1 A Boy, a Man and a God

Once upon a time, there was a boy.

He lived in a strange world filled with wonders and mysteries. The people there had supernatural abilities. Few could use magic. Most would absorb energy from the nature to nourish and strengthen themselves, and it was called cultivation.

But as the world was filled with wonders, magic and cultivation, it was also filled with dangers and terrors. Devilish beasts hunted the weak and unprotected. There were deadly phenomena around the world which were dangerous and life threatening to even the mightiest of strength and bravest of heart.

And the worst of all? The civilized races living in the strange world wanted to kill, destroy and conquer each other. In their pride, wrath, lust and greed, they wanted to trample the others beneath their feet.

Although, none of this had to do with the boy in anyway. Because the boy was born weak.

Weak, by the norms of the world he had to live in. In the world filled with magic and cultivation, he wasn't a mage nor he could cultivate. The conditions he was born in had denied him of those luxuries.

He was talentless.

He could have given up. Most would have.

But he didn't. He wanted to laugh in the face of the world for the obstacles and challenges it presented. He wanted to mock the world for making him born this way.

He wanted to become strong.

So, he tried; even without cultivation, and even without magic. He trained his body physically to keep up with mages and cultivators. And he had one fortune. While he was weak, his family was strong. His family come from a great linage of strong cultivators and they were able to provide him with necessary accommodations to become strong even without cultivation.

He trained days and nights. He trained without rest. He pushed his body to test its own limits. And he was successful. He somehow managed to keep up with the cultivators of his age. And he was happy and proud of his achievement.

But he forgot one thing. The world was cruel and unforgiving. And his enemies were cunning and ruthless.

And in his hubris and pride, he was poisoned and assassinated during a prestigious duel where participants were supposed to fight with dignity and honor.

He did fight with dignity and honor. His opponent did not.

As he lay dead, he cursed the fates and the world; for being cruel, he cursed the gods; for turning a blind eye to this unfairness. And he, for a brief moment, wondered if there were any benevolent god, who would avenge for this unjust done to him.

Unknown to him, from the darkest corners of the dark void, a god heard his pleas.

And the god answered.

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He felt like he was underwater. Like he was being carried by a strong current from the deepest depth of the ocean. He felt like he should be suffocating, because there was no air around him.

But he wasn't suffocating. In fact, he was not breathing at all. And he was fine.

Oh, yes. He was dead. Fell at the poisoned blade of that thrice damned Felix.

And the dead didn't breathe.

He cursed his fate again. He didn't want to die young. And he sure didn't want to die to such cowardly tactics from a slime. It wasn't fair.

But the world was not fair and he was dead. There was nothing he could do despite his complaints.

So, he just stayed still and let the current take him away. And it was not like there was something he could do in this situation. He couldn't move. He couldn't even open his eyes to look around him. Could the dead spirits see? He did not know.

He just stayed like that for hours. Were those even hours, or years, or decades? He was starting to lose count of time.

But as he followed the current, he felt some kind of ropes warped around his body and trying to pull him out. At first, the pull was small, minor. And then it got stronger. It got stronger and stronger until he felt he was successfully out of the water. He could breathe and see again. And he was in a strange white room with the bright lights all around him.

"What the hell…" He muttered while looking around. And he could also hear some whispering.

"I told you. This white room and bright light stuff is like, really, really old school! It is so old that it is not even funny or interesting anymore."

"It was for you freaks who read and watch so many Isekai manga, novels and anime. Look! It throws him off guard, doesn't it? He even looks surprised."

He heard a young voice whispered in a funny tone and an older and more mature voice replied in a hiss.

"Who is there! Show yourselves!" He yelled into the white light around him.

"Why can't he see us? We are not even that far."

"Those freaking lights are too bright, you dumb idiot!"

"Oh!"

After the young voice scolded the old one, he heard something clicked and the bright white light around him dimmed. And there he could see two figures. A middle age man with a simple grey shirt and black pants. And an old fragile looking man wearing a white robe with a staff in his hand.

"Hey yo!" The younger man greeted him with a sheepish expression and a waving hand but the old man was just looking at him curiously.

"Who the hell are you guys." He asked while wearily looking for any sign of aggression from the two. He just died. He had every right to be cautious.

"Ahem!" The old man began. "Most of you regard and revere me as God! But I'm more than that. I'm the supreme being, father of all creation, ruler of cosmos, the grand designer of origin and life, old Deus, the one who,"

"His name is Creto."

"Hey! I was getting to that!"

The old man, now named Creto, hissed again at the young man for interrupting him. But the man looked unrepentant.

"Yeah, just… no. I had to sit down and listen to your countless titles for two hours straight. Never. Again. And hi! My name is Joseph Redwoods. And his real name is not Creto. It is actually in an awfully difficult and foreign language that I, for my life, do not know how to even pronounce. But he agreed I can call him Creto. So, all is good." The young man showed his two thumbs up.

"Why am I here? Are you gods responsible for this? I remember that died. I'm still dead… right?"

"Oh, no, no, no. He is the god. I'm just another puny mortal like you who got pulled into this…" the young man gestured around the now-not-so-white room. "Strange bright place."

"And yes. I'm the one who pulled you into this room. You, boy, need to learn manners. When someone introduces themselves, it is a courtesy to introduce yourself back. Young people these days, so rude." The old man replied slowly shaking his head. And he continued.

"But, no matter. Because I'm all-knowing and already know your name. Marcius Aemilia of Clan Aemilia, you are dead. And as you take your dying breathe, you pleaded for help. I heard and answered. You are here now to be given a second chance in life."

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Author Notes

Hello everyone, MidnightMK here.

This is my first time writing and this is my first ever story. So, please do go easy on me guys.

Anyway, have fun reading. I really hope you enjoy it.