Reincarnated Hero System

“Focus, you idiot! It’s coming!”

The bear was on the soldier again, claws swiping in deadly arcs and though the soldier tried to respond, his body was still uncoordinated and his movements were jerky.

He took another blow to the stomach, and this time the pain was sharp, the skin tearing open with a sickening sound. Blood poured out, but he barely had time to register it before the bear swiped again, landing another hit that sent him crashing into the wall.

Zebas shouted orders, trying to restrain the beast. But then—the collar malfunctioned. The Spear Back’s restraints failed, and the monster let out a deafening roar, launching itself at the soldier with all of its unbridled strength.

The soldier couldn’t move fast enough and the Bear swiped its claws once more and dealt a deep wound in his side.

His vision blurred as he struggled to stand. The room was chaos, alarms blaring, scientists scrambling.

And it was then that something began to happen.

His flesh started to bubble again, but this time, it didn’t heal smoothly. His stomach twisted and warped, spiralling into a grotesque mass of flesh, like something out of a nightmare.

Beatrix, watching the video with Evan, let out a gasp and recognition flashed in her eyes.

“That… that looks just like—”

“Like the monsters we fought.”

Artemisia completed her words while Evan just remained silent, his thoughts unknown.

In the video, the man’s body convulsed, but he stood, his wounds closing in those same horrific spirals.

His eyes were vacant, his breathing heavy and erratic.

He let out a guttural scream, and then he charged at the spear back, divinity erupting from his body in waves.

The Spear Back, sensing the change, roared back, but it was too late as the soldier slammed into it with a ferocity that left the scientists shocked.

Punch after punch, blow after blow—his strength multiplied with every hit, his newly acquired divinity spiralling out of control.

The bear fought back, slashing him again, but every wound healed, each one leaving behind more of that spiralling, cancerous flesh.

Finally, with a savage roar, the man brought his fist down on the bear’s skull and shattered it, sending blood spraying.

As the beast collapsed, dead at his feet, there was silence.

No one moved.

Zebas finally spoke, calling out to the man, but the soldier, now drenched in a mixture of gold and red blood, silently turned toward the scientists.

His eyes, blank and unrecognizable, focused on them for only a second before he lunged forward with terrifying speed.

His fists slammed against the reinforced glass of the observation area, causing a loud crack to echo through the room.

Zebas and Ger froze in shock—the glass wasn’t supposed to break so easily, it was reinforced multiple times over.

But the soldier didn’t spare time for their shock as he summoned the chaotic divinity within him and delivered another punch, the screen fracturing further.

“Get out! Now!”

Zebas shouted, already scrambling for the exit, while guards rushed in, but it was too late.

The soldier’s third blow sent a shockwave rippling through the air, blasting everyone—guards, scientists, everyone—off their feet.

The man roared, no trace of humanity left in his eyes, just blind rage as he prepared to attack again.

Just as he was about to lunge at Ger’s master and the others, a beam of pure, concentrated divinity shot from nowhere.

It slammed into the soldier, hurling him across the room and into the wall with a bone-shattering impact.

Then another beam fired, hitting the soldier directly in the chest. This time, it obliterated everything—flesh, bone, and divinity—leaving a gaping hole where his chest had been.

Silence followed.

The soldier’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath him. For a long moment, nobody moved.

Then, footsteps echoed through the quiet room.

Zebas turned, his face paling as his eyes fell on the figure stepping into view. He gasped, his voice trembling with shock.

“General Duskhand!”

Evan’s ears perked when he heard the name.

‘Duskhand? The same Duskhand who owned the Bastille Arthur had destroyed?’

It was indeed the very same Transcendent Arthur had fought and barely survived against earlier this year.

Divine Human General Duskhand, in the flesh.

Unlike these fakes being created here, this man was a bona fide Divine Human, with an ancestry linked to the gods.

He had tousled dirty blonde hair and eyes the colour of murky gold. Standing at a fairly tall height, his figure was adorned in a crisp military uniform.

His presence alone seemed to drain the air from the room and he called out to the lead researcher with a deep voice.

“Zebas.”

Zebas stiffened, immediately standing to attention and bowing quickly.

“General.”

Duskhand’s expression didn’t change as he surveyed the room, his gaze landing on the wreckage of the soldier’s body.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We… we had a small hiccup.”

Zebas responded, his words faltering under the weight of Duskhand’s scrutiny. Seeing his reply, Duskhand raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“A hiccup? And how long have you been having this ‘hiccup’?”

Zebas opened his mouth to lie, to say that the incident was recent, just a mistake. But one look at Duskhand’s eyes, and he realized—Duskhand already knew.

He knew exactly how long this had been going on. So, with a heavy swallow, Zebas answered truthfully.

“The past few months now.”

“Months, you say?

You’ve been dealing with this issue for months and still haven’t figured out the cause. Do you understand the potential catastrophe you almost unleashed?”

Zebas remained silent, but Duskhand’s words cut deeper.

“If we incorporated that… thing into our forces, it would kill our own men before it even touches the demons it’s meant to destroy.

The only saving grace is that destroying their artificial divine core kills them. Without that, you’d have unleashed a rampaging, half-immortal monster upon the world.”

The moment Duskhand said it, the three teenagers watching the video zeroed in on his words.

“Destroying their Artificial Divine Core kills them.”

That was the key—their weakness.

This was the reason why Danger Sense had been warning Evan against fighting these monsters. He didn’t know of this weakness, so unless he nuked the monsters with his full power, erasing every bit of them, he wouldn’t have been able to win.

He and the other two quickly noted this down. If they encountered one of these creations, they’d search for anything resembling an artificial divinity core and destroy it.

Back in the video, Duskhand’s gaze was piercing as he spoke again.

“This thing you’ve created—it’s a failure.”

Zebas stiffened at the General’s words, but his defiance flared.

“Sir Duskhand, I beg to differ. It’s far too soon to consider it a failure.”

Duskhand’s eyes narrowed, but Zebas pressed on, his voice growing more fervent.

“The only problem is maintaining their sentience.

We’ve given them everything real divines have, and more. They can manipulate divinity. Their bodies are enhanced—stronger, faster, more durable. We’ve given them regenerative abilities, and pain nullification—things actual divines could only dream of.

The only drawback is their lifespan, which is significantly shorter. But even that can change with growth; when they level up and increase their Existence Realm, though their lifespan will still max out at about half of what it should be, based on their Existence Realm.

But that’s a small price to pay for the power they wield.”

Zebas paused, his eyes gleaming with conviction.

“We just need to stabilize their sentience, and they’ll be perfect. Or, better yet, we can use them like this. With the same collars we use on the monsters, we can control them. Unleash them on the demons, and—”

“Enough.”

Duskhand’s voice cut off Zebas and though the scientist still had words he wanted to say, Duskhand repeated his remark, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Enough, Zebas.”

The General stepped forward as he began to speak in a cold voice.

“You want us to use these things as they are? Did I not say they’re failures? Complete failures.”

His gaze hardened as he continued.

“What we need are soldiers. When we gave you the budget for this Artificial Divine Project, we told you what we needed—soldiers who could obey orders.

Artificial divines that look, act, and obey like real ones. Not mindless beasts like the one whose misery I just ended.”

Duskhand stepped into the broken testing area, his boots crunching over the shattered glass. He bent down, picking up the corpse of the soldier. Silence stretched as he studied the body, then dropped it to the floor with a dull thud.

“At what point do you begin to have these issues?”

Though his voice was calm, it was laced with an undertone of frustration.

“The earlier results you presented were functional. Their sentience was intact, with no signs of instability or deformities. What happened? Why haven’t you been able to recreate that success?

Or is it that you can, but you keep pushing, adding things to make them ‘better’?”

In response to his query, Zebas rushed over to a nearby desk and grabbed some papers—reports he’d drafted—to show Duskhand.

“Sir Duskhand, if we can make the artificial divines stronger than even real divines, then our advantage against the demons will be unmatched.”

Duskhand sighed, his expression softening slightly. He took one glance at the reports and then spoke.

“Zebas, I understand your ambition. I know you want to push these creations beyond what real divines are capable of.

But if your efforts to make them ‘better’ are causing consistent failures, perhaps you should rethink your approach.”

He paused, locking eyes with Zebas.

“Again, I ask—at what point do these anomalies start? When do they lose their sentience? When do the deformities appear? Whatever you’ve added to push them past that point, whatever enhancements come after, maybe it’s time to stop.

Try leaving them out and see if you can recreate the success, rather than ending up with an abomination like this.”

Zebas hesitated, but his desire to push the project further wouldn’t let him stay silent.

“But Sir Duskhand, if we remove those enhancements—the extra edits to their Artificial Divine Cores—they’ll lose their increased strength.

Their divinity would be just… normal. No better than a real divine’s.

Wouldn’t it be more effective if their divinity were stronger? If they could regenerate, ignore pain, and keep fighting even when their bodies are broken? Wouldn’t it be better if they could regenerate from the damage inflicted by demons?”

But Duskhand responded in a sharp manner one would expect from a General experienced in war.

“Better? Perhaps. But at what cost, Zebas?

What good is stronger divinity if the soldier wielding it is a mindless monster? No matter how much power you give them, if they can’t think, they can’t be trusted to obey orders. And without that trust, they can’t be soldiers.”