The affairs of the world pass like a shuttle — but during the greatest historical review in our records, we uncovered a shocking truth.

As if guided by something unseen, every ten thousand years a new race rises on the continent of Amelia. They defeat the old overlord, seize the throne of destiny, and become the new rulers of the land.

Giants.

Then the sea folk.

Then the winged clans.

Then the elves…

Like sunrise and sunset, like the movement of the stars, the pattern never changes. Each race rules for about ten thousand years, and the difference never exceeds two hundred — only the speed at which the new race replaces the old.

Looking back over all of history, it feels like a melody written long ago, each note echoing quietly through time.

And among hundreds of thousands of years of history — only one note is out of tune.

“The Protagonist One Hundred Thousand Years Later — Walking Beneath the Wheels of History.”

…

Everything was dark.

Luo Yan felt himself walking through endless night. No cold. No warmth. No feeling at all. He didn’t know who he was or where he was — only that he kept moving.

Then fear hit him. Sudden. Crushing.

The darkness itself terrified him.

He gasped — and his eyes flew open.

Blinding sunlight flooded in. His vision turned white. Before he could adjust, the pain came. Sharp. Splitting. Like his whole body was being torn apart.

He cried out — and then, strangely, the pain faded. It washed away like a tide, leaving behind a cool, soothing comfort, like stepping into a mountain stream on a burning summer day.

What… is happening to me?

That thought barely formed when a soft, anxious voice reached him.

“Son — what’s wrong? A nightmare?”

Luo Yan’s whole body trembled.

That voice.

That gentle, familiar voice.

He turned his head — and saw a young woman rush in, worry on her face.

He froze.

Those eyes — the ones burned into his dreams for over a hundred years — were right in front of him.

Mom.

His body shook. He threw himself into her arms and burst into tears.

He didn’t care why his mother — who had died when he was eleven — was alive again. If this was a dream, he wished it would never end.

Only when you lose something do you realize how precious it truly is.

The pain of that memory hit him all over again.

His mother, confused, patted him down in panic and sighed in relief when she found no injuries.

“Hey now, why are you crying like this? Did you dream something scary?”

His breathing finally steadied. A century of mental training helped him calm down. He wiped his tears, made sure everything felt real, and whispered:

“Mom… I missed you.”

Words buried in his heart for over a hundred years.

His mother just smiled and tapped his forehead.

“Silly boy. You only napped four hours. It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in a hundred years.”

It has been a hundred years.

He shouted inwardly — but she didn’t notice anything wrong.

“Alright, go play. I need to make dinner. Your sister will be home soon.”

But today, Luo Yan refused to leave. He followed her everywhere and insisted on helping. Seeing it was getting late, she simply picked him up and carried him to the kitchen.

Leaning against her, Luo Yan smiled with a happiness he hadn’t felt in a lifetime.

…

Sitting quietly on a small stool by the stove, he finally forced himself to think.

He looked at his tiny hands. At his mother’s busy figure. Even with more than a hundred years of discipline, his heart wavered.

What is going on?

He tried to recall everything.

Waking up.

Breakfast.

Meeting Allen.

Preparing the experiment.

The orc heart.

Then — the blue flame.

Blue flame?!

That should never happen — unless someone secretly added mist vine powder.

And if that happened… it would explode.

His face went pale.

Why? Why would Allen do that?

He pushed the question aside. There would be time for answers later.

Right now, one possibility terrified him more.

Could I… really have been reborn?

…

By afternoon, he had mostly accepted it. Maybe it was absurd, but as a mage — and a necromancer alchemist — absurdity wasn’t new to him.

And honestly, what was there to fear?

He had his family back.

He tried instead to figure out the year — and the moment his sister came home from her first day of school, everything lined up.

Davoma Year 535.

He was five again.

And the tragedy that destroyed their family… had not happened yet.

Thank the God of the Dead.

Another chance.

This time — he would not fail.

After the Era of the Gods…

No one knew whether it was the will of the gods or the will of nature. But everyone agreed on one thing — the first rulers of the continent of Amelia were the Giants. Their age was called the “Post-Gods Era.”

Long before written history, in those wild and distant days, the Giants built a brilliant civilization. They were tall, powerful, and terrifyingly strong, their skin gleaming like bronze or black iron. Many of them stood two or even three meters tall, and could do things ordinary people would never dare imagine — shatter boulders, uproot trees, reshape the land with their bare hands.

Some claimed the Giants were descendants of the gods. The Giants themselves denied it. Confident in their bodies, they didn’t bother with magic. Many scholars later believed their natural resistance to magic was exactly what cut them off from it. Because of this, during the reign of the Giants, martial arts flourished instead. Countless warriors created legendary combat techniques — and even today, many of the strongest manuals can be traced back to that era.

“The Protagonist One Hundred Thousand Years Later — Walking Beneath the Wheels of History.”

…

Night fell. Faint moonlight slipped through the window, coating the floor with a cold, pale glow.

Luo Yan lay on the bed, eyes open, unable to sleep. His mother and sister were already resting in the other room. He, however, felt too restless even to close his eyes.

The events of the day were still echoing in his mind. The sudden explosion. The darkness. Then waking to find himself not at 140… but back at the age of five.

Only now did he finally have the time to think.

There was no doubt about it — he had truly returned to his childhood. If not for his memories, he might have thought the next hundred years had simply been a dream. But every detail rang true. This was not a fantasy.

He would have to face it.

“…No matter what, this is a good thing.”

Once he accepted that thought, Luo Yan began to consider what came next.

Fortunately, he had returned at five. If it had been months later… even days later… that disaster — the one that haunted him his entire life — would already have happened.

His hand tightened into a fist. He silently gave thanks.

But that was only one piece of his second life. Being reborn was more than luck — it was an opportunity he could not waste.

A spark of excitement flickered in his chest.

The next hundred years would be an era of upheaval. Human kingdoms would rise and fall. Orc tribes would surge in power. Forgotten races would reappear from the shadows. Whether it was wealth, influence, magic, or alchemy, Luo Yan already saw countless opportunities.

Then reality poured a little cold water on his enthusiasm.

Five… was an awkward age.

He was small. Weak. Dependent. Anything he wanted to do would meet restrictions at every turn. And worst of all — he couldn’t tell anyone the truth. As a mage, he knew all too well how scholars obsessed over “mysteries.” If someone learned he had been reborn…

He didn’t want to end up on a dissecting table.

He sighed.

Annoying…

He rolled onto his back and focused on himself instead.

“In my last life, I started magic at twelve. Now I have seven extra years. That should at least qualify me as a genius, right?”

Magic had been his greatest talent — and his only profession. And naturally, he had no intention of abandoning alchemy either.

In his previous life, poverty delayed his studies. He didn’t begin training until twelve. His progress was slow. By the time he reached one hundred and twenty, he had only clawed his way to seventh-level. For the last twenty years, he never advanced again.

Becoming an eighth-level mage had felt impossible.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

“With a seventh-level mage’s experience and a century of knowledge… calling myself a genius shouldn’t be too much.”

He decided on his first goal:

Become a “magical prodigy” — something his parents could be proud of.

His second goal was simpler, but no less sincere:

Help his father rise in status.

On the continent of Amelia, geniuses appeared every year — twelve-year-old third-level mages, six-year-old apprentices, even four-year-old prodigies. Some soared. Some vanished. A little fame was acceptable. It would make him stand out — but not too much.

And meanwhile, it gave him a reason to work openly.

Yet beneath that calm planning, a faint pressure gnawed at his heart. The tragedies of his last life had carved something deep into him — an instinctive hunger for power. For strength strong enough to protect his family. Strong enough that no shadowy hand could play games with their fate again.

He might never meet the mastermind from before. But he would still prepare.

He closed his eyes, focusing inward.

A few breaths later, he laughed bitterly.

His magic… had not followed him back.

Everything he spent more than a century cultivating was gone. He would have to start from nothing — again. So much for instantly becoming a “peerless prodigy.”

What stung even more was his aptitude. It wasn’t any better than before.

He had secretly hoped for a miracle.

In his past life, he had always been stuck somewhere in the middle. Not hopeless — but never impressive. He advanced slowly, gradually, inching forward. His journey looked plain at best… disappointing at worst.

A genius among commoners. An ordinary man among geniuses.

He let out a breath.

Fine. Rebirth itself was already a miracle. And this time, he had five more years than before. That alone was worth more than most treasures.

Then suddenly — something clicked.

His eyes widened.

Wait.

He slipped back into introspection.

Moments later, joy surged through him like lightning.

His magic power was gone.

But his mental power remained.

Everything he had refined through 120 years of meditation… had returned with him.

Luo Yan nearly burst out laughing.

For any mage, this would be greater than gold, greater than relics, greater than titles.

Magic could be trained. Resources could accelerate it.

But mental power… only time could build.

And now, at the age of five…

He possessed the mental strength of a man who had cultivated for more than a century.

His lips curled.

So what if his aptitude was average?

He knew countless ways to improve magic growth. Effort could close that gap. And with this mental foundation, he could control spells more precisely than most archmages.

Yes.

A genius among ordinary people.

An ordinary man among geniuses.

That would be his path in this life.

The Abyssal Era…

The Sea Folk became the second rulers of the continent of Amelia. Their victory over the Giants wasn’t because they were stronger. It felt more like fate itself had tilted toward them… or perhaps, it had always been part of a divine plan.

This time in history came to be known as the “Abyssal Era.”

At the end of the Post-Gods Era, the world suddenly grew warmer. Glaciers melted. The seas rose. Vast stretches of land disappeared beneath the waves, while towering mountains turned into lonely islands.

And in this new world, the Sea Folk naturally took control.

The other races were forced back to scattered islands. They lived under the rule — and often the chains — of the Sea Folk. In this harsh environment, no one could challenge them. Not even the once-dominant Giants.

Thus, the era of the Sea Folk began.

It was an age ruled by “special powers,” yet it left behind the fewest historical records. People struggled to understand what “special powers” meant. These abilities could not be cultivated through training. They were tied to bloodlines — inherited, not learned.

Later, figures known as “Apostles,” “Ability Holders,” and “Superpowered Warriors” were believed to be descendants of those ancient bloodlines. Rarely seen, but always present, they worked behind the scenes as a hidden force shaping the world.

“The protagonist one hundred thousand years later… walks beneath the wheels of history.”

…

A wave of joy surged through Luo Yan’s chest.

Not only had he been reborn — his mental power was still at the level of a 140-year-old, seventh-rank mage. The realization left him stunned, then thrilled.

Out of habit, he snapped his fingers. Before his rebirth, it was something he often did when casting. Instinctively, he attempted the simplest necromancy spell: Summon Skeleton.

Nothing happened.

No glow.

No sound.

No wave of magic.

No skeleton crawling out of the darkness.

Only moonlight quietly spilling into the room.

Luo Yan froze — then understood.

He had immense mental power…

but no magic power yet.

His magic channels hadn’t even formed. Without them, spellcasting was impossible.

The excitement faded like cold water thrown over him. He smiled bitterly. Magic power could accelerate cultivation, but it still had to be built up slowly. If he wanted his strength back, he had a long road ahead.

He calmed himself and slipped into a light meditative state — clear, quiet, and focused. His first meditation after rebirth began.

…

Soft breaths escaped him as he sensed the world around him. Soon, tiny motes of light appeared in his perception. These were magic elements.

Red — blazing fire.

Blue — deep and calm, like the ocean.

Yellow — heavy earth, slow and steady.

Cyan — swift, lively wind.

Brilliant light.

Crackling lightning.

And finally, warm green — the element of life.

“Earth, Fire, Wind, Water, Lightning, Light, Wood… the seven basic elements that form the foundation of magical civilization.”

Everyone possessed a natural affinity. You could still absorb other elements, but it was slower. That was why most mages rarely switched paths unless they were completely stuck.

Luo Yan’s affinity was necromancy.

But he didn’t worry.

On the continent of Amelia, necromancers weren’t universally hated. Maybe the Church of Holy Light caused trouble in some western regions, but most places accepted every kind of mage: elementalists, summoners, healers — and necromancers.

In fact, many scholars considered necromancy a branch of life magic, tied to the wood element — a strange joke from the gods.

To understand life, one must first face death. The search for immortality led scholars toward death magic. Undead creatures, in their twisted way, represented a form of “eternal life.” From that perspective, necromancy truly was a path of life.

Life and death.

Light and darkness.

At this moment, they seemed to connect within him.

Warm energy wrapped around Luo Yan like a hot spring. It slowly gathered into streams of heat. Instead of following the basic meditation path he used before, he deliberately guided the warmth through a different route — deeper and more complex.

It was the path of the advanced meditation technique: Radiant Earth.

Radiant Earth Meditation Technique

A sub-legendary method ranked twelfth on the Divine Skill Ranking. Its creator remains unknown. The archmage Guo Tuan Rong once used it to dominate the continent for four centuries.

Basic Effect: speeds up magic power cultivation and sharpens mental focus.

Special Effects:

• Earth Qi Absorption — slowly strengthens the body

• Refining — cleanses and purifies physical impurities

In his previous life, Luo Yan’s progress had been slow. His aptitude wasn’t amazing, and he started late — but the real problem was the lack of a good meditation method.

He had only practiced the Magic Guild’s public tutorial:

Low-Level Meditation Technique (Version 2.0).

It was safe, easy, and free… and painfully average. At best, it could open four magic channels. After three years of work, he had barely opened his fifth.

This time, he chose Radiant Earth.

Risky — but powerful. If practiced wrong, it could cause backlash. Most mages wouldn’t dare attempt it without guidance.

Luo Yan, however, had over a century of experience as a seventh-rank mage. He trusted himself.

He silently thanked whichever god had arranged his rebirth. His memories were sharp, like a vast library waiting to be opened — a gift born from powerful mental strength.

He recalled the meditation steps perfectly. Words and symbols floated before his eyes. Warmth flowed through his body, running along mysterious paths — feet to head, chest to back.

The heat circled nine times. Then, slowly, it sank deeper.

He focused.

Magic and body synchronized. The moment came — opening the channels.

Heat gathered at the base of his spine. It spun like a vortex.

A faint crack echoed inside him.

Something broke through.

A shimmering, silver path formed — thin at first, then brighter and steadier as the energy continued to flow.

The first magic channel had opened.

Relief washed over him. With the first channel formed, magic would trickle in on its own, building power slowly and steadily.

The warmth surged again.

Another vortex.

Another breakthrough.

The second channel opened.

Then the third.

Fourth.

Fifth…

Radiant Earth truly deserved its reputation.

By the end, seven channels were open.

In his past life, he had opened only four at the start — and needed three full years for the fifth.

Now, deep in meditation, Luo Yan let the magic circulate freely. His breathing slowed. His mind quieted.

And he sank deeper into cultivation.