The rest was swallowed by a blinding flash.
The card stopped spinning. A symbol burned itself onto its surface — an archer drawing a bow toward the heavens — and then a name flared across it in golden letters:
ARASH KAMANGIR
The brilliance faded, leaving the card to drift gently back into the deck slot on his arm, still glowing faintly.
A new screen unfolded, crisp and glowing white against the air:
[Legend Imprinted]
Strength — B
Endurance — A
Agility — B+
Mana — E
Luck — D
Noble Phantasm — B++
Skills: Magic Resistance C | Independent Action C | Robust Health S | Clairvoyance A | Bow & Arrow Creation A
Ultimate:Stella – The Shining Shot That Divides the Heavens ( B++ → A)
Halfdan just stared. Then he blinked once. Twice.
And started laughing.
"Wait—wait—no way. That's Fate Arash, isn't it?" he wheezed, half incredulous, half hysterical. "Don't tell me this thing pulls fictional legends, too!"
He looked around the silent forest, as if the trees could confirm it. "Oh, this is beautiful. I died for court politics just to wake up in a cross-dimensional gacha game."
His grin widened. "So next I could draw Goku, Naruto, Superman… or Thor. Please, RNGesus, spare me the pity rate."
Well, it could just as easily be an actual historical figure from Earth. Maybe whoever—or whatever—created this thing made it present itself in a way he'd understand. That would explain why it looked like a damn Fate Servant. He chose to ignore that little voice in the back of his head.
Still chuckling, he tapped the first option on the menu: Include Card.
The response was immediate. Energy surged through his veins, warm and heavy, like liquid sunlight flooding his muscles. His vision sharpened. Every sound grew crisp — the rustle of grass, the distant buzz of insects, his own heartbeat steady and strong.
Strength coiled under his skin, ready to be unleashed.
He flexed a hand, watching how the gauntlet flared faintly in sync with his pulse. "So that's what it feels like to actually have power."
He checked the readout flashing on the menu:
Current Stats
STR: F → C
END: F → C
AGI: F → C
MNA: E
LUK: D
Active Skills: Robust Health S | Clairvoyance A | Bow & Arrow Creation A
"Alright," he murmured, grinning. "Level-one isekai protagonist.. We're really doing this."
He let the Include mode fade, the glow softening. Even as the energy ebbed away, the lingering strength in his limbs made his heart race.
Halfdan exhaled, the sound half awe, half laughter. "I can work with this."
The forest wind stirred again, carrying the scent of leaves and sunlight.
And for the first time in any of his lives, Halfdan Skarsgård felt like his story was finally about to begin.
Halfdan sat back on the grass, the gauntlet still humming faintly against his arm, its golden veins dimming to a slow, steady pulse.
He flexed his fingers, watching the light shift along the intricate engravings. Every rune, every symbol, seemed deliberate — a language he knew nothing of yet somehow understood its power and antiquity. The more he studied it, the more a buried familiarity stirred in him.
Bits and pieces of lessons from his past life—those long hours trapped in bed with nothing but books—rose from the depths of memory. Theories about the gods, fragments of half-forgotten theology and ancient history.
In Cadeguardia, theology was a forbidden subject. The Duchess had long outlawed the practice or study of any religion. During the civil war, the leaders of the largest faith in the Grand Duchy sided with Prince Aron, rallying religious organizations to supply him with resources and support. Naturally, many commoners devoted to those gods followed as well.
That was part of why the war had been so brutal—and why the common folk, along with Cadeguardia's suzerain, the royal family of the Kingdom of Mostalmia, accepted something as drastic as an outright ban on all religion.
As a result, even the noble children of the new generation—those with the greatest access to resources—struggled to gain even the most basic knowledge about the gods.
Divine Artefacts.
The term slipped from his lips like a whisper.
Divine Artefacts weren't merely enchanted weapons or trinkets. They were said to be fragments of a god's own divinity, pieces of pure concept shaped into matter. The myths said gods could not act freely in the mortal world, so they made these vessels — tools of proxy and power. Whoever wielded one became a Titan, a mortal hand moving divine will, champions chosen or stumbled upon by fate. Through them, the gods could act indirectly, and the Titans' victories, fame, and worship would feed that power back to their divine patron.
He remembered the old scholars' warnings. Every artefact created thinned its maker's divinity. Power divided too many times was power lost forever. Some gods, greedy for influence, had scattered their essence among countless artefacts, only to fade from existence when their followers forgot their names.
Others had waged wars through their Titans, turning continents into graveyards of forgotten faiths. Entire pantheons erased, their artefacts shattered and buried beneath temples of dust.
Eventually, the surviving gods agreed — no more. The crafting of new artefacts was forbidden. The divine hands withdrew, the mortal world was left to its own devices, and the age of Titans ended.
Or so the stories claimed.
In truth, Divine Artefacts were still scattered across the world, and new Titans had risen and fallen in countless kingdoms over the centuries. He vaguely recalled that the royal family of Mostalmia possessed several of these relics, and even the Grand Duchy of Cadeguardia had once held two—both lost long ago to bloody succession wars.
But those were ancient Artefacts, relics that had existed for millennia. New Titans didn't receive them from the gods; they inherited or stumbled upon them.
Waking up with one in his possession right after dying wasn't luck. It was divine intervention—and that had been forbidden for an entire era.
Halfdan glanced down at the Gauntlet of Eidolon, its faint golden heartbeat still glowing under his skin. "Guess someone didn't get the memo," he muttered.
If this thing truly was a new Divine Artefact, then some god had broken the most sacred law of their kind just to forge it — and to bind it to him.
He leaned back, letting his head rest against the grass. Through the canopy, the sky stretched endlessly, impossibly blue. Somewhere up there, gods watched. He wondered if one of them was watching now.
A wry smile tugged at his mouth.
"Someone wants me alive," he murmured. The breeze carried the words away. "Question is… why me? And why this gauntlet?"
Of all the powers he could've gotten… why this one?
Why the power to wield the might of legends from across the multiverse?
The Gauntlet pulsed once, as if in response — a faint, almost playful heartbeat beneath his skin.
Halfdan exhaled slowly. "Right. Not creepy at all."
He got to his feet, brushing grass from his clothes. The sunlight caught the golden filigree, scattering glints of light across the forest floor.
Whatever game he'd been dragged into, it had just started.
Reincarnation. Power. Purpose.
Everything was connected.
He sighed, the edges of the puzzle forming in his mind. If Divine Artefacts returned strength to their makers through deeds, then whoever had created this gauntlet wanted results. Faith.Victory.Notoriety.
And that meant someone—something—was watching.
He stared down at his hand. "Guess you won't be too happy if I decide to become a farmer, huh," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "The real question is… who are you? And what's so important that you'd break divine law for it? I bet it's not just bragging rights for having the newest, shiniest Titan."
The gauntlet answered with a faint vibration, a single, resonant thrum that rippled through his bones—like a quiet, cosmic chuckle.
Halfdan gave a dry laugh and looked up toward the canopy, the sun blazing through like an all-seeing eye.
"Yeah," he said under his breath. "That's what I thought."
He felt the shadow of a divine gaze somewhere far above—and the faint, impossible weight of destiny pressing on his shoulders.
The philosophical quiet didn't last long—his stomach made sure of that.
Halfdan groaned softly, clutching at it. "Right. Divine enlightenment doesn't fill the belly."
He pushed himself up and scanned the forest. The trees stretched high and ancient, their roots twisting through moss and wildflowers. The air was clean, fragrant with sap and soil. Somewhere nearby, he caught the faint rustle of small animals.
Perfect.
He looked at the Gauntlet, the faint runes shimmering along its edge. "Alright, Eidolon, let's see what you can do."
With a thought, he activated Include Card – Arash Kamangir.
The response was instant. Power flooded his body—controlled, sharp, purposeful. His breathing slowed, heartbeat steadying as the world seemed to narrow and focus around him. His senses expanded; every sound in the forest separated into its own clear thread—the flap of wings, the crunch of leaves, the distant drip of water. His vision expanded, clarity blooming in concentric rings; he could count the feathers of birds two hundred meters away and see the flapping wings of an insect forty meters away.
"Whoa," he whispered. "Okay. This is unfair."
He glanced down at his hands—steady, strong, trembling slightly with raw energy. This is the power of an Archer-class heroic spirit. He didn't even have a bow yet, but his instincts screamed he could make one.
"Let's try something," he murmured.
He held out his right hand. The gauntlet pulsed once, then spat a thread of golden light that hardened into the curve of a short bow—simple, elegant, translucent as sunlight. The string gleamed like molten silver.
"Holy—" He grinned. "Okay, that's awesome."
He drew the string, felt the magic hum, and focused on a distant target. A wasp about three hundred meters. Flying over a patch of wildflowers.
Perfect test subject.
He aimed at its wings. His new senses painted the forest in exquisite detail—he could see the faint glow of heat where small animals hid, feel the weight of the wind. Somewhere deep down, Arash's instincts whispered adjustments to his posture, the rhythm of breath before the shot, and he, well, he was a bit too excited to really pay attention.
He released the arrow.
The arrow of light shot forward and struck the ground right beside the wasp, exploding in a harmless puff of dirt.
Halfdan stared at the empty patch of grass where the wasp had been a second ago.
"…missed on purpose," he said, deadpan. "Obviously."
His stomach made an accusatory sound.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe I will leave the practice for later. First try doesn't count."
He moved without thinking. The weight of his body felt different—lighter, balanced. Every motion efficient, graceful, deliberate.
It wasn't just strength—it was precision.
Arash's clarity filled his limbs, guiding each step as he tracked the faintest movements between the bushes. A flicker of fur caught his eye. Rabbit. Small, quick. Normally impossible to catch barehanded.
But not today.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the tension coil in his legs. The moment the rabbit shifted, he lunged—
—and froze.
A scream cut through the air. High, shrill, unmistakably human.
A child's voice.
Halfdan's instincts kicked in before his mind caught up. The forest blurred around him as he ran toward the sound, branches snapping underfoot, the sunlight flashing off the gold of his gauntlet.
Another cry—closer now, panicked, terrified.
He broke through a curtain of vines and charged toward it, every muscle alive with purpose.
The bushes parted—
light burst through the clearing—
—and Halfdan Skarsgård, reborn Titan of a forgotten god, sprinted headlong toward his first fight in this new world.