numb. He looked at his hands, which were somewhat slender, with a pale, sickly complexion. Although he was prepared, he couldn't help but be startled. As a citizen of the People's Republic of China, Han ethnicity, and part of the Mongoloid race, his skin should have a healthy light yellow hue, but even if the game character had some adjustments, it couldn't be like this.

His heart raced, and he felt lost. He could say that he possessed all the memories of the original owner of this body, a nineteen-year-old life. But from another perspective, he knew nothing about what he was facing.

Perhaps from a spiritual standpoint, he could feel everything about the young man named Brand—

His ideals, his obsessions; what he loved, what he hated.

It was like a rebirth, reliving a nineteen-year journey. Everything about the other person was now his, as if they were one, but the intertwining of two long dreams still left him feeling somewhat at a loss.

"I am Sophie."

"But I am also Brand."

A sense of weakness surged from the depths of Sophie's heart, spreading throughout his body. He finally took a deep breath and gradually calmed down.

Well, since I'm here, I might as well make the best of it.

Sophie couldn't help but shake his head and look at his hands again: "But to call myself the best swordsman with this strength..." He thought of Brand and couldn't help but laugh at himself, feeling a bit relieved. Well, leaving that world, he had no regrets.

But a lightning bolt cut through the darkness, and Sophie suddenly felt that this might be another chance given to him by heaven. This thought, once ignited, spread uncontrollably in his heart.

Because he remembered something else—

It couldn't be wrong, Erwin. That was a country that had already fallen in the game, and the year of Brand's memories, the Year of Flowers and Summer Leaves, was the 375th year of the First Era, while the game's history had progressed to the 44th year of the Second Era! It was like suddenly discovering that he was a prophet, and a shiver of fear ran through Sophie's body.

Yes.

Here, no one was more familiar with what was happening and what would happen in this world than he was.

In his previous life, he had been mediocre, hiding in the game to escape reality. In this life, how should he act to make the most of his second chance?

Sophie couldn't help but feel a bit dazed.

This was the Year of Flowers and Summer Leaves, the year the First Black Rose War began. In this war, Erwin suffered a crushing defeat but also embarked on a path of revival.

He was a firsthand witness to this war. He remembered that it was the first time he had entered the game world, and the first country he chose was Erwin. He had grown from a complete novice in this war.

The war began with Erwin's crushing defeat, and the situation only gradually improved when the Buges Mountain Corps arrived. Sophie had a vivid memory of that brutal war, having participated with the local militia, but only a few survivors remained.

He was just an ordinary person, whether in his previous life or this one. What did Brand's swordsmanship matter? In the early stages of the war, Madara's surprise attack was textbook-perfect, swift and ruthless, silent and merciless. By the time the ancient kingdom reacted, the garrison in this region had already suffered a catastrophic blow.

It was on this day that Brand must have encountered the scouts of Madara's army. Sophie suddenly felt a chill run up his spine. Only by surviving could he achieve his ambitions.

He understood that he must save himself. First, he needed to find something to stop the bleeding. The young man struggled to stand up, holding onto the railing on the suspended side of the corridor. Then he saw the structure of the room, just as he had imagined. The southern Erwin architectural style was so familiar to him—because he had spent some of the most unforgettable times of his life here.

"Erwin, I'm back—" Sophie couldn't help but say softly.

Page Break AD Start

Page Break AD End