A baby's cry pierced the quiet dawn.
It was sharp. Alive. Defiant.
The world smelled of salt and rain—wooden walls, damp linen, the distant roar of waves crashing against stone cliffs. Somewhere beyond the thin cottage windows, gulls screeched over a bustling port city.
Harbor.
Again.
'So I've reincarnated…'
The baby's crying softened into small, rhythmic breaths as awareness fully settled into his tiny body.
A voice echoed—not from the room, but from within.
'I'm so tired of this.'
'This makes… ten thousand two hundred thirty-one.'
I no longer remembered my original name. That had faded somewhere around my third millennium of lives. Names were fragile things. They broke easily under the weight of eternity.
I am just an entity without a name, yet had so many names.
I no longer cared for names after having any kinds of it.
'I've reincarnated at Harbor again,' I thought wearily.
Harbor Planet. A world nearly identical to Earth—blue oceans, sprawling continents, familiar constellations—but threaded with magic and infested with monsters. Kingdoms rose and fell beneath skies occasionally torn open by dragons. Wizards debated philosophy in marble towers while mercenaries hunted creatures born from abyssal forests.
A beautiful world.
A dangerous one.
And this time… judging by the wooden architecture, the iron tools, the absence of steam engines or arcane skyships—
'The 1500s,' he concluded.
A far more inconvenient era.
He flexed his newborn fingers weakly.
He could reincarnate into anything. Anyone. Any world.
Gods.
Dragons.
Humans.
Viruses.
Cells.
Even atoms drifting in the void between stars.
Choice had long ago ceased to thrill him. It was merely logistics.
This time, he had chosen something simple.
Human.
Ordinary.
Forgettable.
He was just about to reflect on the absurdity of existence when—
DING.
A translucent window materialized before his infant eyes.
---
10,231st Life Mission:
Live a peaceful life.
---
He stared at it.
Silence.
Then—
He sighed.
A very tired, very ancient sigh.
'Of course.'
Every life came with a mission.
Complete the mission.
Unlock the next reincarnation.
'It had been like this since my… what? Fifth life? Twelfth? I couldn't remember anymore.'
Sometimes the missions were grand.
Slay the Demon Sovereign.
Swallow the entirety of all verses.
Unite the Seven Realms.
End the Age of Gods.
Other times—
Experience true love.
Die without regret.
Raise a child to surpass you.
And now—
Live a peaceful life.
He would have laughed if his lungs weren't so small.
Peace was statistically improbable on Harbor. Especially in the 1500s.
Before he could contemplate further, the door burst open.
A woman rushed in, her brown hair hastily tied back, her eyes shimmering with tears.
"Oh! He's awake!"
A tall man followed, broad-shouldered, hands rough from dock work. His face softened the moment he looked at the baby.
"He's got your eyes," the man whispered.
"No," the woman laughed softly, brushing a finger against the baby's cheek. "He's even cuter."
"We're gonna name him Karh."
'So my name this time is Karh?'
The ancient being in the cradle blinked up at them.
Images of past lives flashed through his mind — mothers weeping, fathers bleeding in his arms, funerals under foreign skies.
'I hope they don't affect me so much this time, I'm so tired of seeing many people dying.'
So these are my parents this time.
They looked warm.
Kind.
Fragile.
He felt something stir in his chest.
Peaceful, huh? Fine. I'll try.
---
Sixteen Years Later
The sea breeze rolled through the coastal town of Eastport, carrying the scent of brine and spice from trading ships.
He had followed the mission precisely.
No adventuring guilds.
No forbidden tomes.
No secret cultivation in mountain caves.
He learned to fish.
To mend nets.
To read basic scripture from the village priest.
He laughed with friends. Helped his father repair boats. Carried sacks of grain. Watched sunsets.
He avoided magic.
Avoided monsters.
Avoided destiny.
Peaceful.
Utterly, painfully peaceful.
And for once—
It almost worked.
Until the night the hooded figures came.
A sack over his head.
A sharp blow to the temple.
Darkness.
---
When he woke, the air was thick with incense and blood.
Stone.
Cold beneath his back.
His vision cleared slowly.
Torches flickered against cavern walls carved with ancient runes. Chanting echoed through the chamber—low, frantic, desperate.
He didn't move.
He observed.
The air was damp. The echo hollow. Stone beneath him.
A cave.
They had placed him inside a massive circle etched into the stone floor—intricate symbols drawn in fresh blood.
Ah.
Sacrifice.
He lifted his gaze.
'They're gonna use me for a ritual?'
At the center of the cavern stood a colossal statue.
Serpentine.
Coiled.
Its body spiraled upward toward the cavern ceiling, scales etched in obsessive detail. Its mouth hung open in a silent roar, fangs longer than swords. The eyes—empty stone sockets—still seemed to pulse with ancient malice.
He looked at it with familiarity, sensing a bit of nostalgia, and yet feeling nauseated.
Recognition came instantly.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The statue depicted Banikawa.
An enormous world-serpent capable of wrapping itself around the planet.
A calamity worshipped as a god of endings.
A being that once drowned continents beneath tidal waves summoned by its mere breathing.
One of his past lives.
He stared at his own former likeness towering above him.
"Of all the lives you people could've chosen…"
The chanting intensified.
Energy gathered in the ritual circle.
The cultists' voices trembled with zeal.
They thought they were summoning salvation.
Or destruction.
Or both.
He exhaled slowly.
His mission window flickered faintly in his vision.
10,231st Life Mission: Live a peaceful life.
He lay in the blood-soaked circle.
Looked up at his past self.
And muttered—
"Oh boy…"