Chapter 4: fool of Alderon

Kane stumbled out of the cave, blood stink choking him like a nightmare that wouldn't quit. The cold forest air slapped his torn clothes and grimy skin, sharp as a blade. His wounds—leg sliced open, arm crushed to bits—were gone, stitched up by the dark power he'd ripped from the orc and goblins. His heart thumped steady, but a wild, freaky energy buzzed in his chest, begging to break loose. He trudged along the goblin blood trail, thick and green, back through the forest. Every step pounded in his skull, screaming he'd survived.

The trees split apart, sunlight stabbing through. A rustle—three goblins, the ones who'd bolted earlier, jumped out. Their nasty green grins twisted as they charged, claws flashing.

Kane didn't blink. No more scared little prince. He stood like a rock, waiting. The first one leaped, claws aimed at his throat. He slid aside, quick and smooth—like he was born to kill—and slash. His dagger hacked its head off, clean and brutal. Blood sprayed, a hot, stinking fountain, and the body flopped down, twitching. The others froze, eyes popping with fear, then scrambled to run.

No escape. Kane bolted after them, legs pumping crazy fast—faster than he'd ever dreamed. He grabbed the next one by its scruffy neck, slammed his dagger into its back. It screeched, spine snapping, blood gushing as it hit the dirt. The last one tripped, sobbing like a kicked dog. Kane loomed over it, smashed his dagger through its skull—crunch. Brains splattered, and the forest went dead quiet.

He stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping from his hands. "IRITH," he growled, voice raw as gravel.

The air lit up, words glowing in front of him:

[System of IRITH]

[Chart of Kane]

[Strength: 10]

[Magic: 1]

[Dark Magic: 0]

[Special Ability: Aura Sight (See strength, magic, and mana of others)]

[Occupation: Not Yet Decided]

[Mana: 24]

[Rule: Kill and Gain]

Strength at 10—heck yeah! Mana up to 24, a tiny spark of power. Kane clenched his fist, feeling the rush. The weakling prince was burning away, one bloody kill at a time.

The forest opened, and there it was—the lake, shining like a mirror under the sun. The same lake where Julia's body had lain in his old life, broken and cold. His stomach flipped, all that killer vibe crashing into a wall of pain. He dropped to his knees, splashing water on his face. Blood—green and red—swirled away, but he scrubbed harder, nails digging in 'til his skin bled, like he could erase her ghost staring back at him.

Voices snapped him out of it. Some commoner kids his age shuffled up to the lake. They stopped dead, jaws dropping. He looked like a monster—blood-soaked, wild-eyed, barely human. They didn't know him. Not like Rowan, who'd blown everyone away at the last exam three years ago, all shiny and famous. No, Kane was the idiot prince who'd gotten smashed by a random commoner in front of everybody—become more famous than Rowan in his past life .

"Got extra clothes?" he rasped, voice like sandpaper. They just stared, dumb as rocks. Kane sighed, yanked some gold coins from his ripped pocket, and chucked them down. Clink. That woke them up—one kid dove for the coins, hands shaking like crazy.

"I-I can grab some, but it'll take some…..." he stammered.

"Nah," Kane cut in. "Give me yours." The kid blinked, then peeled off his shirt and tossed it over. It was rough and stank, but Kane pulled it on. Better than nothing.

Back at the palace, guards stepped in his way. "King wants you," one said, eyeing his trashy look. Kane nodded, irritation bubbling, and marched to the big hall. Nobles whispered behind their hands, servants ducked their heads. He felt every stare like a knife.

The king stood there with Duke Harveth and his son, Torin. Torin was Kane's age—a smug, pretty-boy genius from Alderon. He flicked his hand, and a flame roared up, hot and fierce. The king's eyes lit up, proud as heck.

"Prince Rowan's really something," the duke said, all slimy and fake. "Torin's right on his tail—pure talent."

The king nodded, but when he spotted Kane—dirty, in a commoner's rag—his face twisted like he'd swallowed a bug. Torin smirked, barely hiding a laugh.

"Now your playing with commoner instead of practising your magic," the king said, voice sharp and mean. "You know in every three years, all royals have to participate in exam for sword and magic school,now it's your turn,I can't hide you forever. So don't embarrass me."

Torin snickered, loud and nasty. Kane's fists balled up tight. The king had always hated him—no sword skills, no magic, just a big fat zero. That's why he'd flipped out when Kane got wrecked by that commoner last time, shaming the whole family. Kane tried Aura Sight—Torin glowed, numbers popping up: Strength: 25, Magic: 10, Mana: 60. Holy crap—insane stats! Way above Kane's junk numbers. He glanced at the king and duke—nothing. No glow, no stats. Weird. Too strong to see? Or something else?

"Now leave and do some practice," the king barked.

Kane spun around and stormed out, boots smacking the floor. He headed for his room, but halfway down the hall, a voice slithered after him. "Good luck, Kane," Torin called, dripping with sass. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking like he owned the place. "Hope a commoner doesn't smash your face."

Kane stopped cold. Turned slow. Torin's grin flickered, just for a second, under Kane's stare—dark, icy, like a killer sizing up his next hit. The air got heavy, thick with something dangerous. Torin swallowed, but kept up the act, stepping closer.

"What? Gonna cry about it?" Torin sneered, voice shaking a tiny bit. "Maybe stick to hiding in your chamber , loser."

Kane didn't blink. Didn't speak. He just stared—eyes burning with phoenix light , the orc's roar, every kill he'd carved out. Torin's smirk died, his face paling. Kane took one step forward, and Torin flinched—actually flinched. That was enough. Kane turned and walked off, leaving the genius shaking in his fancy boots. Words were trash. Blood would scream louder.

In his room, he slammed the door, chest pounding. The exam was days away—his shot to flip everything. He clenched his fists, blood still caked under his nails. "IRITH," he whispered, fierce and low.

The air blazed, words flashing: