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  Life has been nothing but constant failure. Or perhaps, it would be more apt to say that he was a constant failure.

  The sky cracked as lightning briefly lit up the sky, the gray clouds overhead being illuminated as the man below scavenged for food amongst the trash that has been left behind, uncaring for the heavy rain that was pouring down.

  “…” the man held back a sigh as he beheld another failed scavenging attempt. There was no food here—not anymore. It has been picked cleanly, or perhaps there was nothing to be picked at all. At this rate, he… he might die.

  His eyes closed as a rumble sounded out within the skies, the flash of lightning illuminating him from overhead. His black hair was long and unkempt, a piece of flimsy string tying his hair to a semblance of a pony tail, plastered to his back by the rain. His face was sunken, and eyes hollow as he scoured through more and more of people’s trash to look for anything he could eat.

  Empty. Nothing. Worthless.

  He was unable to find anything that he could use. Another failure for the long list he has collected over the course of his life.

  He exhaled deeply as he leaned against a nearby wall, sliding down it as rain poured down, the roof of the building he was leaning against making it so the water cascaded down like a waterfall in front of him. The man was drenched, hungry, and exhausted. I… can’t live like this anymore.

  Why did I even come here?

  Foolishness, youthful exuberance? It has been years since he had come to join the ranks of the Emperor’s soldiers. Years of wielding a spear, among the frontlines, as the enemies of the Empire crept ever closer to their inner cities. And yet now, he lays somewhere within a border city, with nothing to his name. The others in his legion have forgotten him, replaced by another nameless face, as his constitution grew weaker and his wounds accumulated.

  Now he was nothing but a beggar – a pitiful wreck of the proud, starry-eyed dreamer he’d once been. So full of righteous fury when the news of the barbarian attacks from the north had come that he’d thrown everything away—even the education and home his late mother had scraped and suffered for him—just to chase glory in a war he had no right to be fighting in.

  He hissed in pain as he shifted in place, his arm instinctively raising up to clutch at his side. It was almost funny to think about. How he, who had once lived asking for essentially nothing, had become like this, where searching for even a little bit of comfort caused him pain. He threw away everything to serve his Empire, and it did… nothing, for him. It would’ve been funnier, if he wasn’t living it.

  I was a fool, he thought bitterly. I always was. Even as that starry-eyed fool of a student. I thought… I thought I’d make my mother proud, at least, by fighting for our home. The sky thundered as his breaths grew shallower. … Are you proud of me, mother?

  Nothing answered him. Nothing ever did. He chuckled to himself, a sound without any humor.

  … There’s only one place I can try to get food at.

  He ignored his body’s complaints as he stood up and started hobbling outside the alley.

  Exiting the alley did not get rid of the gloomy atmosphere that pervaded it. Perhaps this atmosphere was even thicker here, with more people. Soldiers quietly talked to each other, loading up carts and doing their patrols around the street. His eyes drifted over towards the city’s northern gates, soldiers streaming in with carts filled with prisoners and equipment, the cries of the captured echoing out within the street.

  He almost spat at them as they passed. It was one of you that made me like this, he viciously spat within his own thoughts. You barbaric fools! If you didn’t attack the Empire… I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be…

  Alas, it was useless to have those thoughts now. And these fools were already captured anyway. They’d surely be punished for their crimes. Slavers and despots, murderers and bandits… If it weren’t for them, I’d have been more than I am now…

  It was wrong. His thoughts were wrong. His mother would surely be shaking her head at him in disappointment. But even then, he couldn’t help it. His feelings of helplessness and anger couldn’t fade. He couldn’t forget how he was hurt. He couldn’t forget how he has lost so much.

  It was all your fault, he imagined himself saying at them. All your fault. Your fault.

  The prisoner carts passed, and he moved along. Hatred could not fill his stomach, as much as he wished it would. He dragged himself towards the city’s garrison.

  He trudged along, keeping to the sides, avoiding bumping into people to avoid upsetting his wounds. Not that he needed to do much—other soldiers avoided him on their own, and the civilians gave him a wide berth. He didn’t blame them—he’d have done the same, looking like he does now.

  He turned a corner, and there, he saw a small line formed in front of a stall, the wood counter bearing the symbol of the Imperial Army. He hurried along and stood in line. They’re handing out spare rations!

  His eyes tracked the soldier manning the counter, who was quietly handing out bowls of what looked to be porridge. The people who received it immediately ran off and devoured their meals, looking as if they’ve barely eaten anything for days. It wouldn’t be surprising.

  Food has been strictly rationed. Most had been siphoned from the locals for the military to maintain them in fighting shape. The barbarians have managed to take several border villages and towns, slowly pushing into the mainland with each successful capture. It was something grimly accepted by everyone within the walled city that they would be next.

  Many civilians had already fled for the safety of the inner cities. The ones that stayed were stubborn, and would help the garrison defend as best as they could, to defend the home they had been born in, and hoped to die in.

  The man was neither of them. He was no longer part of the army, and did not want to stay in this awful city. But he had nowhere else to go, and no money to go to other places with. Walking the distance would kill him. But staying would likely kill him too.

  The line moved, and eventually, he was next. The person in front of him greedily took a sip of their soup and walked off. The man patiently waited as the soldier manning the counter took a look at him and shook his head.

  “We’re out.”

  Groans broke out from behind the man, splitting off to wherever they came from. Only the man remained frozen in place, before the soldier in front of him got annoyed and waved him away.

  “Ha…ha…ha…”

  What a darkly, humorous situation.

  Nothing. Empty. Worthless.

  The entire day has been nothing but one, fat joke, for the man.

  … I can last another day… I’ll just come here first thing in the morning, instead of the trash. There’s no point in looking for anything useful anymore anyway… Nothing matters…

  A foolish thought for a foolish man. There was no guarantee that the soldiers would be sharing spare rations again.

  It’s over. It’s all over. He thought.

  He wasn’t aware of how right that thought would be, though not in the way that he would have expected.

  It started with the storm somehow getting stronger. The winds picked up, and lightning struck relentlessly. The soldiers around the garrison tensed up as an alarm rang out within the garrison—one that the man was very familiar with.

  An attack.

  He chuckled humorlessly. These damned barbarians…

  The soldiers around him rushed towards the garrison, arming themselves and most likely making calls towards nearby cities.

  Thunder rolled, and from where the man was standing, he had a perfect view of the city’s northern gate closing as soldiers, armed with spears and maces, rushed to take their positions. His eyes tracked a couple of mages, dressed in lighter wear, rushing towards the battlements to support their crossbow men.

  His face tilted up. He wasn’t sure if anyone noticed, but the clouds… they were forming a strange circular shape. It was… already too late to run. This was the proof of it.

  Lightning struck.

  There was some resistance, over the city, as a translucent blue dome faintly appeared encompassing the city, but the resistance wasn’t enough. The dome shattered, and thunder struck.

  There were no screams to be heard. The sound was like a cannon that kept going off. The man screamed as he held his ears, now bleeding, as he stumbled back. His eyes were transfixed at the thick beam of pure lightning stayed on the northern city gate, vaporizing the poor souls who were defending it.

  It was only a few seconds later that the man realized he could no longer hear at all.

  He sat down, focused towards the gate as the lightning petered out. Where it struck, nothing remained. The ground was scorched black, and the gate steaming red from where the edges of the lightning hit it.

  There was no gate anymore. There were no soldiers anymore.

  The only soldiers left would be the ones from the garrison, but… with that kind of power, did they even matter?

  The man could not hear, but he saw as barbarians rushed from the entrance they have created, bearing many strange sigils on their armor and flags they carried. He saw them cut down fleeing soldiers. He saw them burn down the garrison, and places where the soldiers fled to.

  One soldier was in front of him, desperately looking around to try and reconvene with his legion, to no avail. A bolt struck him in the neck, making him fall back as he gurgled on blood and died.

  It was this sight that made the man try and stand up, a boiling feeling within him overtaking his sense of reason. He hobbled over to the fallen soldier and picked up his spear.

  The enemies did not seem to notice him as he purposefully dragged his feet towards them. He could not hear the sounds of battle, or hear the screams of his allies, or the jeers of his foes.

  All that mattered was that he defended his home one last time.

  “For… the Emperor,” he rasped out. He could not hear his own voice.

  He raised his spear and thrusted towards an unsuspecting soldier. He lacked the strength to do much anymore, but he was still able to attack when the enemy was not paying attention.

  His spear hit the enemy’s armor… and did nothing. He thrusted again, but the enemy simply finished off his opponent, and with their sword, cut off the tip of his spear and pointed it towards the weak man.

  The enemy was saying something, but the man could not hear him. The man simply spat at him.

  “Do your worst, barbarian scum,” he spat out hatefully. “You’ve taken everything from me. The Emperor’s Hands will take care of you, and your foul mage as well.”

  The enemy seemed to be hesitating, but their allies did not. They shook their head and unsheathed their blade.

  The man gave them a sneer.

  “Barbaric scu—”

  He died.

  Darkness.

  No—it was less than that. Death is surprisingly less cold than he imagined it to be. It was warm—like the sun against his body. There was some form of light beating against his eyelids, as he attempted to keep them shut—

  Why would he need to keep them shut?

  He opened his eyes.

  He was… alive?

  Light streamed down into his room from the window, the curtains pulled back, allowing the sun inside his room. The man, disoriented, blinked a few times as he sat up, his arm clutching his side, expecting the ever-present pain to shoot up… only to blink as he realized he didn’t feel it.

  “What…” his mouth clamped shut as he realized—that was not what he sounded like. He hadn’t sounded like that in years!

  “What is this..? Some sort of illusion from that mage? A form of torture? As expected from those damned barbarians…” he stood up, noting with some surprise that he could do so easily now. He walked… and he didn’t limp anymore. He tested jumping, and his wounds didn’t flare up.

  “This illusion is…” No, even illusion magic wouldn’t be this strong, surely? There must be something else at play.

  He shook his head. Now was not the time to be distracted. He must investigate his surroundings.

  His eyes scanned the room he was in. Aside from the window, the room was awfully reminiscent of the apartment he had lived in before he joined the army. There were photos of his late family members—his sister, who had been taken by the barbarians in some sort of espionage mission, his father, slain by the very same barbarians, and his mother, who had fallen sick with a rare disease considered to be untreatable.

  There was a small desk, on top of which are a couple of textbooks he vaguely recognized. They were new—which was to be expected. The illusion couldn’t have captured how worn they had become before he joined the army. The closet had uniforms for the university he attended, and some other clothes he couldn’t be sure he had owned before.

  And yet… it was oh so familiar.

  He felt as if he’s been sent back years in the past. His body in this current illusion felt as if it lacked all the wounds of his previous engagements. He had his old apartment—a home he thought he would never come back to again, after he had sold it… and many of the memorabilia he had taken with him and lost during the years in the army.

  He chuckled, the voice fuller of energy than he was expecting from himself. This is insane. This must be an illusion. It must be.

  An illusion could surely never be as detailed as this, right?

  A brief knock on the door interrupted him from his thoughts. “A letter for… Lee? Lee Hill?”

  “…” He gazed at the door, momentarily wondering if he should interact with the illusion more, but…

  “Sir?” After a minute of silence, the mailman outside knocked again. “Is he even here? Gods, why does this place not have a mailbox? It’s the first…”

  Hearing the annoyed tone of the mailman outside, the man—Lee—decided to play along with the illusion.

  “Coming,” his voice was still not as he was used to, but as he smoothed out his shirt and neatened his hair with his hand, he decided something.

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  Illusion or not… I shouldn’t waste this second chance. Soldiering… I didn’t succeed at that. I could do better now. Maybe become an officer. But… I think my mother would like it more if I stayed. I’ll be of more help to the Empire that way, surely.

  Was he living a lie? Did it really matter? Everything could be taken away from him once more. Everything could fall apart, and he’d find himself in a cell within barbaric territory, their heretical magics harvesting his emotions before they end up killing him.

  But—Lee had already lost everything.

  Fine, Lee thought as he received the letter from the mailman, signing his name onto a slip. He watched the mailman nod at him and walk away, knocking on another door in the corridor his apartment was situated at before Lee closed his door. I have nothing to lose, anyway. And if this isn’t an illusion… I can do much for myself, and the Empire. He chuckled, a bit of humor and hope finding its way into his heart.

  The letter bore a seal for the institution that has invited him to join the Artificer’s College. The invitation to the college was his mother’s last gift to him. In the current time, she would have passed mere months ago. In his previous life, he had spent the time since then listless and depressed, only joining the college—before he left for the army—to do something other than mope.

  But this time…

  I wont waste my life this time. I promise.

  Time passed.

  It was without much fanfare that he continued his life. He was once more situated in the City of Angels—far from the border city of Ensef, where he had died in his… previous life. It was located near the heart of the Empire, housing tens of thousands of souls, and is the base of the Empire’s most elite division of soldiers—his Hands, the division which had earned the city its name, when they had descended like angels upon the City to protect it against the foul magics of barbarians.

  Being so close to the heart of the Empire, the city was far more developed than Esnef—the border city where he had died, though it wasn’t a border city as of yet. His apartment, for instance, sported a convenient air conditioning unit. He hadn’t known exactly how it was powered, only that they used some sort of gem, and siphoned mana from emitters of some sort. Much of it goes over his head, and when he was younger, he was sure to have known some more, but…

  Whatever brought him here didn’t deign to give him memories and the experiences his younger self had. All he had in his head were spear techniques, and how to polish his armor, and how to spot barbarian mages so he could avoid their line of fire. His mind was still within the war, even if the biggest offensive since the last two decades hasn’t yet begun.

  This meant that Lee had to learn everything essentially from nothing.

  It was an ordeal and a half. His time within the college was not easy, to the point that, when the army came around with the news of the barbarian’s attacks intensifying once more, Lee, for a moment, wondered if it would be easier to be a soldier rather than continue being an artificer once more.

  In the end, he decided to stay, to deviate even more from his previous life. His previous life was nothing more than failure after failure, after all. This life was new—it was potential. He could be so much more than a simple soldier.

  That was what he told himself, anyway.

  He continued tinkering with his little contraption— a project given by one of the professors within the college. It was supposed to function similarly to a street lamp. A simple project, after the year of theory he has already undertaken. It would take mana from a battery with a switch—a box with a gem inside, essentially—and use said mana to light up an orb. It would be divorced from the emitter network that major cities had, allowing its garrison to use the mana within the network for defense more than logistics.

  Well, they already did that, and light fixtures weren’t hungry for much mana regardless, but he felt that his project had to be simple enough for a dullard like him to be able to do.

  “Come on,” Lee whispered harshly. He connected a wire to the battery, and with bated breath…

  Nothing. Now was time to mold the mana into place.

  Mana, by itself, was just energy. As a soldier, he had used it to enhance his physical properties—his endurance, strength, speed, and other such functions were taught to every soldier to enhance themselves. It was not just soldiers that did this, however—athletes, laborers, and perhaps even those willing to experiment with their internal mana did this by default. The enhancements that mana could give to a person were different based on how much mana they had, and how efficient their enhancements were.

  However, mana is just energy. Enhancing the body is simple and straightforward—the body itself, as a source of mana, does the conversions instinctually. A person does not need to think much to enhance their own capabilities. When working with machines and spells, however, intent and forming the mana becomes incredibly important.

  “Okay,” Lee mumbled. “One input, the battery, one output, the orb. I can do this.”

  The mana coming from the battery, as it wasn’t part of his body, was difficult to manipulate. He had to concentrate as he ‘instructed’ it on what to do. First was preparation—telling it to listen to the switch located on the box. Second was action—telling it that, if the switch was flipped, it would be siphoned towards the orb. Third was another action, converting mana into Light, and staying as light, which leads to the fourth instruction—another listener, to stop being light once the switch was flipped, and return to the battery.

  Overall, a simple set of instructions for a simple machine. Converting the mana was possibly the most difficult part of the entire project, but Light, as an element, was not particularly hard to convert into. Lee furrowed his brows as he implanted the intent into the foreign mana, using his own internal mana to act as a medium.

  A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, the (mild) physical toll of using mana showing itself in a relatively minor way. This body, unused to the rigors of combat or exercise, was not as robust as his previous one, though even in his previous life, he never externalized mana. This was a relatively new sensation for the former soldier, who was used to mostly using mana internally to act as an enhancer.

  And finally…

  The orb lit up.

  “You done now, Mr. Hill?” A bored voice sounded out within the room. Lee whipped his head towards the front of the room, where the professor sat behind a desk, her hand pushed up to her cheek as her glasses drooped below her eyes. She had been sitting here watching him do his work for… the past few hours. It seemed that his instructing took longer than he thought.

  “Yes ma’am,” he carefully picked up his small project, careful to not break their connection, and walked past the few remaining students, presenting his work to the professor with a flip of a switch. The orb glowed brightly for a moment before he turned it off, to save on the battery. “We didn’t have the materials, but I would have placed both inside a sort of handle… like a flashlight.”

  “I see that,” the professor was bored out of her mind, but she wasn’t so out of herself that she couldn’t judge his work. “Decent work. You are taking far too long, however. Are you sure artificing is for you?”

  He thought about that—his mother couldn’t have known everything. He was sure she just wanted a good education for him, and to grow up like her—to be safe within the cities of the Empire, to not have to worry about people killing him, like his father had been…

  And then he thought of his previous life—a life he had lived as a soldier, a step closer to what his father had been living as, even though he never reached the heights his father had.

  Mediocre all around. These thoughts had been popping up again, even though he had just started this life. This time too. Nothing will change.

  Things have already changed, Lee argued against himself. I haven’t become a soldier.

  For the better, or for the worse?

  I’m not dying, aren’t I?

  His internal debate seemed to end with his doubts shaking its head and chuckling. He knew, after all, what would happen in the future. The war would keep getting worse and worse, and perhaps the artificers would have to be called to the frontline to maintain equipment…

  Maybe… maybe he should train as well.

  More time has passed.

  He had graduated from the College—not exactly with flying colors, but he had graduated.

  He wasn’t hired immediately. Aside from the military, there were no parties interested in his performance—not unlike some of his other classmates, though unlike them, he had no support base to fall back upon in case he couldn’t ever find a job.

  That was why, after a dozen or more failed interviews to several different nobles and businesses… it ended up with him back in the military.

  Even with me trying to avoid them, he had chuckled ruefully. I just ended up back here, huh?

  Indeed. It was a good thing he had decided to train his body—it made him a viable prospect for the military. The recruiter had taken one good look at him and his projects and shrugged.

  ”These little doodads aren’t anything interesting, but you could do some fine work as an artificer for the army.”

  It had hurt him a bit to hear that his gadgets, the little machines he had created, focusing on them like they were a lifeline, to differentiate himself from his past life, were simply ‘little doodads’. But that was reality. Even in this life, I am mediocre.

  It has been years since he rejoined the military. He wasn’t stationed in the City of Angels, of course—that wasn’t something he expected anyway. But he wasn’t anywhere near his… previous death, Esnef, either. A different base of operations for a different time. He maintained the local garrison’s equipment, basic duties such as cleaning the armory and fixing up minor issues with radios. Sometimes, he gets to help out with the equipment of some captain or major, but that wasn’t very common. Unlike his last life, the city was… quiet.

  For now.

  It was unnerving, to be so far away from the frontline, and yet receive news from it. He has a relatively wider view of the war, now—he used to only know the engagements that happened with him as a participant. Now he knew there was a large-scale engagement on the northeastern border, which the Empire won—but if he could read between the lines… it was a narrow victory, with the appearance of a single person on the enemy’s side allowing a majority of the enemy’s forces to escape.

  There were more engagements along the border, with many of it being victories, as far as he knew. It made him wonder just how the enemy got to Esnef in the first place. And there was no sign of the mage brigade that had powered through the anti-magic defense of Esnef in his previous life. Are they keeping them in reserve? Lee thought uncertainly.

  “Hard at work, Lee?” A voice teased him.

  Lee glanced towards the source of the voice and smiled. “Rose. Good to see you.”

  As another artificer of the army, Rose was a co-worker that Lee had gotten fairly familiar with over the years. Competent, and most likely set up for promotion—even though he had been in the army longer than her in this life!

  It would be a lie if Lee was to say he didn’t feel envious of her capabilities, but that’s just the way it is for people like him. Pathetic. Even a second life…

  “You thinking about the war again?” She casually interrupted his thoughts as she settled into the seat next to him, putting a staff onto the table. Lee pulled his job—a set of flashlights and a radio—away from the staff she was working on, continuing to tinker as they talked.

  “Yeah. Just wondering what the barbarians are thinking, waging this war,” Not quite, but it was close enough. He had, after all, the intimate foreknowledge of their apparently incredibly well-trained mage brigade. “They’re pretty much losing already—” Right now. Why did they suddenly start winning? “—so I’ve been wondering what they’re planning.”

  “Hmm,” Rose didn’t answer him, nudging her internal energy into the staff, a small compartment in the middle opening up and revealing a cracked mana gem inside. “I wouldn’t say they’re losing…”

  “Why not?” Lee asked as he closed the lid on a flashlight, the mana within finally circulating properly after a half an hour of troubleshooting. He put it down with the rest of the flashlights and started taking apart the radio. “The Empire is taking land from them. If they’re not winning, then they’re losing.”

  “That’s… not really a smart way of looking at it,” Rose shook her head. Lee shrugged.

  “Well, then what’s happening right now, then?”

  “Have you heard anything about the rebellious villages and towns recently?” Rose asked instead of answering.

  “Hm? There’s always a few… there’s been a bit more on the rise recently, I’ve heard,” even in his previous life, there were plenty of these types of villages. Tricked by the barbarian spies, or just foolishness against their noble lords. Ungrateful scum, he had called them, bitter as he was, experiencing pain and wounds defending them against the barbarians.

  “Yeah,” Rose touched the gem, her mana flowing out of her arm and into the gem as she interfaced with it. “I’ve just been thinking… maybe… maybe we’re wrong? The barbarians are just defending themselves.”

  “They attacked us first,” Lee pointed out. “Calling that ‘defending themselves’ is a bit of a stretch.”

  “Right,” Rose didn’t seem to believe him, but he just hummed. He didn’t much care for any of the traitorous talk coming from the townsfolk, but if any of the officers heard Rose say that…

  “Don’t say that out loud near the officers. Or the nobles. Especially not the nobles,” he warned her. “I’m just another artificer, and I don’t really feel like reporting you, but…”

  “Yeah, I get it,” she sighed. “Thanks, Lee.”

  “Mhm,” the two continued to work in silence.

  The Empire is wrong? Hah, he scoffed internally. Those bastards wounded me a lot of times, and they certainly weren’t just defending themselves in Ensef…

  The town was in flames.

  “Status report,” a commanding voice rang out within the garrison as soldiers rushed to pick up equipment. Mages picked up their staves, footmen their weapons, and other such preparations. Lee, as an artificer, was given a simple spear. Oh, old friend, he thought grimly. I haven’t used you much in this life, I hope… I hope I can use you once more.

  “The town is on fire, sir,” the soldier stated the obvious. “But it wasn’t from the barbarians, they got here after that… it seems the townsfolk themselves set it on fire.”

  “What? Why would they—no… we have rebels here,” the noble officer scowled and gazed towards the town. “Why didn’t the alarms sound? Artificer, were you not doing your duty?”

  “I was, sir!” Lee defended himself. “I made sure to maintain the alarm and defensive generators. They should have worked!”

  “’Should have’, and yet they didn’t,” the noble walked closer towards him, making Lee shrink back from his commanding officer. “I should exercise my Emperor given right to execute you right here and now for gross incompetence, but you’re lucky,” he spat at Lee. “We need more able-bodied soldiers.”

  “But, sir—"

  “Captain,” the noble, ignoring Lee’s protests, turned towards the soldier, who saluted him. “Take this man to the front. I want him fighting those barbarian scum front and center,” the noble domineeringly sneered. “Who knows? If you survive, you might even get a reward for yourself. Do me proud, little artificer,” he mockingly patted Lee in the back, unsubtly pushing him towards the captain.

  “…” This isn’t fair… I wasn’t the only artificer in the garrison… But there was no point in arguing anymore. Fighting him then and there might have just gotten him killed, or worse. He simply kept his head down, his hand tight on his spear as he followed the captain.

  He was led to the front and handed a large shield—a hunk of wood and metal that was wider than he was and nearly as tall. It was designed as such that it could lock places with the ones next to it, forming a shield wall, and enhancing their effectiveness. Both tactically and very literally, as these shields were also equipment that he, along with the other artificers, maintained as well.

  He wasn’t quite sure how to create them, but he knew that the mana within got stronger somehow if it was locked in place with others like it. The intent within was not too complicated—something about Defense—the complications happened when he tried to understand how it connected to other shields of its like.

  It was useless to ponder it now, however—he was stationed with a group of soldiers in front of the garrison. The delaying group, meant to retreat once preparations within the garrison are completed, but with the size of the attacking force…

  At least five enemy mages, and a legion of the barbarians. Lee had no idea how they got so deep into the Empire’s territory, but they were here. The garrison only had three proper mages, and he noticed that the attackers were already getting peppered by attacks from one of them. In return, the enemy returned fire—quite literally, with an explosive ball of fire.

  Well, the garrison has two proper mages.

  “Lock shields!” The captain yelled from somewhere behind him. He obeyed, slamming the shield down into the ground, locking into a defensive formation with his fellow soldiers alongside him. Within the shields, mana hummed as they synchronized with the other shields in the formation, a shimmering blue wall appearing in front of them as they waited for the inevitable barbarian attack.

  And attack they did—a veritable wave of arrows came flying from the enemy’s direction. The magical shield wall extended far above the actual shield legion, yet the power of their locked shields extended high enough that it could block some shots from actually hitting those that were behind them within the garrison.

  They’re testing it… They don’t want to just waste their mage’s energy in case they need to make an escape… A tactic he had become familiar with over the course of the war—mostly from his previous life. Mages, he had found out by hearsay in his past life, and as an artificer in this current one, had much more reserves than a normal person, thanks to their constant use and practice of spells and magic, but magic doesn’t come instantly—it still takes a rest before they can cast big spells one after another. It was why artificers were a thing—creating machines that essentially stored spells within them so that normal people can use simple spells—or have experienced mages dealing death with complex machines without having to worry about drain.

  And with that attack… they might have realized that this shield wall was all they had. Or perhaps they already knew. Lee was already suspecting something when something he knew he maintained did not work as intended. The noble may not have believed him, but he knew he was maintaining those. It was highly important that the alarms worked, as they also sent news to nearby garrisons to either prepare or send for reinforcements.

  It meant that the barbarians had sympathizers, and there was only one artificer that Lee knew fit the bill.

  “Rose…” and there she was. Not a fighter, but she was still watching from a far distance, alongside the probably barbarian leadership for this particular force. He didn’t know if she saw him, but still…

  “Traitor.”

  Those were his last words before he closed his eyes, as three mages from the enemy’s force combined their intent and mana to blast the frontline into oblivion.

  … Darkness. Heat. But much less than he was expecting to feel, from getting blown up by a fireball.

  … Wait.

  He opened his eyes.

  “What…?” He was back in his old apartment. His voice was once again younger than he expected. He scrambled up and looked at a nearby mirror, seeing his face be once again younger.

  “Again…? Another chance? No… This is something else…”

  This is now his third life—no, perhaps it wasn’t a life so to speak. A third repetition. “Why is… why is this happening to me?”

  Another life. Another set of choices he can take. More and more mediocrity and failures. More silence, more abuse, for the rest of his… lives?

  “No, no no no…”

  Lee can’t handle that. No—this was their trap, to make him live his lives as disappointingly as possible, to make him give up and—

  No. If it was them, then they’d have already received all the information they could have ever received from the Empire. Lee was a simple man, and didn’t have much in the way of connections or knowledge. Whatever this was… it most likely wasn’t the barbarians. They certainly didn’t have the technology base of the Empire to be able to do something close to this, after all.

  Then why? Why did his life repeat once more? Why couldn’t it have been before his family died, when he was a child? When his father still lived, to beg his father and his sister to not take that trip so they could avoid dying? So that they may not leave his mother alone to grieve in her own way, burying herself in work and getting a terrible sickness in return? So that they could live together as a family, and make his mediocre existence far more bearable?

  “Oh, gods, why…?” Lee buried his face in his hands.

  But… did the why really matter? What is real is that he is once again, back in the past. Capable of making new choices with new outcomes.

  “… I…”

  Last life, he had said that he mustn’t waste his chance of life.

  Life is precious. Most people only had one of it. Lee found himself, somehow, with three.

  Perhaps more.

  But Lee did not find it comforting.

  Nothing is permanent.

  This wasn’t immortality. His choices and decisions were ephemeral, subject to change whenever he died. It would be… it would be a miserable life.

  He could become callous and careless about his lives—and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to become like the noble that had sacrificed him simply because of his anger and ego. He didn’t want to decide other people’s lives for them, ending it whenever he felt like it.

  This power was too much.

  … Then, that means, I must cherish my life. I must… I must find a way to live as long as possible. Until this power loses its hold on me, and time returns to the people once more.

  SpaceBattles Link

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