Life Rebooted with Copy and Paste

Kim Do-Joon followed Laoha into the city.

Instead of ordinary stone or marble, the pristine white city's buildings were of unknown materials.

The streets teemed with members of the Mahal Tribe. Some guarded the gates, while others were busy inside the buildings, tending to their livelihoods. Unlike the Mahal Tribe of the forest, these city dwellers were dressed in pure white togas. Their attire was similar to Laoha's, but it lacked the intricate, antique patterns.

Yet, they shared some commonalities with the forest tribe. Horns jutted from their heads, and each carried a sword on their back or at their waist. Even the children running through the streets carried wooden swords proportionate to their small sizes.

A tribe that worships martial skill...

The Mahal Tribe must have been created and nurtured by the Holy Spirit Lord. However, they differed greatly from the humans of Siwelin's world, who lived ordinary lives centered on prayer and wishes.

Seeing these people, whose lives revolved around martial prowess, made Kim Do-Joon wonder.

Are they preparing for war?

The thought seemed plausible. Of course, unless he asked directly, it was all assumptions.

“Ah, High Chieftain Laoha!”

“High Chieftain, you’ve returned!”

“Welcome back, High Chieftain!”

As Laoha appeared, the streets bustled with people. People flocked to her to greet her warmly, boast of their accomplishments, or offer her fruits and other gifts.

“Thank you,” Laoha replied with a kind smile.

Her demeanor was not that of an authoritarian queen but more like a beloved neighbor. Amid the commotion, their attention naturally shifted to Kim Do-Joon, who had been trailing behind her.

“Who’s this?”

“A guest?”

“But I don’t see any horns... Could he be an exile?”

The curious whispers grew louder. Some muttered about "exiles," and the term jogged Kim Do-Joon’s memory.

A criminal whose horns were severed before being cast out?

That was what Shura had told him when they first met. “Exile” was a term reserved for sinners.

“Yes, he's my guest,” Laoha announced gently but firmly. “Would you mind stepping aside? I have important matters to discuss with him.”

Her words, delivered with an affectionate expression, silenced the crowd instantly. The Mahal Tribe cleared a path in an orderly manner, their curiosity and murmurs fading away. As they walked toward the towering temple at the city's center, Kim Do-Joon glanced over his shoulder.

“They’re obedient,” Kim Do-Joon remarked.

“They’re good children,” Laoha replied, a motherly warmth in her tone as she blushed and chuckled softly.

The sight made an unspoken question bubble up in Kim Do-Joon’s throat. If she cherished her people so much, why had she abandoned them so cruelly back then?

Now is not the time.

He swallowed the question before it could escape. Before he could ask it, he would first have to explain his journey to Siwelin’s world. He wasn’t even sure if Laoha was an ally yet.

Was she the sole child who had sided with the old man, or was she one of the others who had torn him apart? The truth remained obscure.

Eventually, the two arrived at the temple at the city's heart. Unlike the other structures, it was eerily similar to the one that Kim Do-Joon had seen in Siwelin’s world—an exact replica of the ruined temple he had visited, except now restored to its former glory.

“This way.” Laoha led him to an adjacent building on its outskirts.

Was this an indication that outsiders were not allowed inside the temple? Kim Do-Joon wasn’t offended, though. Her wariness was evident but also understandable. Caution toward outsiders was perfectly natural.

Once inside the guest quarters, they sat down. Laoha lowered her head slightly toward Kim Do-Joon, her expression earnest.

“First, I want to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For dealing with the Liches,” she clarified.

"Oh, that matter... Who are they?" Kim Do-Joon asked, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

Laoha furrowed her brow slightly and began to explain.

"They are the undead army led by Immortal King Herdin."

Kim Do-Joon blinked. "Herdin?"

Is that the name of the Death Spirit Lord?

However, her next words suggested otherwise.

"Herdin is an undead creature said to have been born from a demon's corpse. Even now, we're at war with him. He seems particularly agitated by the Mahal Tribe’s power, which directly counters his own."

Born from a demon’s corpse...

Something about that didn’t align with the image of the Death Spirit Lord. Would the old man specifically resurrect a demon to create the Death Spirit Lord?

"The Liches in the forest were his subordinates. Their goal was likely to eliminate the small tribes of Mahal living there to bolster their forces."

She painted a grim picture. If they had succeeded, Herdin’s forces would have launched a flanking attack while her people were busy fighting his main army. Such an ambush could have completely destroyed the fragile balance of power.

Laoha went on, describing the undead lurking beyond the city walls and the courage with which the Mahal fought against them. Her tone grew more impassioned as she spoke.

The more Kim Do-Joon listened, the more certain he became.

She’s hiding the truth about the Death Spirit Lord.

Kim Do-Joon had tuned all his attention to pick up even the faintest hints of the Death Spirit Lord’s identity. Hence, he could tell that Laoha was deliberately avoiding any mention of the real enemy.

It was disappointing, to say the least. He was not here for stories about the undead’s tactics or struggles. He needed two things: information about the Death Spirit Lord and the truth about whether Laoha had sided against the old man.

However, asking directly was not an option. If she had become the old man’s enemy, she’d only become wary of him. He had hoped she would bring it up on her own, but it seemed that wasn’t going to happen.

If that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll just stick to the original plan.

"Well, about that," she began. "Would you be willing to help us?"

His original plan was simple: crush the undead wherever they appeared, forcing the Death Spirit Lord to reveal himself. Right now, he had the strength to make that happen.

Kim Do-Joon nodded in agreement. "Of course."

He didn’t know the Death Spirit Lord’s whereabouts, but with so many resources poured into the war, wiping out his forces would force him to appear.

"Really? Thank you!" Laoha exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

A bright smile spread across her face, genuine and unrestrained. Briefly, almost unconsciously, her smile softened as if a small weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Then, Laoha stiffened for a brief second.

Huh? What is this feeling?

As she spoke with Kim Do-Joon, an inexplicable sense of comfort and security welled up inside her. It was a warmth she had not felt in centuries—not since her father had passed.

Her hands trembled slightly at the unfamiliar sensation. Shaking her head, she steeled herself.

No, I can’t let my guard down. He’s still an outsider.

Many of her siblings resented her for not participating in their father’s murder. For all she knew, Kim Do-Joon could be an assassin sent by one of them.

Therefore, Laoha forced herself to remain cool-headed.

"Thank you," she said finally, extending her hand.

Kim Do-Joon took it, and they shook hands, each harboring their own thoughts and secrets as they made the pact.

***

Countless undead swarmed the hill overlooking the city, their numbers growing by the second as reinforcements arrived from all directions.

At the center of their army stood Immortal King Herdin, a figure of fear and authority. He had long served as the right hand of the Death Spirit Lord, a loyal servant through centuries of darkness.

Herdin tilted his head and muttered in suspicion, "Something's off."“What’s wrong?” one of the knights beside him asked.

“The Liches we sent to the forest... all ten squads have gone silent.”

“Are you sure?”

Herdin nodded gravely. The plan was simple: harvest the corpses of the Mahal Tribes in the forest to bolster their forces for the final assault on the city. However, the Liches critical to the operation had all vanished without a trace.

Could that tramp have noticed...?

Necromancers were creatures of habit, inherently loud in their methods. Their obsession with summoning their armies often drew attention in the process.

Well, if she has detected them, then they must have been annihilated.

Her power was antithetical to theirs. Even the undead, unkillable in their nature, would be utterly obliterated if she had caught them.

Nevertheless, Herdin's lips curled into a wicked grin. “Still, she must have considerably exhausted herself.”

“Yes, that’s likely.”

“She’ll keep draining her strength in this war. The end is in sight.”

He rose to his feet, climbed a platform, and drew his sword—a weapon imbued with the essence of immortality. Its blade exuded an icy, deathly chill.

"The time has come to finish this once and for all."

Keugh...

Geeuh...

The undead army stirred, rising like an unholy tide. A collective groan filled the air as they began their slow march toward the city.

On the front lines, the white-clad warriors of the Mahal Tribe stood firm, weapons drawn.

Herdin scoffed at the sight.

“Hmph.”

Though each Mahal warrior was formidable, their numbers were a mere fraction of the undead army.

The nature of the conflict only worsened their plight. Every battle chipped away at the Mahal forces and simultaneously supplied the undead with fresh, high-quality corpses. The Mahal could never hope to win this war of attrition.

The Mahal warriors tightened their grips on their weapons, gulping as the undead advanced. This wasn’t just a battle of strength—it was also a psychological war. Every fallen comrade returned as an enemy, forcing the Mahal to destroy even their own. It drained their spirits with each passing day.

How much longer can we endure this? How many more times must we strike down our brothers and sisters?

It will probably be the same this time. Would we be able to make it through today without any casualties?

Their morale wavered, but retreat wasn’t an option. Behind them were their families, homes, and very future. As the undead closed in, the warriors prepared for another day of grim, desperate fighting.

And then, a figure stepped forward.

“Hey, wait!” one of the warriors exclaimed.

“Isn’t that the high chieftain’s guest?”

“Stop! Don’t charge out on your own!”

Ignoring the shouts behind him, Kim Do-Joon strode past the Mahal warriors and faced the approaching horde. He then raised and swept a hand through the air.

The movement seemed simple, almost casual, yet it left ripples of power in its wake. A burning energy followed his hand, carving circles into the air.

Innumerable portals then began forming behind him. Both Herdin and the Mahal warriors froze, their eyes wide with disbelief at the otherworldly sight unfolding before them.

Through the portals, shadows began to emerge.

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

A legion of shadowy figures marched forward, their steps shaking the earth.

The authority of the Shadow Lord—now returned to its rightful master—had been invoked.