Finding myself alive inside a coffin wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined spending my youth. I mean, anyone would think being here meant I was dead. And honestly, I wouldn’t blame them.

  But no—I’m still breathing. Thanks to my immortality, of course. Though, to be frank, I’m not sure whether to call it a blessing or a curse right now. Two thousand years trapped here, utterly alone… feels more like a punishment than a privilege.

  My hair, once stark white and lustrous, was now matted with filth and dried blood. A crime against aesthetics, if you ask me. How was I supposed to fix this? I didn’t even have the strength to wallow properly.

  I sighed and pressed my palms against the coffin lid. Time to see if my body’s as spry as I remember. Sure, I might technically be ancient, but that doesn’t mean my muscles got the memo, right?

  C’mon, old man. Time to crawl out of your grave… literally.

  My strength was a shadow of its former self, but the lid shifted anyway. The damn thing had been reinforced with magic circles, but of course, without anyone renewing them over millennia, they’d worn thin.

  It’s like leaving a pot on the stove and forgetting the fire. Eventually, everything burns.

  With a hollow thud, the lid fell aside, stirring a wisp of dust. The first thing I saw… was my own body. Seeing myself like that? An experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  I was skin and bones.

  Honestly, I’m shocked I survived this long on mana alone. Food’s supposed to be essential, but I guess mana works… sort of.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I touched my forehead and felt something crumble. Ash? No—more precisely, the remnants of my horns, now reduced to powder.

  You’d think my drained mana caused it. But no.

  No matter how I strained, my Ryujin form refused to surface. Not a single scale. Calling it “annoying” would be an understatement. It was infuriating.

  Pushing my mana further would’ve been reckless. So instead, I gripped the coffin’s edge and tried to stand.

  It hurt.

  No visible wounds, but every fiber of me burned with a dull, relentless ache. My legs shook like they’d forgotten how to hold weight. This wasn’t my first time struggling to stand—but back then, the reasons were… different.

  I’ve clawed through battles with laughable power and still walked away alive. Guess I owe my immortality for that, too.

  When I finally crawled out of the coffin, my first act was to draw in the ambient mana.

  Floating particles clung to my skin instantly, sliding across my body before seeping into my pores. The sensation was bizarre—like being coated in slime hungrily devouring breadcrumbs.

  Or something close to that.

  Nowhere to go, I thought.

  The realization hit with crushing weight… and I wasn’t wrong. There was no light to guide me, save for the faintly flickering mana particles in the darkness, tracing an uncertain path.

  Well, guess I’ll follow them. Not like I have many choices.

  If I stumbled into something random, so be it. An ogre, a cyclops… hell, even a goblin would do right now.

  Yeah, I know. Sounds ridiculous. But goblins—despite their reputation as dimwits—aren’t all idiots. Some can be surprisingly sharp.

  I tried to walk, but my legs had zero intention of cooperating. Two thousand years without moving. A miracle they still worked at all. But… relearning how to use them? That’d be a headache.

  I stumbled.

  Not surprising.

  Do I even have my boots?

  Pathetic.

  Why? Did I do something wrong?

  Aah… Whatever. Asking myself that wouldn’t fix anything.

  I should’ve tracked down Eleanor or Raynold for answers.

  This felt ominous… I couldn’t even remember the last thing I’d seen before being sealed away.

  Robert wasn’t an option. Or an obligation. The guy’s a total moron—doubt he’d cooperate anyway.

  Then again… Raynold wasn’t much better. At least he had a shred of common sense.