Luki was born with a rare illness that left him bedridden his entire life. His only solace was fantasy audiobooks and strategic puzzle games that kept his mind sharp.
And the window of his hospital room, through which he dreamed of freedom that never came.
His family was wealthy enough to pay for his care, but not present enough to visit. He wasn’t angry about that, he knew he was a burden. In fact, he was grateful they didn’t abandon him completely.
Still, he wished things were different. But what were wishes, except dreams that could never be touched?
When Luki was twenty-two, he died. His life began and ended in the same room.
’..So this is it... my life just passed like that. Meaningless, wasteful. I wish this was like the books, where I could be reborn, even as an innkeeper or a farmer. Just to feel the sun on my skin, or to have a family around me. Or at least...’
’...What’s happening? Why am I even thinking? Isn’t it supposed to be darkness and nothingness? ...I can see...?..’
He could see. And he knew, he was now a soul, free from the burden of flesh.
He was also swimming.
Luki drifted down a narrow yellow river that stretched into eternity. The current carried him for what felt like thousands of years, and yet also mere minutes.
Then, suddenly, he felt gazes upon him. Eyes that could exterminate worlds with a glare. They looked down and judged him.
"A pitiful soul, filled with anger and hatred for the unfairness of the world. Why hide your bitterness behind futile dreams? How will you fare, a soul chained by its body? Interesting. You will do well as the Candidate. Go!"
Luki’s soul flinched.
And when he opened his eyes... he was no longer Luki, he was now Galthor Stronghide.
His limbs were filled with power, muscles taut with strength. Solid ground pressed beneath his feet, and the air he breathed wasn’t tainted with chemicals but something else that burned his nose.
Even more—he was a god.
Galthor’s heart pounded, his eyes wide with fear as he clutched his chest. "Wha...at?"
"Shut up, you useless son of a whore!" a voice hissed beside him, harsh and disappointed. "I thought you were dead!"
The voice belonged to a barbarian. Galthor’s unfocused eyes tried to adjust. "Where’s the hospital? The pretty nurses? Where’s... wait... I can speak properly?"
Something lashed out from the darkness. It struck him hard across the jaw. His head snapped back and he crashed against a rough wall with a grunt.
At the same time, information exploded into his mind so intense his vision went white and his breath stopped. Forcing air into his lungs, he began sorting through the flood of memories.
He realized he had died... and now reincarnated into a body in a Divine World called Eros, where gods and mortals walked the land.
And he wasn’t just any being. He was a god. The Barbarian God, the first to appear in hundreds of thousands of years.
His heartbeat quickened. He’d read enough isekai novels to recognize what was happening. He swallowed. ...Where’s my system? My cheat?
But no system came. Only the divine body he now inhabited, and the deep, locked memories of the long-dead Barbarian God and his powers.
Before he could fully analyze them, an overwhelming sense of danger crashed into him. He snapped back to the present.
His host body had been the son of a rebelling ChainLord. His family had been slaughtered, his father executed, and he had died with them, until Luki’s soul took over.
He looked around. He was in a tunnel, his back against a carved-out section of the wall. The ground was littered with corpses, monsters and barbarians alike. The air reeked of poison and blood.
What the hell is going on...?
His human mind recoiled, but his new body didn’t tremble. It was accustomed to war. He clung to that strength, forcing his eyes cold and steady.
Turning to the one who struck him, Galthor finally saw clearly, another barbarian, tall and broad-shouldered, his face scarred and painted with blood. A savage aura glowed faintly red around him, and in his hand he carried an impossibly large sword.
The name surfaced from the memories. "Brakthar?"
Brakthar’s eyes flashed. For a moment it seemed he would strike, but he held back, grinding his teeth, his disappointment clear. "The poison in the air didn’t kill you."
Galthor shivered. The poison had killed his host, that much was certain. Slowly, the situation became clear.
He wasn’t an ordinary barbarian. He was the son of a ChainLord, a master of slaves. But his father had rebelled, and now he and his household were hunted down, slaughtered. Only Galthor and Brakthar, his father’s man remained alive.
’...My last life was misery... and now I’m about to die again? Am I really that unlucky in two lives?...’
’...Wait. I am a god. The Barbarian God...that should count for something right?..’
Footsteps echoed through the tunnel. Growls followed. Shadows flickered as monsters and barbarians surged in.
Eight of them, bristling with weapons and bloodlust. Hound-like beasts slinked between their legs, fangs dripping venom.
At their head stood a barbarian with short red hair and arms like tree trunks. Around his neck swung a necklace of severed heads. His eyes fixed on Brakthar, ignoring Galthor entirely.
"Brakthar," the red-haired barbarian growled. "You have real skill. Leave that useless bastard and join us. A new ChainLord rules now. You don’t have to die here."
Brakthar’s teeth ground so hard it sounded like stone on stone. "He might not be worth it, but I swore to his father, the chief, that I would fight for him! And you killed the chief. By my blood, I’ll kill you!"
The leader grunted and stepped forward, his bloody necklace swaying.
Galthor’s gaze locked onto it and his head erupted with emotions and memories.