Dragon Of Eternity: Reincarnated As A Dragon With System

Chapter 1: Death And Reincarnation

Warmth surrounded him—a stifling, unbearable heat that pressed against his entire body. He couldn't breathe.

The tight space closed in on him, choking, suffocating. His limbs twitched, struggling to move, but the walls pressed back, smooth and unyielding.

What is this? The thought barely formed in his mind, panic drowning out everything else. He pushed harder, desperate to escape the crushing weight.

His efforts met resistance, the hard surface refusing to give. The walls were too small, too confining. He twisted and strained, muscles screaming in protest.

I need to get out. I can't… breathe…

With a burst of frantic energy, he slammed against the barrier. A sharp sound rang out, cutting through the suffocating silence.

Crack.

He froze, his heart—or what felt like a heart—hammering in his chest. For a moment, the panic receded, replaced by raw confusion.

What just happened?

Another push, and the barrier splintered further. Pieces crumbled around him, and a sliver of light pierced through the oppressive darkness. Encouraged, he struck again, harder this time.

The surface shattered. Cool air rushed in, sharp and overwhelming after the suffocating heat. He tumbled forward, collapsing onto a rough, uneven surface.

Gasping for breath, he blinked, his vision blurred by the sudden light. All around him lay fragments of something pale and smooth, scattered like shards of glass.

An egg.

The realization sent a jolt through him. He stared at the broken pieces, his mind spinning.

Why was I inside an egg?

His gaze shifted downward—to himself. His limbs felt strange, heavier than they should be. They glinted faintly in the light, as though covered in scales.

What am I?

As the panic subsided, fragments of memory began to surface in his mind, like pieces of a puzzle slowly falling into place.

Wait… I wasn't… always like this, was I?

He closed his eyes—or, at least, he thought he did—and the image of a tired man slumped over a desk came to mind. Papers piled high, a blinking cursor on a screen, and the faint hum of an ancient office air conditioner.

Oh no…

He remembered it now. His life before this… whatever this was. The endless days of sitting in a cubicle, staring at spreadsheets, answering emails, and pretending to laugh at his boss's awful jokes.

God, I hated those jokes.

Nine to five, Monday to Friday, with the occasional unpaid overtime. That was his existence. Well, except for Fridays—Fridays were pizza days, and if you got there early enough, you could snag a slice with extra cheese.

Man, I miss pizza.

Then, the memory shifted. He recalled the streetlights flashing by, the rumble of the bus as it carried him home, his earbuds playing the same overplayed pop songs he never bothered to update. It had been a normal day. Or so he'd thought.

Until it wasn't.

The truck.

His eyes—or whatever he had now—snapped open. He could still see it: the blinding headlights, the screech of tires, the loud honk that screamed, "Get out of the way, you idiot!"

But he hadn't gotten out of the way.

Seriously? I got taken out by a truck? How unoriginal can you get?

It was almost laughable. Years of mind-numbing work, saving up for a vacation he never took, and dreaming of a life more exciting than spreadsheets… only to get reincarnated like some cheap isekai protagonist.

Wait. Is that what this is? Reincarnation?

He looked down at himself again, taking in the glinting scales and clawed limbs. His tail twitched involuntarily, sending a small rock skittering across the ground.

So, I'm some kind of lizard now—a dragon, I guess? Not exactly what I had in mind. I mean, being human again would've been nice—maybe a prince or even a regular old commoner—but a dragon? Well… it could've been worse. At least I'm not a slime. Or, God forbid, a goblin.

The thought almost made him chuckle—if dragons could chuckle.

But as the reality of his situation began to settle in, a new question emerged, one that loomed over him like the shadow of a very large truck.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

As he grappled with the absurdity of his new form, a faint, metallic sound cut through his thoughts.

Ding.

The noise echoed in his mind, sharp and foreign, sending a strange shiver down his spine. Before he could process it, words—no, glowing symbols—materialized in the air before him, their light shimmering faintly against the jagged walls of his surroundings.

[Player Synchronization Complete.

Attempt #93,556.]

He froze, his mind struggling to wrap around the information.

"Wait, what? Ninety-three thousand what?" he muttered—or tried to. His voice came out as a strange growl, startling even himself.

The words shifted.

[Initializing System Access…

Player: Synchronizing Memory Logs… Complete.

Congratulations! You are now bound to the Predator System].

More words appeared, scrolling faster than he could follow. Terms like "previous failures," "memory resets," and "system activation delay" flashed briefly before vanishing.

"What… the hell is going on?"

As if in answer, the system responded.

[Explanation: Host has experienced 93,555 fatal resets. Cause of death: Predation, starvation, environmental hazards.]

The words hung there, stark and unfeeling.

"Wait. Fatal resets?" The realization struck him like a punch to the gut—or the tail. "You mean I've died? Ninety-three thousand times?!"

[Affirmative.]

He staggered back—or tried to, his still-uncoordinated limbs fumbling beneath him. His tail thumped awkwardly against the ground.

I've died that many times? He tried to piece it together. The loops, the resets, the suffocating darkness of the egg… He hadn't just been born today. He'd been born and reborn—again and again.

"But… why didn't I remember any of this before?"

[Memory retention was disabled until successful synchronization with the system. Without memory, progress was nullified after each reset. Furthermore, you did not have the 'Copy' skill to make a copy of your memories and experiences.]

The pieces began to fall into place. Every death, every failure, every loop—it all reset him back to the beginning, erasing everything he'd learned. He hadn't just been hatching today; he'd been hatching for what felt like an eternity, stuck in a cruel cycle.

"But why now? Why synchronize me after all this time?"

[System Activation: Host survived initial hatching phase for the first time. Synchronization threshold met.]

For the first time. He stared at the words, his scaled body still trembling.

"So… I finally broke out of the egg without dying?"

[Correct. Previous causes of death include crushing by predators, suffocation due to egg shell thickness, and improper nutrition upon hatching.]

He couldn't believe what he was reading—or seeing. "You mean I've been eaten, crushed, and starved over ninety thousand times?!"

The system didn't respond, though the silence spoke volumes.

His claws twitched, his body coiling as frustration surged within him. "This… this is insane. You couldn't have synchronized earlier? Maybe after the first hundred times?"

[System Synchronization is dependent on host survival. Delayed activation ensures the system is not prematurely disabled by fatal resets.]

He groaned—or growled, the sound echoing off the rocky walls. "Right. Of course. Makes total sense," he muttered sarcastically.

But beneath the sarcasm, a strange sense of relief began to settle in. He wasn't stuck in an endless loop anymore. With the system, he could finally move forward.

"So… what now? You gonna give me missions?"

The system responded immediately.

[Beginner Quest Initiated: Survive for 24 Hours.

Reward: Memory Retention and Basic Survival Instinct Package.]

A timer appeared in the corner of his vision, ticking down from 24:00:00.

He blinked. "Wait, what happens if I fail this quest?"

He vaguely remembered the few times he'd played games or read manga. Upon failure, there would be some heavy penalty, me that's what he was worried about.

[On Failure: Reset.]

The casual bluntness of the answer made him shudder.

"Right. No pressure then," he muttered, glancing nervously at his surroundings. The shattered remains of his egg lay scattered across the rocky ground, and the faint echoes of distant growls and screeches reached his ears.

For the first time, he truly understood his situation. He wasn't just a hatchling—he was a very vulnerable hatchling, stuck in a world that had already killed him over ninety thousand times.

But not this time.

With the system on his side, he finally had a chance to fight back—or at least, survive long enough to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do.