"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

The forest was alive with movement. The rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant chatter of unseen creatures, the rhythmic patter of droplets from the morning dew sliding off branches—it was a symphony of nature, one I had learned to listen to over the years.

I stood in the center of the clearing, my eyes closed, my breath steady. The cold morning air brushed against my skin, but I ignored it. This was familiar. This was routine. Training had been a part of my life long before this reincarnation, and it would remain so.

My fingers curled around the metal playing cards in my hand, their cool edges pressing into my palm. I had two now—the first one from my bedside, the second retrieved from the locked chest beneath the cabin floorboards. There were more, but I would start with these.

I flicked my wrist, and the cards shot forward, slicing through the air with a sharp whirr. They curved around the clearing, their trajectories precise, before returning to my waiting fingers.

Still sharp. Still obedient.

Good.

I needed to rebuild my body before I took the next step. My strength was lacking, my speed not what it once was. These things could be fixed.

Dropping into a low stance, I launched myself forward, sprinting toward the nearest tree. The moment my foot touched the trunk, I pushed off, flipping backward as the playing cards shot from my fingers, embedding themselves into a distant log. Before they could fully settle, I willed them to return, catching them mid-air before twisting into another evasive maneuver.

Faster.

More precise.

The cards became extensions of myself, moving as I commanded, striking targets with pinpoint accuracy. My body followed suit, ducking, rolling, leaping through the training ground in a seamless dance of movement and steel.

But something was missing.

I skidded to a stop, panting lightly. My instincts were sharp, my control perfect—but my body’s limits held me back. Strength and endurance would take time to build.

I turned to the training dummy in the center of the clearing, my mind already calculating. A direct assault wouldn’t work. I needed to apply my old skills—stealth, deception, precision.

I flicked my fingers, sending the cards spinning toward the dummy, but just before impact, I willed them to change shape.

The metal shimmered, shifting mid-flight, elongating into thin, dagger-like blades. They struck with a dull thud, embedding deep into the wood.

So the ability remained.

Shapeshifting. A crucial talent I had honed in my past life, one that had carried over into this one. If my weapons could shift, then so could I.

I took a slow breath, reaching deep within myself. The old man had always said magic was a part of nature, a force that responded to will. I had never been the strongest mage, but I had my own talents.

Closing my eyes, I focused.

My body blurred for a moment, the edges of my form flickering like a mirage. A heartbeat later, I vanished from sight.

Perfect.

The stealth technique wasn’t perfect yet—my footsteps still left faint traces in the dirt, my breathing still audible if someone listened closely—but it was a start.

I reappeared, my form solidifying as I approached the training dummy once more. This time, I would test something different.

Illusion.

With a flick of my wrist, I conjured an image—a duplicate of myself, standing across the clearing. It mimicked my posture, my stance, my breathing. A perfect copy.

But it wasn’t real.

A smirk tugged at my lips. If I could fool my own senses, I could fool anyone.

Training would continue. I needed to be faster, sharper, deadlier. I would push this body beyond its limits, forge it into something stronger.

Because out there, beyond this forest, was a world waiting for me.

And I intended to leave my mark.