They called me a hero.
They cheered my name when I held the Demon Lord’s severed head high, cloaked in blood and fire, my so-called allies flanking me like loyal knights. For eight long years, I fought, bled, and sacrificed, out of duty, not desire. Not for glory. Not for praise.
But the moment the threat was gone, I was no longer useful.
“Sorry, Allen,” Reina whispered, her voice low but steady. “You’re just... too dangerous now.”
Kane’s sword pierced my back. I stumbled forward, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth.
I turned my head slowly. My party—my comrades—stood in a half-circle. Reina, the holy priestess who once swore to follow me into death. Kane, the golden-haired warrior with a smile full of lies. Sylrie, the glass-eyed arcanist who watched with detached interest, already scribbling new runes mid-betrayal. Even Maelik, the quiet beastkin ranger, didn’t flinch.
We had once camped under the stars, shared rations when food was low, saved each other's lives more times than I could count. I remembered when Reina cried after our first victory, when Kane told me he’d follow me through hell. When Maelik gave me a charm from his homeland, promising it would protect me.
Lies. All of it.
And just before the world faded out, a sound, a chime rippled through my head like a tuning fork striking my skull.
[ADMIN OVERRIDE DETECTED. Key Authorization: VALID.] [Failsafe Protocol Engaged: Rewinding Timeline...] [Trigger Condition: DEATH MET] [Initializing Rebirth: Eight Years Prior]
And then, I died.
Only, I didn’t.
I awoke on a familiar stone platform, surrounded by robed figures chanting a grand incantation in a tongue I now knew fluently. Their eyes were wide with anticipation, not realizing the script had already been written... and rewritten.
“O, brave soul, summoned from another world! We call upon thee to vanquish the Demon King and restore peace to our realm!”
I didn’t speak.
Not out of awe.
Out of rage.
Cold, burning rage.
It burned beneath my skin like dry ice, silent, motionless, yet searing. I kept my expression blank, but every heartbeat pounded with memories of betrayal. Of blood running down my chest. Of the blades I didn’t see coming.
Eight years ago, I bowed my head and accepted their chains.
This time, I walked out.
Literally.
No dramatics. No shouting. Just silence as I strode past the High Magus, down the marble steps of the ritual dais, and right through the open temple doors.
No one tried to stop me.
They were too stunned. I was supposed to kneel, to weep with gratitude. Instead, I vanished into the rising dawn.
Every step I took away from the temple was stiff, rigid. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. I wanted to go back and kill them all and rip the kingdom down brick by brick.
But I didn’t.
Because the rage, as cold and sharp as it was, wouldn’t last. I knew myself. I knew that even the fire of betrayal would dull with time. And when it did, I didn’t want to be standing over corpses I no longer cared about.
So I kept walking.
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I walked until the temple vanished behind trees. Then hills. Then entire mountain ranges.
[SYSTEM STATUS - USER: Allen Winters] [Age: 19 (Biological) | Timeline Years Experienced: 27] [Class: Hero (Hidden: ADMIN - Artificer)] [HP: 100/100 | MP: 50/50 | SP: 100/100] [Strength: 12 | Dexterity: 13 | Vitality: 14 | Intelligence: 15 | Luck: ???] [Unique Trait: ADMIN KEY – Dormant → Active (Upon Death)]
I didn’t go far at first. I needed to think. I needed to process everything. The betrayal. The death. The impossible second chance.
The kingdom didn’t send anyone after me. Maybe they were too confused. Maybe they thought the spell had failed. Or maybe they didn’t care. The world had summoned me to save them, but I had no intention of playing that role again.
I wandered from city to city for a time, keeping my head down. I picked up local news from taverns and traveler camps. Nothing had changed yet. No new Demon Lord. No world-ending threats. Just political infighting, corrupt noble houses, and opportunistic warlords.
I sold minor services to survive. Low-tier healing. Mapping out monster dens. I was careful not to display anything extraordinary. The last thing I wanted was to end up on a watchlist.
At night, I would stare up at the sky and wonder if the Admin Key was truly real, or just some hallucination born from dying.
But then the system chimed again.
[ADMIN KEY SYNC COMPLETE. ACCESS LEVEL: PARTIAL] [Crafting Interface: ENABLED] [Blueprint Memory: 1/Unlimited]
I summoned a simple schematic into the air. A compass. An item I remembered from my past life. It materialized in front of me in a blink. Functional. Perfect.
It wasn’t a dream.
That’s when I knew I couldn’t stay near people.
I traveled for months.
Not in haste, but with purpose. I didn’t follow roads or trade routes. I avoided towns entirely. I walked through rainstorms, over mountains, across frozen riverbeds. I let my beard grow, let the tan return to my skin. I was no longer Allen the Hero.
I was Allen the Nobody.
I slept in caves, hunted what I could, and slowly rebuilt my strength, not in the way the world expected, but in the way I wanted. Testing the limits of what I could craft. Reinforcing my worn boots with adaptive tread. Building a firestarter that sparked only when I whispered to it.
I was preparing for something big.
Eventually, I came to the southern edge of the continent, a place untouched by most maps. Fishermen had told stories of islands beyond the mists, across a stormy gulf where compasses spun uselessly. Most called it cursed. I called it perfect.
I bartered passage with a sea merchant and worked as a deckhand. Never gave my name. I listened to old sailors whisper tales of monsters and fog spirits. I didn’t care. I just wanted distance.
We sailed for three days before a storm broke our mast. The captain gave up. Said the island was a myth. So we returned to the mainland.
So I built a raft.
I summoned tools the Admin Key allowed me to craft, veiled under an interface no one else could access.
[Blueprint Editor: ENABLED] [Crafting Mode: Unlimited Resource Pool – Localized Use Only] [Construction Type: Portable Vessel | Design Approved | Autoconstruct: INITIATED]
The raft was crude, but sturdy, reinforced with metal struts I summoned into existence and embedded beneath the planks. It took a week of waiting for clear waters, then I left the mainland behind for good.
The ocean crossing lasted four days. No sails, no magic, just pure will and the hum of the Admin Key assisting every hour with micro-corrections to keep me on course.
On the fifth day, I arrived.
The island was massive, wild, and untouched. Rocky cliffs jutted skyward along its coasts, while lush forests sloped down into deep valleys. It was perfect, not just for hiding, but for building.
For creating.
I chose a location on the northern coastline, a tall cliff overlooking a stormy bay. The stone was firm, the earth rich with mana veins and mineral nodes. But I didn’t build up.
I dug down.
[Construction Menu Opened] [Design Template: Subterranean Base Mk. I] [Dimensions: 30m x 30m x 10m (Expandable)] [Excavation Tools: Summoned | Tunnel Stability: Reinforced]
With a thought, the bedrock cracked and reshaped beneath my feet. Walls of carved obsidian-black stone snapped into place. Power conduits embedded with simulated mana circuits lined the ceiling and floor, drawing ambient energy from the island’s leylines. It was quiet. Clean. Mine.
I descended into the first sublevel, already mapping out zones.
A forge room. A command center. A hydroponic farm. Storage vaults. A central hub with uplinks for external systems once I was ready to look outward again.
There was no fanfare. No cheers. Only the rhythmic pulse of glowing panels and the quiet hum of a growing empire.
[New Zone Created: Allen’s Core Base] [Base Status: Hidden – No External Detection Detected] [Power Core: Stable | Energy Sink: Mana Leech Passive Operational]
And I smiled.
The rage was still there, buried deep, but it no longer ruled me.
For the first time in either life, I wasn’t just surviving.
I was free.