Coordinates: The Divine Realm Above the Skies of Glaivo's Great World.
The chief gods of various races gather here to discuss the impending invasion of the lower world.
After deliberation, they unanimously decide that this time, humans should take the lead. The human deities don't object—or rather, they dare not object.
They aren't the human gods of old; while they may still hold lofty positions in the mortal realm, in the divine realm, they are seen by other races' deities as mere cowards who rose to power through betrayal.
Now, due to their cowardice, humanity on the continent is about to face an apocalyptic disaster. The dream of humans relying on their gods as saviors is evidently not going to come true. Their only hope lies in the emergence of a true savior from among the human race. But how difficult is that to achieve.
Yet, higher dimensional beings now turn their gaze upon this world. Dozens of streams of light are cast into the world by these entities. And all of this goes unnoticed by anyone, even those so-called omnipotent gods.
From this moment, the world turns a new page!
A chapter belonging to humanity!
A true chapter...
In the capital of the Vorry Duchy, Silver Peak City, it is already deep into the night, yet the palace remains brightly lit.
A guard enters the Duke's chamber. "My lord, the child has been born—a son. Both mother and child are healthy."
Upon hearing this news, Duke Amir does not show much excitement.
After a long silence, he sighs, "Ah, this child has been born at an inopportune time. The duchy is about to go to war. We do not yet know the outcome, whether his arrival in this world is a blessing or a curse, no one can say."
The head guard responds, "My lord, we will surely be victorious."
"Let's hope so."
At this point, Duke Amir suddenly changes the subject.
"Jansen, how many years have you been with me?"
Without hesitation, the head guard replies, "Since I can remember, I've been with you, my lord—twenty-eight years now."
"Twenty-eight years. How quickly time has passed. I still remember when we went to study in the Kingdom of Billie as children; it feels like it was just yesterday."
Hearing this, Jansen, the head guard, allows himself a rare smile.
Duke Amir continues, "Jansen, my dear friend, can I trust you?"
The head guard kneels on one knee.
"Of course. My loyalty is witnessed by the gods."
Duke Amir helps him up.
"Alright, I am witness enough."
Now, Duke Amir's expression turns serious.
"Jansen. I need you to leave Silver Peak City tonight. I've arranged everything. In a remote corner of the duchy, there is an estate. It may not be fertile, but it will provide a good life. From now on, you will be a baron. Do not disdain the low rank; only this way will it not attract attention."
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Seeing that Jansen wants to say something, the Duke raises his hand to stop him and whispers a few words in his ear. Jansen looks shocked, but after a moment, he nods with difficulty.
The following day, a rumor spreads throughout Silver Peak City.
It is said that the Duke's youngest son died last night.
In a fit of rage, Duke Amir executed the midwife and the queen's maids. He also expelled Jansen, the commander of the palace guards and his childhood companion, from the royal city, tossing him a baron's title and exiling him to a remote area.
People briefly lament the peril of serving a ruler, but soon forget the incident.
Now, the duchy's army is about to set out, and this is the matter that concerns everyone.
As for the unfortunate Jansen, no one pays attention, and the Duke's infant son is even less cared for, as he didn't even have a name.Meanwhile, as the Duke's youngest son was born, tensions rise in the neighboring Kingdom of Ika.
It is the target of a joint assault by the Vorry Duchy, the Kingdom of Billie, and the Kingdom of Ogiro.
Although the Kingdom of Ika has allies, the unpredictability of war makes it a disaster for commoners, regardless of the outcome.
In a count's domain within the Kingdom of Ika, another family welcomes the birth of a son.
Fortunately, this child survives.
Unfortunately, the child's father only has a moment to glance at his newborn son before heading to the battlefield.
Perhaps sensing the impending separation from his father or fearing that his father may never return, the boy cries loudly and mournfully.His frail mother gently rocks him in her arms.
"You shall be named Henwell. Little Henwell, grow up quickly. When your father returns with honors, perhaps we can become a knightly family. Then, you will inherit the family's mill and shop."
The moment the infant stops crying, his little mouth quivers and he begins to wail again.
"I don't want to be a commoner. I don't want to inherit a mill. This isn't the right start. Shouldn't I be a prince?"
"At the very least, I should be born into nobility. How did I end up as a commoner? This is so unfair—I want to file a complaint."
The child mentally rants before drifting off to sleep. A few days later, he finally comes to terms with the harsh reality that he hasn't been born into wealth and nobility.
Now, he lies quietly in his cradle, contemplating his current situation.
His name is Barry Allen, certainly, just like the name "the Flash."
His soul doesn't belong to this world.
A transmigration?
Doesn't quite seem like it.
All he remembers is crashing into a massive truck—a fully loaded, speeding, out-of-control truck. The scene was brutal, like one of those where you end up stuck in a tree.
At that moment, Barry realized two things: first, being cut in half doesn't mean instant death; second, being cut in half hurts like hell.
Despite his injuries, Barry had dragged his half body towards his phone, only to be held down by a kind-hearted person who told him not to move, to breathe deeply, and to stay awake until help arrived.
Thus, Barry died with unfinished business, haunted by the thought of his phone's browser filled with "study films" that he hadn't deleted.Even from another world, he can almost hear the murmurs at his memorial service, with friends and family speculating.
The thought of a posthumous social death, where his carefully maintained image of a gentleman crumbles into that of a scoundrel, fills him with shame.
His little feet curl up stubbornly, as if trying to carve a pattern into the cradle.But more than anything, Barry thinks about how his death will affect his loved ones.
Will his close friends, as promised, don suits and sunglasses, with earpieces in, and stand solemnly under black umbrellas, watching his funeral from afar?
Will that girl shed a tear upon hearing the news, proving that their past feelings were genuine?
And his parents, who raised him—how will they cope with the loss of their child?
There might be compensation money, which, though it can't heal their grief, might at least provide them with a comfortable life.
What will the world be like without him? Better? Worse? Or perhaps unchanged?
Yes, he was just an insignificant person. Beyond his friends and family, who else would he impact?
Everything from that life, whether good or bad, no longer concerns him.
From now on, he is not Barry but Henwell.
Yet, that place holds thirty years of memories. With this thought, Barry—or rather, Henwell—can't help but sob.
Hearing the child's cries, Henwell's mother comes into the room and gently rocks him in her arms. The child's body is still fragile, and carrying the soul of an adult is quite exhausting.
Now, under the soothing hum of his mother's unknown lullaby, Henwell begins to feel drowsy.
Just as he is about to drift off to sleep, a sudden thought arises in Henwell's mind. In my past life, I was a nobody.
This time around, I must live grandly and leave a mark on the world, even in death.I refuse to remain nameless! I won't settle for being a commoner—I will become nobility!