Rex woke up to the sharp scent of disinfectant and a blinding white ceiling. For a moment, he thought he was in some foreign hospital. The language being spoken around him was completely unfamiliar—like someone had taken German, chewed it up, and spat out alien syllables.
He tried to speak, to gesture, to scream even—but all he got were confused stares and panicked nurses. Just as he was about to hop out of bed like a man possessed, a doctor calmly walked in.
The man wore what looked like shimmering medical gloves—except they hadn't existed a moment ago. They simply materialized on his hands, glowing faintly.
'Are those… magic gloves? Wait, is that magic!? Oh god, I'm in a fantasy novel, aren't I?' Rex barely had time to finish the thought before the doctor waved his glowing hand. Blue light enveloped his vision.
Zzzp!
And just like that, he was out again.
---
The next time he opened his eyes, the world felt… different. Lighter. Quieter. Until—
Ding!
"Agh—who rings a damn bell this early?" Rex groaned, clutching his ears.
No response.
He sat up, bleary-eyed and annoyed—only to freeze as a blood-red screen floated into view. A holographic panel. It pulsed softly in the air, filled with glowing alien symbols that quickly translated into English before his eyes.
'No way. Is this… is this what I think it is?'
Ding!
'Ah, yes. Of course it is.'
As a part-time otaku and full-time corporate slave, Rex recognized the trope instantly. A system. The mythical cheat interface of every reincarnated protagonist. Light novels were full of them—status menus, skill trees, leveling mechanics. Some were divine blessings. Others, parasitic horrors. Most didn't even have consistent lore.
But this one?
[Useless System]
[Status]
[Race : Human]
[HP : 1/1]
[Strength : 1]
[Agility : 1]
That was it.
'Wow. I've seen Excel sheets with more potential than this.'
Rex poked at the air, waved, thought commands like "Open Skills" or "Show me something cool". Nothing happened.
'Maybe it's broken? Or maybe the name wasn't lying…'
He was still figuring it out when the screen flickered. His vision blurred—and a wave of raw data slammed into his brain.
---
When he came out of daze, his mind felt like it had been through a meat grinder. But the fog cleared quickly, leaving behind a whole new set of memories. Not his, but… familiar.
Ray Mortal.
That was the name he now bore in this world. A teenage Soulforger who'd collapsed during his first crafting attempt, landing in a coma. Cause of near-death? Total depletion of "Soul Fragments," whatever those were.
'Wait, Ray Mortal? That's just two letters off from Rex Mortal. You're telling me I died and respawned as a DLC version of myself?'
---
In this world—still called Earth, surprisingly enough—humans didn't rely on guns or politics to fight.
They forged their souls.
Fragments of their essence could be molded into Soul Tools, metaphysical weapons or items that reflected their will. Think magic swords, mind armor, stealth capes—crafted from bits of your actual soul.
It wasn't without risk.
---
Levels of Soulforge:
1. Shaped (Basic)
Forge 1 tool
Light fatigue, emotional fluctuations
Example: A soul-dagger that can cut minor illusions
2. Forged (Intermediate)
Forge 2–3 tools
Risk of mental or physical breakdown
Example: A dagger + cloak combo for stealth kills
3. Soulwrought (Master)
Reality-bending effects
Severe danger: loss of soul, death, or worse
Example: A blade that can sever fate itself
---
Oh—and the system he now had?
Apparently, Ray Mortal created it himself. By sacrificing all of his soul fragments. Total madlad move. Noble, maybe. Also, incredibly dumb.
'You sacrificed your entire soul to make a system that calls itself "useless"? That's some top-tier self-sabotage, Ray.'
The world around him, meanwhile, was another mess. Earth still existed—but not the Earth he knew.
After a planetary-scale invasion by an alien race called the Skarath—who sounded like what you'd get if bugs, lizards, and fascism had a baby—the old nations crumbled. The world was split into 26 mega-districts named A to Z, run by military factions, guilds, and corporate warlords.
So yeah. Still Earth. Just… turned up to 11.
---
Later, the doctor returned. Same stern face. Same glowing gloves.
"Rex Mortal," he said softly, tapping away on a tablet. "You've got less than ten years to live."
Rex blinked.
'Excuse me, what now?'
"But," the doctor added, "if anyone can do something with that time… it's probably you."
Then came the cherry on top.
"Also… your family paid the bill. But they also disowned you. Said you're a disgrace to the Mortal name."
'Wow. Ten years left, no family, and a system with less utility than a toaster.'
Rex flopped back onto the bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
"…At least there's no dog shit this time."