The forest was a blur of green and shadow, each step a battle against gravity itself.
Aya stumbled over roots she couldn't see properly, her vision swimming. The city's smoke still stained the sky behind her, a black pillar reaching toward the heavens like an accusatory finger. Two miles. Maybe three. Not far enough. Never far enough.
Her right arm hung at her side, held together by steel threads that glinted in the dappled sunlight. It should have been a miracle—that she'd managed to reattach it at all, that she'd crawled from that burning arena with her life intact.
But something was wrong.
She could feel it in the unnatural cold spreading from her shoulder. In the way her fingers wouldn't respond when she tried to flex them. The threads had held flesh to flesh, yes, but flesh meant nothing if the connection beneath was faulty.
Blood flow. Nerves. Bone alignment.
I rushed it. I was dying. I did what I could with what I had.
But "what she could" wasn't enough. Not for this.
Aya leaned against a massive oak, breathing hard. Her HP had crawled up to 7—barely enough to stay conscious. Her Healing Factor worked slowly, trying to knit together catastrophic damage with insufficient resources.
[HEALING FACTOR: ACTIVE]
[PROGRESS: 2% (INSUFFICIENT ALIGNMENT)]
[WARNING: IMPROPER FUSION DETECTED]
[RECOMMENDATION: SURGICAL CORRECTION REQUIRED]
She laughed. It came out as a wheeze. "Surgical correction. Right. Let me just find a hospital."
The forest didn't answer. Birds sang overhead, oblivious to her suffering. Somewhere in the distance, a stream babbled.
Aya looked down at her arm. Really looked at it.
The steel threads crisscrossed the stump like industrial stitching, tight and precise. But beneath them, she could see the misalignment—the way bone hadn't quite met bone, the angle slightly off. If she let it heal like this, she'd have a dead limb attached to her body. A rotting weight she'd carry until infection or necrosis forced her to amputate it properly.
Or I could fix it now.
The thought made her stomach turn. But she'd been an ant once. Ants didn't have the luxury of hesitation. They did what was necessary, or they died.
She slid down the tree trunk until she sat, legs splayed out before her. With her left hand—her only functioning hand—she reached into the small pouch at her belt. Inside: a strip of leather she'd stolen from a dead guard during her escape. Nothing else. No tools. No medical supplies.
Just her skill. Her will. And one ability she'd carried from her previous life.
[SKILL ACTIVATION: OMNIDIRECTIONAL EYES]
The world shifted.
Her vision exploded outward, multiplying, fracturing into impossible angles. She could see her arm from above, below, within. Every fiber of muscle, every splinter of bone, every misaligned fragment visible in perfect, crystalline detail.
She could see the problem immediately. The radius and ulna hadn't seated properly. They were offset by maybe three millimeters—nothing a normal person would notice. But those three millimeters meant nerves couldn't reconnect. Blood vessels pinched shut. Tendons stretched taut in the wrong directions.
I have to take it off. Reset it. Do it right.
The migraine hit almost immediately. Her human brain wasn't meant to process vision from all angles simultaneously. It was like trying to watch a dozen screens at once while someone hammered nails into her skull.
She bit down on the leather strip, then reached for her right arm with her left hand.
The steel threads were strong. Far stronger than normal sutures. She'd made them that way to survive.
Now she had to undo her own work.
Pull.
The first thread resisted, embedded deep in flesh. Aya's fingers found the end and yanked. It tore free with a wet sound that made her gag. Blood welled up immediately.
[HP: 6/100]
Another thread. Another pull. Her vision flickered, the Omnidirectional Eyes showing her exactly how much damage she was doing—every severed capillary, every traumatized nerve ending.
Don't stop. Don't think. Just do.
She'd removed five threads when her arm began to slip. The weight of it pulling away from her shoulder. She gasped around the leather, tears streaming down her face.
Keep going. Almost there.
Three more threads. Two more.
The last thread came free, and her arm fell.
For a second time in two days, Aya held her severed limb in her remaining hand. The stump at her shoulder wept blood, though less than before—her Healing Factor had at least sealed some of the major vessels.
[HP: 5/100]
[STATUS: CRITICAL BLOOD LOSS (STABILIZED)]
[HEALING FACTOR: CONFUSED - AWAITING INSTRUCTION]
Through the kaleidoscope vision of Omnidirectional Eyes, she examined the bones. The radius. The ulna. The way they'd been sheared at a slight angle by the champion's glaive.
Rotate. Shift. Align.
She turned the severed arm in her grip, her enhanced vision guiding her with microscopic precision. There—that angle. That exact position where bone would meet bone perfectly, where blood vessels lined up, where nerves could find their partners.
She pressed the arm back against her shoulder.
The pain was transcendent. Beyond screaming. Beyond thought. Her body tried to reject what she was doing, every instinct howling that this was wrong, impossible, suicidal.
Aya held it steady.
[SKILL ACTIVATION: STEEL SUTURE]
The threads emerged from her left hand, finer than before. Surgical grade. She could see them through her multifaceted vision—silver strands that caught light from angles that shouldn't exist.
Thread the bone first. Lock the foundation.
The first suture pierced through the marrow of her radius, looped, caught the corresponding bone, and pulled tight. The bones clicked together with a sound she felt more than heard.
[HP: 4/100]
Blood vessels next. Match them. Perfect alignment.
Her vision showed her the arteries, the veins, the tiny capillaries. The threads wove between them, not piercing but guiding, holding them in place so her Healing Factor could fuse them properly.
[HP: 3/100]
Nerves. Careful. So careful.
This was the hardest part. Nerves were delicate, temperamental. Damage them and she'd never feel her hand again. The threads moved like living things under her command, coaxing the nerve bundles into alignment without crushing them.
[HP: 2/100]
Muscle. Tendon. Fascia.
Layer by layer, she rebuilt the connection. The Omnidirectional Eyes showed her everything, guided her through an operation that would have taken a team of surgeons hours. But the migraine was worsening, her human brain beginning to rebel against the impossible information overload.
Blood trickled from her nose. Her vision started to flicker between normal sight and the fragmented, all-seeing perspective.
Almost done. Hold on.
The final layer: skin. She wove the threads through dermis and epidermis, pulling the edges together with the precision of a master seamstress. Not just closing the wound but creating a framework for her Healing Factor to follow.
[STEEL SUTURE: MASTERWORK APPLICATION]
[PRECISION: 97%]
[ALIGNMENT: OPTIMAL]
Aya released the skill. The Omnidirectional Eyes deactivated.
The migraine hit her like a warhammer.
She screamed around the leather strip, vision going white, then black, then white again. Every nerve in her head was on fire. Her stomach heaved but there was nothing to throw up.
She collapsed sideways into the dirt, her reattached arm cradled against her chest. Blood and tears mixed on her face. The world spun.
[HP: 2/100]
[HEALING FACTOR: ACTIVE - FOLLOWING FRAMEWORK]
[ESTIMATED RECOVERY TIME: 72 HOURS (IF UNDISTURBED)]
[STATUS: MIGRAINE (SEVERE), EXHAUSTION (CRITICAL), BLOOD LOSS (STABILIZED)]
Seventy-two hours. Three days.
She had to survive three days in a forest on the outskirts of a war zone with 2 HP and a migraine that made her want to claw her own skull open.
I'm an ant, she thought deliriously. Ants survive. Ants endure. Ants...
The thought dissolved into fever dreams.
She saw herself as she'd been—a tiny creature in an underground labyrinth, fighting centipedes twice her size. Evolving. Growing. Meeting a little girl with kind eyes who'd shared bread and water.
Tessa.
Her eyes snapped open, clarity returning in a brief, precious moment.
Tessa's parents. The village. I have to—
But her body had other plans. The combination of blood loss, surgery, and skill overuse sent her crashing into unconsciousness.
She dreamed of steel threads and demon lords and a burning arena where everyone she'd ever saved watched her die.
When she woke, the sun had moved. Hours had passed. Maybe a full day—she couldn't tell.
Her arm throbbed, but it was a good throb. The pain of healing, not death. She flexed her fingers experimentally.
They moved.
Slowly. Weakly. But they moved.
[HP: 8/100]
[HEALING FACTOR: PROGRESS 15%]
[ARM REATTACHMENT: SUCCESSFUL]
Aya laughed. It was a broken, ragged sound, but genuine. "I did it. I actually did it."
She forced herself upright, leaning heavily against the tree. The forest stretched endlessly in all directions. Behind her, the smoke from the burning city had faded to a gray smudge on the horizon. Ahead...
She didn't know which way the village was. Not exactly. But she knew the general direction—northeast, through the forest, toward the foothills.
Tessa's parents. Please be alive. Please have escaped.
Aya took a step. Then another. Her legs shook. Her vision swam. But she moved forward.
She was halfway to collapsing again when she heard it—the distant sound of hoofbeats. Patrol? Soldiers searching for survivors?
She dove into a thicket, biting back a cry as her arm screamed protest. Through the leaves, she watched as a column of Imperial soldiers thundered past, heading toward the city.
"—freedom fighters scattered to the south—"
"—Chairman's orders, find the survivors—"
"—that girl, the one from the trial—"
Aya's heart hammered. They were looking for her. Of course they were. Dead or alive, she was a loose end.
They think I might have survived. Good. Let them waste resources searching.
She waited until the hoofbeats faded, then crawled back out. Every movement was agony. Every breath was a battle.
But she kept moving.
The village was three days' walk for a healthy person. For her, in this condition?
I'll make it. I have to.
Because Tessa's parents were there. Because she owed them. Because she'd failed their daughter once and refused to fail them again.
Aya disappeared into the forest, a ghost with steel-threaded bones and the memory of what it meant to survive.
Part II: The Circle Shines Twice
Somewhere else. Someone else. The same world.
The light came first.
Brilliant, searing, white-hot radiance that burned through closed eyelids and made Kenji Yamada throw his arm up instinctively. His briefcase hit the floor—wait, no. The floor was gone. There was no floor, just—
Light. Only light.
Then sensation rushed back. Solid ground beneath his feet. The smell of incense and old stone. Voices chanting in a language he understood but shouldn't.
No.
Kenji's eyes snapped open.
The summoning circle spread beneath him like a geometric flower rendered in pure silver. Seventeen figures stood within its boundaries, all in various states of confusion and panic. Teenagers, mostly. A few college-aged. One woman who might have been thirty.
And him.
Thirty-two years old. Graying at the temples. Wearing a slightly wrinkled suit because he'd been on his way to a meeting that would never happen now.
Beyond the circle, a grand hall stretched toward vaulted ceilings. Banners hung from stone pillars—a radiant sun embroidered in gold thread. Armored guards lined the walls, hands on sword hilts. And at the far end, seated on a throne that seemed to drink in light rather than reflect it, was a figure in white robes.
"Welcome, Heroes," the figure said, voice resonating with unnatural clarity. "You have been summoned to save our world from the Demon Lords' tyranny."
Around Kenji, the other sixteen summoned broke into chaos.
"What the hell?!"
"Is this a prank?"
"Oh my god, is this real? Are we in a game?!"
"I want to go home!"
Kenji said nothing. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into palms hard enough to draw blood.
Not again.
Please, god, not again.
But he knew better than to pray. The gods of this world didn't listen to people like him.
A girl—maybe sixteen, ponytail, still wearing her school uniform—turned to him. "Hey, mister, do you know what's going on? You look... calmer than everyone else."
Kenji forced his face into a mask of confused concern. "I... I'm not sure. This must be some kind of... I don't know. A dream?"
The lie came easily. Too easily.
The robed figure—a priest, Kenji's memory supplied, a High Summoner of the Church of Luminicent—raised his hands. The babble died down immediately, cut off as if by an invisible blade.
"I understand your confusion," the priest said, his smile benevolent and utterly false. "Allow me to explain. You have been chosen by the God of Light, Luminicent himself, to stand against the forces of darkness that threaten to consume our world."
A boy in a hoodie—late teens, probably a gamer based on the three different devices clipped to his belt—spoke up. "Chosen? We didn't ask to be chosen. Send us back!"
"I'm afraid that's impossible," the priest said, still smiling. "The summoning ritual is one-way. You are here until your purpose is fulfilled."
Liar.
Kenji knew the truth. The ritual could be reversed, but only under specific conditions. Defeating a Demon Lord was one. Dying was another. There were other ways, rarer, more dangerous—but they existed.
The priest just didn't want them to know.
"Your purpose," the priest continued, "is to aid the armies of the Empire of Luminicent in our righteous war against the Seven Demon Lords. These vile creatures rule over vast territories, enslaving and slaughtering our people. You, blessed by God, are the only ones capable of turning the tide."
The school girl's hand shot up. "Um, excuse me, but we're just normal people. I'm in high school. I don't know how to fight!"
The priest's smile widened. "You need not worry. The moment you entered this world, you received the blessing. Check your status—simply will it, and you will see."
Murmurs spread through the group. Kenji watched as, one by one, the seventeen summoned went still, eyes distant.
He didn't need to check his status. He knew what it would say.
[NAME: KENJI YAMADA]
[CLASS: HERO (RETURNED)]
[LEVEL: 67]
[TITLE: DEMON SLAYER, THE ABANDONED, HE WHO WALKED TWICE]
The last title made his stomach turn. So the system knew he'd been summoned before. Which meant this wasn't a glitch. It was intentional.
But by who? And why?
Around him, the teenagers were marveling at their status screens.
"Holy crap, I'm level 1 but my stats are insane!"
"I got the Mage class!"
"This is just like an RPG!"
The college-aged woman—sharp-eyed, already scanning the room for exits—caught Kenji's eye. "You're not checking your status," she said quietly.
He gave her a tired smile. "I'm a salaryman. I play video games. I know how this works."
She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. Smart girl. Suspicious. She'd probably last longer than the others.
The priest clapped his hands, drawing attention back. "Now then, Heroes, you must be exhausted from your journey between worlds. Guards will escort you to your quarters. Tomorrow, your training begins. But first..." He turned his gaze across the group, lingering on each face. "Tell us your names. So that we may know the champions who will save our world."
One by one, they introduced themselves. The gamer boy was Riku. The schoolgirl, Hana. The suspicious woman, Melissa. Names that Kenji filed away mechanically, knowing most of them would be dead within a year.
When the attention turned to him, he bowed slightly. Professional. Non-threatening. "Yamada Kenji. I'm... well, I was a salaryman. I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but I'll do my best."
The priest nodded, already dismissing him as unremarkable. "Every hero has their role, Mr. Yamada. Even small contributions matter in the war against darkness."
Small contributions. Kenji's jaw tightened. He'd killed a Demon Commander. He'd leveled an entire fortress. He'd watched his party members—people he'd trusted, fought beside, bled for—drive their weapons into his back while the Demon Lord laughed.
And then he'd been sent home. Spent ten years in a world where monsters didn't exist and magic was just a dream. Ten years of therapy, of nightmares, of jumping at shadows. Ten years of pretending to be normal.
Now he was back.
The guards led them through corridors of white marble veined with gold. Everything gleamed. Everything spoke of wealth and power. The Empire of Luminicent—one of the three great human kingdoms standing against the Demon Lords' territories.
Kenji had been summoned by a different kingdom before. A smaller one, farther east. It had been proud, too. Righteous. Full of promise.
The Demon Lord of Wrath had reduced it to ash eight years ago, right after Kenji had been sent back to Earth.
They don't know I'm a returner, he realized. Which means the kingdom that summoned me before is gone. All records destroyed. No one left alive to recognize me.
Convenient. Terrifying. And it raised the question: if the system knew he was a returner, but the Church didn't...
Who brought me back? And what do they want?
The guards showed him to a room—spacious, luxurious, with a bed that could fit three people. A servant was already waiting with food and water.
"Rest well, Hero Yamada," the guard said. "Training begins at dawn."
The door closed. Kenji waited until the footsteps faded, then sank onto the bed.
His hands were shaking. He hadn't realized.
I can't do this again. I can't—
But he would. Because he had no choice. Because even if he wanted to die, his body remembered how to survive. His skills were still there, buried under ten years of civilian life but ready to resurface.
Level 67. Most first-time Heroes capped out around level 50 before facing a Demon Lord. He had a head start none of the others did.
He also had trauma none of them could imagine.
Kenji closed his eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath.
Seventeen heroes. Seventeen lambs sent to slaughter. And me—the ghost who came back.
Tomorrow, they'd begin training. Tomorrow, he'd have to pretend to be weak, to learn from scratch, to play the part of a confused salaryman thrust into a fantasy world.
Tonight, he allowed himself one moment of truth.
"I'm not saving your world," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm going to survive it. And then I'm going to find whoever brought me back here and make them regret it."
Outside, the moons of this world rose—three of them, silver and gold and crimson. Kenji had forgotten how alien the sky looked.
He hadn't forgotten the screams of his party members as the Demon Lord's magic consumed them.
Nor had he forgotten the way they'd smiled as they stabbed him first.
The summoning circle had shone twice for Kenji Yamada.
He wouldn't let it claim him a second time.
[END CHAPTER 27]
System Notifications (Aya):
[OMNIDIRECTIONAL EYES: MASTERY +5%]
[STEEL SUTURE: EVOLVED → SURGICAL RECONSTRUCTION][PAIN RESISTANCE: LEVEL UP]
[NEW TITLE: DIY DOCTOR]
System Notifications (Kenji):
[SUMMONING DETECTED: SECOND OCCURRENCE]
[ANOMALY FLAGGED]
[QUEST UNLOCKED: DISCOVER THE TRUTH BEHIND YOUR RETURN][WARNING: YOUR EXISTENCE IS AN IMPOSSIBILITY]