Reincarnated as The Greatest Scientist in Another World

The black explosion had devoured the forest like the jaws of some colossal beast. The sound of splintering trees, collapsing earth, and distant screams carried away on the wind made the Black Forest look as though it were swallowing itself whole.

At the edge of the ravine, Zuko's final ice bridge groaned under the weight of dozens of fleeing Null. Old men, frail children, mothers clutching infants — all scrambled across the trembling frozen path, dragging the scraps of their lives behind them.

Zuko brought up the rear, pain burning down his spine as he carried Ain's half-conscious body over his shoulders. His eyes never left the black smoke that still rose across the gorge — the crater where Suha, or whatever she had become, lay buried beneath the blast that had torn the mage knights apart.

As the last Null crossed over, the ice cracked with a sharp snap, plunging in shards into the roaring river below. Zuko knelt, lowering Ain gently onto the damp grass. The thunder of the river drowned the pounding of his own pulse.

For a moment, he just knelt there, breathing white mist into the night, his hands trembling. Only one word filled his mind: Suha.

"Zuko."

A deep voice cut through the cold haze. From among the stunned Null, two figures emerged — shadows until now. A broad-shouldered man draped in a ragged deer hide cloak, bare chest gleaming with frost. Beside him, a woman with her hair tied back, sleeves rolled, hands steady even though they were stained with blood. Raksa and Tila.

Raksa strode forward, boots crunching frost into the roots. "We have to bring Suha back," he said, his gaze hard on Zuko.

Tila crouched beside Ain, pressing a damp cloth to the ragged wound at his side. Her voice was calm, steady as iron. "He's alive. Stubborn as stone. But Suha—"

Raksa planted a hand on Zuko's shoulder, the force jolting him from his frozen daze. "Suha's alive. I can feel it."

Zuko shook his head, his voice cracking. His mana was gone. His bones felt hollow. "The bridge... the ice... I can't—"

"If you made one, you can make another," Raksa snapped.

Zuko's eyes widened, flicking between the broken gorge and Raksa's unflinching stare.

Tila looked up at him, her eyes sharp enough to cut through his doubt. "You're one of us now, Zuko. Null. If you leave her, you'll carry that regret until you die. Alive or dead — we bring her home."

Something sparked inside his chest — not magic, not frost, but the raw spine of resolve. Zuko staggered to his feet. From the soles of his boots, ice whispered upward — spreading, cracking — until another thin bridge of frost stretched across the abyss, glowing ghost-blue in the darkness.

He turned to Raksa. "Watch over Ain. If I don't come back, lead them."

Raksa's nod was a silent promise. Tila pressed her fist to her chest. "Bring her home, Zuko."

Zuko breathed in the bitter night, then stepped onto the groaning ice — vanishing into the haze of ruin and rising heat.

---

Across the ravine, the scorched crater still hissed where the earth had been torn apart. Steam rose from splintered stones. Blackened trees jutted like charred ribs. At its heart lay Suha — motionless, her skin cracked as if fire had bloomed inside her veins.

Zuko stumbled down the slope, lungs raw, sweat clinging to his ash-smudged skin. Near her, the mage general lay slumped in the rubble, blood soaking the torn cloak at his throat. A fallen knight sprawled nearby — the loyal shield who'd died protecting him.

Zuko knelt beside Suha. Her breath came in shallow, broken gasps — but it was there. Carefully, he gathered her into his arms, holding her limp form like something too precious to break.

"Null filth…" the general rasped. Blood dribbled through his teeth in a cracked grin. "You think... you can run…?"

Zuko lifted his eyes. Above them, a scrying orb hung in the cold night — a perfect glass sphere, watching, broadcasting every heartbeat to the distant throne at Holy Stone.

Zuko glared at the silent eye — and at the father who sat behind it.

"Look at this!" he roared, his voice splitting the dead silence. "Father! This is the line! The ravine is the border! This forest is ours now — Null land! You have no claim beyond it!"

The orb hovered, silent and merciless. But Zuko knew Barnabas was there, listening.

He cast one last look at the dying general — a relic of the old magic that thought itself immortal — then turned away. Suha's breath fluttered against his neck as he climbed from the crater, back to the bridge of ice that would carry them home.

---

Two days later.

A campfire flickered deep within the Black Forest, pushing back the hunger of the night. Makeshift shelters of branches and stitched hide rose among the trees. Raksa stood watch at the edge of the clearing, axe balanced across his knees. Somewhere overhead, an owl hooted once — then went quiet.

Tila moved from one wounded Null to another, binding cuts, cooling fevered brows with hands patient and steady. Zuko sat beside Suha's resting form. She lay still, her breaths deeper now, but her eyes hadn't yet opened. Ain, wrapped tight in rough blankets, lay nearby — every exhale stronger than the last.

"Will she wake?" Zuko asked, voice raw with exhaustion and something like prayer.

Tila didn't look up from her work. "She's stubborn. More stubborn than any of you."

Raksa stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on Zuko's shoulder. "You lead us now, Zuko. If not you — who else?"

Zuko looked out over the tiny camp — barely fifty Null, huddled close to the fire's warmth. Their eyes found him in the dark, wide and waiting for one word: Where do we belong?

---

In the grand chamber of Holy Stone, King Barnabas sat rigid beneath the stained glass that painted the walls in fractured light. The mage council stood before him in a trembling line — none daring to meet his gaze after what they'd witnessed through the orb.

Barnabas pressed his fingertips into his temples, rage hidden behind a cold mask. Beside him stood Adnan Januzaj, the High Saint — five centuries old, eyes half-clouded with age, yet his voice could still hush an army.

"You've gone too far, Barnabas," Adnan rasped, each word a knell in the vast hall.

Barnabas scoffed, lips curling. "They're Null. Vermin. Weak. They deserved it."

Adnan raised his crystal staff, the gemstone at its crown humming like a held breath. "By the Church and the holy seal, I remind you of what you've forgotten."

The councilors waited, silent as tombs.

Adnan's words cut through the chamber like an old curse reawakened.

"This kingdom did not rise by magic alone. Serip Hearthfilia, the first king, built Holy Stone with Asik Null, founder of the Null. They were never weak. What you saw in that girl — that is Aura. A power that does not come from spells, but from the raw force of flesh and blood. And now, you have roused it from sleep."

A young councilor dared to whisper, "If they were so strong, why did Serip drive them out?"

Adnan's eyes narrowed — cold and sharp as winter steel. "Fear. They rose too fast. Grew too clever. Too strong. The runes you brandish, the machines you hoard — all forged by Null hands. And their Aura… it terrified Serip. So he betrayed Asik, butchered him, stripped the Null of their place — but never too far. For even the monsters beyond the forest fear the Null. They sense Aura. It was the Null who held the beasts at bay."

Silence fell again — heavy and suffocating.

Adnan swept his staff, and the scrying orb flickered back to life — an image of Zuko and Suha, sleeping by the fire under a black canopy of leaves. "Like it or not, my king — history remembers. And history will bleed."

---

In the forest, the campfire cracked and spat embers into the dark. Raksa kept watch, axe across his knees. Tila coaxed shy laughter from the children huddled close to the warmth.

Zuko sat in silence beside Suha. She still slept, but Ain's eyes fluttered open. He found Zuko's tired face and forced a crooked smile through bruised lips.

"Hey," Ain croaked, voice a scratch of life but life all the same.

Zuko didn't speak — he just smiled back. In that small curve of his lips was everything that needed saying.

Beneath the black canopy, fifty Null gathered close to the flame — the first spark of a people who would never bow again.

Tonight, they were home.