Charles Best was having a spectacularly bad day, which fit perfectly with the horrendous week that he just went through. For reasons he could not completely comprehend, he had reincarnated.
His original identity was that of shaman king from the Dark Elf race, but that was merely the most mundane identity he carried in his previous life. He was a third generation elf, meaning he was only two generations down from the birth of the very first Dark Elf in this realm ever!
As such, when he was born, the Origin realm had only been stable for a little over 10,000 years, with its actual age being near 100 million years, as compared to now when it was already nearing 14 billion years!
As a result, he was privy to certain secrets that remained unknown to most, and had experienced perhaps the most spectacular time for this realm. Any and every realm, upon its inception, was filled with the most potent form of spiritual energy, meaning chaos energy, and was too dangerous for normal species to be born. But that did not mean that no species were born at all.
No, in fact the younger the age of a realm, the more likely it was to give birth to what were categorized as Mythical beings. They usually gave birth to extraordinarily powerful races, though their offsprings scarcely ever reached the level of their primogenitors. Such was the case with elves, and it was similarly the case with dragons, phoenixes and many prominent races.
As the grandchild of a primo, so to speak, Charles had been exposed to knowledge and secrets that the races of today could not even begin to comprehend. So, it was quite ironic that Charles himself could not comprehend the reason for his reincarnation, though he strongly suspected it was related to the cause of his death.
But the greater secrets of the universe be damned, for he was in no position to even consider them at the moment. Reincarnated as a human, a race he had never even heard of before, Charles was put in an extremely weak and frail body. Moreover, the spiritual energy of the realm was no longer able to support the kinds of cultivation techniques he already knew, meaning he would have to rely on the more modern, subpar techniques.
Before he could get his affairs in order, and begin his cultivation, armageddon seemed to have descended on this place. If he did not use certain techniques that relied on external items as fuel to save himself, he would have died immediately when the poison spread.
Had he mentioned that, on this entire forsaken planet, the body he had inhabited was even more pathetic than the rest of his race? For reasons unknown, the prior occupant of this body had not been able to cultivate at all during his life.
At least Charles had a clean slate to begin his cultivation with when he finally picked what he wanted. But the issue now was, the artificial energy he had stored in the containers he had attached to his body was running out. When that happened, he would have no way to protect himself.
He could only hope that by showing off his extensive knowledge of nature, he could be considered valuable enough by the human empire, and be rescued before anything too drastic happened. He had too much to live for. After all, he knew all the great secrets of the Origin realm. He only needed a little bit of strength, and he could begin harvesting treasures that had spent billions of years in the making. His rise would be unstoppable.
Just as Charles was worrying about his survival, daydreaming about his rise, and reminiscing about his past, he became aware of a massive white wolf standing right in front of him, and a human wearing some kind of devilish mask riding atop it.
"Grandpa Fenrir!" he could not help but suddenly exclaim as he fell to his knees, the shock of what he saw completely wiping his mind clear of all thoughts. But then a few seconds passed in awkward silence as neither side spoke, and everyone was wondering what was going on.
Charles woke up, and realized the mistake he had made of letting his instinctual reaction get the better of him. But he also could not be blamed, for who could expect to see a wolf with such a pure bloodline 14 billion years after the origin realm had already been formed. His Grandpa Fenrir was probably already dead, or had long since left the realm.
Charles stood up and coughed to clear his throat, pretending as if his previous actions had never happened.
"How can I help you? Do you also need treatment?" he asked, his expression and tone extremely professional.
But, unfortunately, the devilish man did not play along.
"You recognized Fenrir pretty quickly. Have you seen another wolf with the same bloodline before? But I was under the impression that this bloodline was pretty rare."
It definitely had to be rare, for even though the system had many drawbacks, it never lied when it was concerned with its quest rewards!
"You… you…. You named him Fenrir?" Charles asked, raising a trembling hand and pointing at the devilish man. "Do you know what you're doing?"
Charles suddenly became weak in his legs. He had just been reborn, so why the hell was he encountering so many dangerous situations? The ignorant were truly bold, and dared to do anything.
"Why? Is there a problem with giving it such a name?" the devilish man asked.
His question made sense. Ordinarily, it was not a big deal regardless of what one was named. But that was only if one did not know about the Mythical beings, and their corresponding powers over their bloodlines. If the wolf had been named Fenrir, and nothing amiss had happened to it, there were only a few possibilities Charles could think of.
The first, and safest option was that Grandpa Fenrir truly was dead. The second, and quite a real possibility, was that Grandpa Fenrir had used certain laws to set up conditions for his own reincarnation. The third… Charles suddenly stopped trembling and looked at the devilish man as if trying to guess his identity. The third possibility was that behind this devilish man was someone even Grandpa Fenrir did not dare to mess with.
