Not truly, though. I locked away all my powers — sealed everything I was — and cast myself into a universe of my own choice. One ruled not by cultivation, but by technology. A world of machines, spacefaring civilizations, logic over spirit.
I brought with me only one thing: a spaceship I created myself.
And that's where my story begins again.
And so began the first controlled reincarnation in history.
I was born into a ducal family under the Terra Empire — a dominant human power ruling over several star systems. From early on, I could see that the empire was surrounded by enemies, with no major allies or partners. Yet it remained strong — held together by its superior technology, powerful military, and a capable emperor.
By the time I turned twenty, I enlisted in the Imperial Navy.
It didn't take long for my tactical instincts and battlefield awareness to stand out. Every battle I led ended in victory — often with minimal losses, sometimes none. My rank rose rapidly, and so did my reputation. Soldiers joined me not just because of orders, but out of loyalty to my leadership.
But time pressed on, and I knew — eventually — I'd need to bring out my ship. The one I created before this reincarnation. The question was how.
Then came the opportunity.
Whispers spread across the sector about the rediscovery of an ancient mechanical civilization. Buried deep in a lost planet named Utopia, it was said to hold a weapon of unimaginable destruction — a relic with no equal. Many powers, including the Terra Empire, scrambled to find it first.
Soon, I was summoned to the imperial palace.
The emperor was an old man. Regal, sharp, but visibly fading. Rumors said his health was failing, and no medicine or treatment had helped. Still, he ruled with firm authority, his will unwavering even in his final days.
As I entered the throne room, only a handful were present: the emperor himself, a few imperial guards, the crown prince, and a princess.
I bowed respectfully.
"Your Majesty. I've come, as summoned."
"Ah, William," he said with a tired smile. "Good. I have a mission for you."
His tone shifted — sharper, more serious.
"You will lead a fleet unit and retrieve the ancient weapon said to be hidden on Utopia. I want it under our control — no one else's. If our enemies were to acquire it, the balance of power would collapse. Our people… our empire would fall."
I looked into his eyes and saw the weight behind his words. This wasn't just a mission — it was a last hope.
I nodded.
"I accept the mission, Your Majesty. I'll make sure that weapon falls into our hands — and no one else's."
Also, and that's where my downfall began.
I had no idea that this mission would be my last in this universe — nor that I would be betrayed by the very empire I served, and by the man I once admired most.
Unaware, I left the Imperial Palace with my fleet preparations underway, determined to fulfill the emperor's command.
But back in the palace…
The emperor sat in silence, gazing down from his throne. A shadowed figure approached — an informant.
"He's departed," the envoy said simply.
The emperor gave a tired nod. "You may leave."
As the envoy exited, the emperor turned to the crown prince, his expression unreadable.
"Is the team in position?"
"Yes, Imperial Father," the prince replied with a smirk. "Everything is set. Our operatives are tracking William's route. They're ready to strike as soon as he moves."
The emperor frowned. "You're underestimating him. You know how many impossible situations that man has survived — battles that should've killed him ten times over."
A calm, cold voice chimed in.
"You worry too much, Father."
The princess stepped forward. Her long blonde hair gleamed under the throne room lights, and her eyes were sharp with amusement.
"My brother and I have planned this thoroughly. He won't walk away from this one. Even if one plan fails, the others won't."
"Indeed," the prince said, folding his arms. "We've accounted for his tactics. He'll likely travel with a light strike fleet — fast ships, small numbers. He prefers speed over force at least for this mission. Whoever gets there first will take control of the mechanical civilization's weapon. He knows that, which is why he'll rely on a small, swift force."
The emperor nodded grimly.
"And we've sent over a hundred ships to intercept," the prince continued. "Heavy cruisers. Only ten will engage at first — enough to overwhelm him without raising suspicion. The rest will wait in ambush."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "If the first group needs support, they'll have it. Swift and decisive. He won't see it coming."
The emperor looked down, not speaking.
"Good," muttered the Emperor under his breath. Then, more to himself than anyone else, he added coldly,
"Don't blame me, William. It's not my fault your life ends this way. Blame your charisma… your tactical brilliance… your growing popularity. You left me no choice. You became too big, too fast. You could have brought glory to the Empire, helped us break boundaries we've never reached before… but the cost was too high. And I can't afford it."
He spoke those words like a justification, like a man trying to convince himself that betrayal was duty — that this was for the good of the Empire and his family's reign over Terra.
But the truth was simple.
A year earlier, before his 24th birthday, William had risen through the ranks at impossible speed, earning victory after victory. His brilliance couldn't be ignored. His leadership and magnetic presence rallied soldiers and officers alike. People followed him not out of duty, but out of loyalty.
And that was dangerous.
The Ruling Council — a body older than the current royal family and independent of the imperial bloodline — had seen what Willam could become. They recognized his unmatched talent, his leadership, and his tactical brilliance. They understood what he could do for the Terra Empirin.
And so, they acted.
Against centuries of tradition, they appointed him Supreme Commander of the Terra military — the first non-royal in history to hold the title.
That was the moment the Emperor stopped seeing William as an asset… and started seeing him as a threat.
A threat to his legacy. A threat to the crown prince's future. A threat to the royal line itself.
Still, even then, the Emperor hadn't planned William's death. That decision came later — pushed by whispers from his own children. Persuaded by the prince, who feared losing power. Encouraged by the princess, whose ambition burned brighter than her sense of honor.
And when the reports came of an ancient weapon buried on Utopia — a device powerful enough to reshape the balance of the galaxy — the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.
William would go to retrieve it, unaware. And there, he would fall.
Even if the cost was catastrophic. Even if the Empire bled for it.
The Emperor approved the plan.
Meanwhile, Willam was, as always, quick to act. He had already prepared his fleet for departure — a single destroyer and four frigates, swiftly boarded and ready to move.
A loyal hero was marching toward his own death.
And the ones who would kill him... were none other than the very empire he had sworn to serve.
....
In the vast expanse of space, deep within a remote sector, a small fleet of six to eight ships sliced through hyperspace.
Among them, the lead vessel—a sleek cruiser nearly 400 meters long—housed a command center alive with activity. Operators moved between glowing consoles, fingers dancing across interfaces as they monitored system data and navigational charts.
At the center of the room stood two men: Archduke William, the young war hero turned fleet commander, and Admiral Ranger, a seasoned veteran tasked with leading this covert mission.
It had been roughly eight hours since they departed the capital. Their route had taken them deep into an unclaimed star sector—neutral space, mostly void of political interest. The mission was critical, ordered personally by the Emperor: investigate rumors of an ancient weapon buried on the mysterious planet Utopia.
William's POV:
I was mid-conversation with Admiral Ranger, discussing our arrival strategy for the Urance system, when the ship suddenly lurched.
Hard.
The entire vessel shook, violently and without warning, as if we'd slammed into a wall.
Impossible.
Nothing could stop a ship in hyperspace like that—not unless...
My instincts screamed, and I turned sharply to the navigation officer, cutting Ranger off mid-sentence.
"What the hell just happened?" I snapped.
The officer's face was pale, his hands frozen above the controls.
"Sir… it looks like—we're being pulled out of hyperspace," he stammered. "By a gravity well."
My blood ran cold.
"A gravity well projector?" Admiral Ranger's voice cut through the silence, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.
"Yes, sir," the officer said, quickly regaining his composure. "It's artificial. And—there's more. The entire fleet… we're all being dragged into an uncharted star system. Desolate. No planetary bodies, no registered presence. Just... empty space."
I didn't like it.
Not one damn bit.
We were being yanked out of hyperspace by a weapon-grade trap, deep in a sector no one should've cared about. Someone had planned this. Knew our route. Knew our timing.
This wasn't coincidence.
It was an ambush.