The battlefield burned with the last echoes of despair. Charred ruins stretched as far as the eye could see, and the once-proud kingdom now lay in ashes.

At the center of that wasteland stood five figures — the last hope of humanity — facing the Demon King himself. His body was wreathed in darkness, his crown forged of obsidian flame, and his golden eyes glowed with cruel amusement.

“Heroes,” he rumbled, voice like rolling thunder, “you’ve reached me at last… only to die where countless others have fallen.”

The swordsman at the front — his armor cracked, his sword glowing faintly — took a step forward. “We’re not dying here. Not until you’re gone for good!”

Behind him, his comrades gathered their remaining strength: the mage’s hands sparked with frostfire, the warrior’s axe hummed with runes of power, the rogue circled silently, and the healer whispered a final blessing.

Their eyes met — one last silent vow.

They charged.

The world exploded in sound and fury.

Flames clashed against darkness, steel shattered shadows, and the air itself screamed from the power unleashed. Every strike shook the ground; every spell tore at the heavens. But no matter how fiercely they fought, the Demon King only grew stronger.

“Is this all?” he sneered, sweeping his arm. A torrent of black magic erupted, swallowing the battlefield in a storm of ruin. The heroes were thrown like rag dolls, weapons slipping from trembling hands.

The swordsman staggered to his knees. His body was broken, his mana spent. Around him, his comrades lay motionless.

The Demon King approached slowly, shadows writhing at his feet. “You fought well… but destiny cannot be changed.”

The hero raised his sword once more, though the blade trembled with exhaustion. “Maybe not… but I’ll still try.”

With a roar, he lunged — and for one fleeting moment, his blade shone brighter than ever before.

Light clashed against darkness in a blinding storm.

Then came the end.

The Demon King’s laughter echoed as he summoned his final spell — a spear of black lightning large enough to pierce the heavens. “Die, Hero of Light!”

The hero had no strength left to dodge. He simply closed his eyes as the spear fell toward him.

But before it struck — a blinding radiance burst forth, engulfing him completely.

He felt his body dissolve, his consciousness torn from the battlefield. Time itself seemed to twist, collapsing into a single heartbeat.

When he opened his eyes again… there was no fire, no smoke — only the scent of fresh grass and the sound of distant laughter.

He blinked. Before him stood a massive gate made of white stone, engraved with intricate sigils that shimmered faintly under the morning sun. Beyond it, tall towers and marble halls rose into the sky — the unmistakable sight of Elsgard Magic Academy.

A group of teenagers in fresh uniforms bustled about, holding admission forms and chatting nervously. A banner fluttered overhead:

“Entrance Examination — Today, 9:00 AM.”

The hero’s breath caught in his throat.

His reflection glimmered faintly in the gate’s silver crest — a younger face, free of scars, with eyes still full of youth.

“…Elsgard Academy…?” he whispered. “This… was ten years ago.”

Realization hit him like a lightning strike. This was the day — the very morning — he had first come to take the academy’s entrance exam.

He staggered back, hand trembling.

The Demon King’s voice, the final battle, the destruction of the world — all of it had been real. Yet somehow, he had returned… to the beginning.

“I’ve… gone back,” he murmured. “Ten years… before it all began.”