Chapter 1

Talesfrom the Void

Notice: Uploading

history to the host's memory…

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Notice: Host

memory has been upgraded.

Eerie silence filled the

darkness.

In a few minutes, the silence

shattered.

A low humming sound emerged

from the void, growing louder with each passing second. It pulsed, deep and

rhythmic, like a war drum in the distance. The air vibrated with tension.

Then, the sounds became

clear.

Explosions roared. The ground

trembled beneath the weight of battle. Shouts—desperate, commanding,

agonized—cut through the deafening chaos.

Slowly, a scene took shape in

the void.

Smoke and fire consumed the

land. The scent of burning metal and blood lingered in the air. Tanks, their

steel bodies scarred and blackened, crawled across the ruins of a once-great

city. Buildings, reduced to skeletal remains, loomed over the chaos, their

shattered windows reflecting the flames that consumed them.

Gunfire flashed like

lightning, and soldiers in rugged uniforms pressed forward, their faces

hardened with determination and desperation. Some carried rifles, others barked

orders into radios, their voices barely cutting through the cacophony of war.

"Move, move,

move!" a

voice roared.

"Hold the

line!"

another bellowed, desperation cracking in his throat.

A deafening explosion sent

bodies flying. A soldier screamed, clutching his shredded arm.

"Medic! We need

a medic!"

"Fall back!

We're getting slaughtered!"

And in the middle of it all,

a man stood.

He did not cower. He did not

waver.

His presence commanded the

battlefield. His uniform, though stained with blood and dust, bore medals that

gleamed even in the fire-lit sky. His voice cut through the noise—sharp,

decisive. Soldiers moved at his command, their eyes filled with unwavering trust.

"Stand your

ground!"

the man ordered, his voice calm yet unyielding. "Reinforcements

are coming! We fight until our last breath!"

He watched the scene unfold. "Who

is that?"

He studied the man carefully.

"Why does he look like me?"

He felt an uneasy thought

creeping in. "Is that my future self?"

The war raged on. The man

raised his fist, and the soldiers followed. A unified roar of victory erupted

as the enemy lines collapsed, retreating into the ruins.

The sound of war did not

fade. It was cut off.

The projection vanished.

Everything turned to darkness

once more.

A minute of silence passed.

Then—

A faint buzzing sound.

It grew louder.

Louder.

Until—

The darkness stretched, heavy

and endless.

A faint buzzing sound stirred

within the void. It was different from before—not the chaotic roar of war, but

something measured, rhythmic.

The sound grew clearer.

A steady, synchronized

cadence.

Like marching.

Then, the scene materialized.

A grand hall, vast and

luminous. Rows upon rows of figures stood in perfect formation, all clad in

flowing black robes. Their heads were held high, their gazes fixed forward with

quiet reverence.

He watched as the figures

remained motionless, an air of authority radiating from the room itself. "Who

are they?"

Then, a single voice rang

out.

"Graduates of

this cycle, step forward!"

A ripple of movement. From

each row, individuals emerged, their steps measured, their faces unreadable.

The air felt thick with unspoken pride.

And in the middle of it

all—the same man.

He watched the scene unfold. "There

he is again."

A hush fell over the hall as

an elderly figure, robed in deep crimson, stepped onto the central podium. His

voice was strong, unwavering.

"Today, we honor

those who have reached the pinnacle of knowledge. Those who have proven

themselves beyond measure. Those who have—against all odds—achieved excellence

in all disciplines."

A low murmur spread through

the audience, heads turning toward the man in the center.

"He is the first

in history,"

one whispered.

"To master four

fields at once…" another voice added in awe.

The elder raised a golden

scroll. "For unparalleled achievement in academia, we

recognize—" He paused for effect, then declared: "Summa

cum laude in four disciplines!"

The hall erupted. Applause.

Shouts of amazement. A few gasps of disbelief.

He narrowed his eyes. "Four?

What fields?"

A deep voice answered from

the podium. "B.S. Medicine. B.S. Computer Engineering. B.S.

Business Management. B.S. Psychology."

He stared at the man. "Medicine?

Engineering? Business? Psychology? What are those?"

The scene shifted.

The grand hall faded,

replaced by an open space, crowded with reporters and scholars.

Microphones were thrust

forward, voices overlapping in excitement.

"You graduated

top of your class in four disciplines! How did you do it?"

"Are you even

human?"

"Rumors say you

finished law school in record time—can you confirm?"

The man smiled, composed and

unreadable. "It's simple. Hard work and the right strategy."

The crowd erupted again.

He frowned. "Strategy?"

Then, the scene shifted once

more.

A single parchment, ornate

and official-looking, was held up before the crowd. The golden seals gleamed

under the bright lights.

"What?!

Doctorate degrees in four fields?"

The announcer's voice boomed.

"Doctor of Medicine. Doctor of Philosophy in Computer Engineering.

Doctor of Business Administration. Doctor of Psychology!"

The weight of the words

lingered in the air.

The voices blurred, the

figures dissolving into nothingness.

Then—darkness.

A minute of silence passed.

Then, a distant hum.

Faint at first.

But growing stronger.

A low thrumming sound,

rhythmic and deliberate. Slowly, the scene materialized.

A city, filled with towering

buildings. Wide roads made of rock-like material stretched endlessly.

The glass structures soared

into the sky, shimmering under the bright lights. Beams of neon blue and

crimson pulsed along the streets, casting an ethereal glow. Strange symbols

flickered on massive panels, floating like magical inscriptions in the air.

Then, his eyes locked onto

the largest sign above the tallest tower.

"Tokyo,

Japan."

He frowned. "Tokyo…

Japan? What kind of kingdom is this?"

A sharp whistle cut through

the air. "Hey! Out of the way!"

A sleek, iron

carriage—gliding across the road without wheels—zipped past him. He flinched as

another one followed, their metallic exteriors reflecting the city's colors.

"Impossible…

These wagons move without beasts?"

Then, another strange noise.

Ching! Ching! Ching!

He turned. A panel above a

massive building displayed glowing red numbers, ticking down. Beneath it, a

cluster of people in formal robes stood impatiently, their eyes locked onto the

lights above.

"What kind of

magic is this?"

Then, a voice. "Boss,

your car has arrived."

The crowd parted.

From the sleekest, longest

iron carriage, a man stepped out.

His presence was undeniable.

A suit, tailored to perfection, wrapped around him like royal armor. A gleaming

timepiece adorned his wrist, its tiny hands ticking with quiet authority.

A group of figures followed

behind him—each one radiating an air of status, yet none daring to walk beside

him. They stayed behind, like vassals following a king.

He frowned. "Him

again…?"

The doubt gnawed at him. The

man looked like the one in the war. The same sharp eyes. The same

commanding aura. But… something felt different.

"Is this really

the same man?"

The man strode forward,

approaching a massive tower—its glass walls reflecting the entire city like a

mirror. The grand entrance parted automatically, granting him passage without a

single touch.

Inside, rows of individuals

in identical uniforms lined up. As one, they bowed at a precise ninety-degree

angle.

"Chief

Operations Executive."

The words flashed across a

glowing panel near the entrance.

He narrowed his eyes. "Chief…

what?"

A voice echoed from inside. "Sir,

the board is waiting in the main hall. The deal has been finalized."

Another figure stepped

forward, holding out a sleek, metallic rectangle. "Here are the

reports. The billion-dollar contract has been secured."

He stared. "Dollar?

What currency is that?"

The scene shifted again.

Now, the man stood in a grand

room, surrounded by walls of glowing numbers. Symbols danced across the panels,

shifting, rising, falling—controlling something unseen.

A voice rang out. "Stock

market index is up by five percent. Global expansion is moving as

projected."

His hands clenched. "Stock

market? Global expansion? What kind of power does this man hold?"

The voices overlapped, fading

into a blur.

The projection vanished.

Everything turned to darkness

once more.

A low murmur.

It swelled, rising from a

whisper into a wave of sound. Cheers, rhythmic and powerful, echoed through the

air.

The voices of thousands—no, millions—rejoicing.

The scene unfolded.

A vast crowd filled an open

space, stretching beyond sight. Towering banners rippled in the wind, each

adorned with a symbol of authority. Confetti rained from the sky, fluttering

like golden leaves.

Then, his eyes locked onto

the largest banner above the grand podium.

"Republic of the

Philippines."

His brows furrowed. "Another

kingdom?"

In the distance, the grand

podium stood, its steps polished like marble. Reporters and officials lined the

front, cameras flashing in bursts of white light.

Then, he saw him.

A man stood at the podium,

dressed in a regal black suit, one hand raised toward the sky.

He narrowed his eyes. "Him

again…?"

The resemblance was

undeniable. The same powerful stance. The same unwavering presence.

But something about this

moment felt different.

"Is this truly

the same man?"

The crowd erupted. "President!

President! President!"

A deafening chant, unified,

unstoppable. The sheer weight of their voices sent shivers down his spine.

He felt his chest tighten. "President?

What kind of ruler is that?"

A row of officials stood

behind the man, their expressions solemn. One held an open book—thick,

unfamiliar, its cover bearing an insignia he did not recognize.

A deep voice echoed across

the space.

"Place your hand

on the Bible and repeat after me."

The man did as commanded, his

gaze unwavering.

"I solemnly

swear… that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the

Philippines…"

The voices of the crowd

swelled again.

He clenched his fists. "This

man was not born into power? He was chosen?"

The man continued, his voice

steady and firm.

"…and will to

the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the

Philippines."

A thunderous applause

followed. Trumpets blared. A nation stood united under his rule.

He took a step back. "A

ruler… bound by an oath?"

The thought sent chills down

his spine. In Tenria, power was seized. Authority was taken by force, inherited

by blood. But here—this man did not inherit his throne.

He was chosen by the

people.

"A king with no

bloodline?"

The voices of the crowd

overlapped, blurring into a deafening storm.

The projection vanished.

Everything turned to darkness

once more.

A faint, distant murmur…

Slowly, the sound grew

clearer—cheers, shouts of gratitude, the rustling of sacks being carried, and

the bubbling of pots.

"Free food! Free

food for everyone!"

The scent of freshly cooked

rice filled the air, mixing with the rich aroma of simmering broth. Lines of

people stretched endlessly, their clothes tattered, their bodies frail.

Children clung to their mothers, their eyes wide with hunger and hope.

He watched, his mind

struggling to process the sight. "A festival? No… this is

different."

He turned his gaze upward,

and there—etched against the backdrop of gray, unfinished buildings—hung a

faded sign.

"Payatas, Quezon

City."

He frowned. "What

kind of kingdom is this?"

Men in plain uniforms handed

out bowls of food, their voices warm. "Eat as much as you need!

There's enough for everyone!"

An elderly woman clutched a

loaf of bread to her chest, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. "Bless

you, sir… Bless you!"

The murmurs of the crowd

shifted.

"He built

shelters for the homeless."

"He funds hospitals and schools with his own money!"

"He saved my family! He gave us a home!"

Then, movement.

The sea of people parted

as a man stepped forward.

His presence was warm, yet

commanding. Unlike the war hero, the scholar, the CEO, or the president—this

man did not radiate power.

Instead, he radiated kindness.

A young boy ran to him,

wrapping small arms around his waist. "Thank you, sir! Thank

you!"

The man knelt, ruffling the

boy's hair. "You never have to thank me. Just promise me you'll

grow strong and help others too."

The crowd clapped. Some wept.

Others whispered prayers.

He took a slow breath. "Why…

why would a ruler give away his wealth?"

In Tenria, riches meant power.

No noble would freely give what they had taken.

"What does he

gain from this?"

The man turned, addressing

the crowd. "This is not charity. This is justice."

A heavy silence fell over the

gathering.

He tensed. "Justice?

What does he mean?"

The scene blurred, shifting.

Rows of houses—once

crumbling, now restored. A school—filled with bright-eyed children learning

under the glow of soft lights. A hospital—where the sick were tended to without

payment.

His hands clenched. "Hospitals

that don't charge money? A school that welcomes everyone?"

The murmurs grew louder.

"He doesn't just

give away money. He builds systems that keep helping people!"

"Even after he's gone, his legacy will continue!"

His breath slowed.

The scholar built

knowledge.

The CEO built power.

The president built a nation.

But this man…

He built something

that would last beyond his lifetime.

The whispers blurred, the

voices fading.

The projection vanished.

Everything turned to darkness

once more.

The echoes of unseen voices

faded.

A new silence took

hold—deeper, heavier.

The Forest of Einhala

stretched endlessly beneath the eerie glow of seven moons, each casting their

own spectral light upon the land. Green, blue, red, gold, orange, gray, and

dark—their unnatural radiance bled into the sky, warping the night into

something unreal.

The air was thick with the

scent of damp earth and decay. The underbrush trembled with the unseen

movements of prowling beasts. Somewhere in the distance, a predator shrieked, a

sound that should have sent shivers down her spine.

But Elena von Celestia did

not flinch.

She sat before a small

bonfire, its flames flickering weakly, struggling against the weight of the

night. Its warmth never reached her.

Her lapis lazuli eyes were

hollow, staring into the embers, yet she saw nothing—only the past, swallowing

her whole.

The Kingdom of Grasia was

gone.

Its streets had run red, a

river of blood painting the stones.

The air had reeked of burning

flesh as the bodies of her people were thrown into the flames. Their screams

had twisted together, forming a grotesque symphony of suffering and slaughter.

She had watched it all from

the castle tower, frozen, helpless.

And then—the castle gates.

The cheers of the enemy

soldiers had shattered the silence, their roars of triumph ringing through the

ruined city.

And there—standing high upon

the battlements, like a god among men—stood Arthur Orsted.

His bloodied spear was raised

toward the heavens, and upon it—

Her husband.

The severed head of King

Tristan Einheart, still wearing the remnants of his shattered crown, was pinned

through the forehead, the spearhead protruding from his skull.

His lifeless eyes, once

filled with wisdom, stared into the abyss.

And beside him—

Her son.

The Crown Prince, her only

child, her pride, her light—his severed head impaled beside his father's, the

spear's tip having pierced through his skull like paper.

They were trophies now.

Decorations of war.

The banners of FimmDrekk

unfurled behind them, drenched in Grasian blood.

And then—the final insult.

The heads were ripped from

the spear and nailed onto the castle doors, their faces twisted into frozen

agony, displayed like grotesque warnings to any who dared defy their new king.

Her fingernails dug into her

palms, the firelight catching the faint glint of dried blood beneath them.

She had fled. She had

abandoned her people.

She had run, because she knew

the truth of war.

Death was the easy

way out.

For the survivors,

there was only slavery.

Her body remained still.

The fire crackled weakly

beside her, but she barely heard it. The cold pressed against her skin, but she

didn't shiver.

She should

have felt something.

Fear. Anger. Anything.

But there was only a hollow,

sinking emptiness.

The memories never left her.

They played over and over in her mind like an old wound that refused to close.

Chains rattling.

The scent of burning flesh.

The laughter of men who had taken everything from her.

She closed her eyes, but that

only made it worse.

She had thought, in those

moments, that she had felt terror. But fear was for those who still had

something left to lose.

Her kingdom was gone.

Her people had been

slaughtered.

Her husband and son…

Her breath hitched, but she

forced it down.

She could not think

about them. Not now.

Her fingers curled against

the damp earth, pressing into the dirt as if grounding herself would stop her

mind from unraveling.

She was a First Queen.

In Tenria, a royal of a

fallen kingdom was never executed. That would be too merciful.

She would be dragged before

Arthur Orsted, her head forced to bow, her name erased from history, and her

body branded with the mark of a slave.

She would be paraded

like a trophy before being discarded into the dungeons—left to rot

alongside the ghosts of other fallen rulers.

That was the fate that

awaited her.

And yet, she could not bring

herself to care.

Her breath was shallow, her

fingers trembling slightly, but she barely noticed.

Her tears had not stopped

since that night.

Her kingdom.

Her king.

Her son.

She had nothing left.

And the worst part was…

She wasn't even sure if she

wanted it back.

Elena's tired blue eyes

drifted toward the small, makeshift stone dome a few feet away. The structure

was barely large enough for two people, its curved walls made of hardened clay

and stone, held together by her magic. It had no windows—just a single opening

wide enough for someone to crawl through. A simple bed of straw lay inside,

offering the only comfort in this desolate forest.

For three days, the dome had

remained intact, maintained by her dwindling mana. And for three days, the man

inside—Kaito Einheart, the 8th Prince of Grasia—had not stirred.

Her chest tightened.

She had saved

him. Or at least, she had dragged his body away from the blood-soaked

battlefield before the FimmDrekk soldiers could take him. But was it

truly a rescue?

The moment she had found him,

she knew.

His right arm and

left leg were gone, severed in battle. Deep gashes, arrow wounds,

burns—his body was ruined. He should have been dead.

And yet, here he was. Breathing.

Elena swallowed, her throat

dry. Her arms wrapped around herself, but she did not shiver from the cold.

The war had taken everything.

Her kingdom.

Her husband.

Her son.

And now, the last remnant of

Grasia lay dying in a stone shell, trapped between life and death.

Her gaze lingered on him

longer than she intended. Kaito had been her son's closest brother. The two had

been inseparable—bound by blood, duty, and the shared dream of a

kingdom that no longer existed.

Did he know?

Did he know that Grasia was

gone? That his family was either dead or enslaved?

Her hands curled into fists,

fingernails pressing against her palms.

She exhaled, her breath

uneven.

There was no time

for despair. Not yet.

She had to stay strong. For

him.

The fire crackled, its flames

casting shadows against the forest trees. The night felt heavier than before,

pressing down on her shoulders like unseen hands.

She stared at the dome once

more and whispered,

"What will

tomorrow bring?"

The night stretched

endlessly.

Elena sat motionless, her

hands resting over her lap. Her fingers curled, gripping the fabric of her torn

robes, as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her from

breaking.

She was exhausted. But sleep

was a luxury she could not afford.

For three days, she had

fought against it. Every time her eyes closed, she saw them—the faces

of her people, her son, her king, frozen in death.

The fire had burned low. The

warmth it provided barely reached her anymore.

She turned toward the dome.

Kaito was still alive. His

breathing was shallow, but steady. He hadn't moved.

A small, bitter smile formed

on her lips.

"Perhaps it would be

better if he never wakes up."

The thought burned, guilt

laced in every syllable.

But she could not deny it.

If he woke up… what would he

awaken to?

A world where his kingdom no

longer existed? A future where he was nothing more than a fugitive, a prince

without a throne?

Was it truly mercy to save

him, only to leave him to suffer?

She let out a quiet breath.

She had made her choice. She

had brought him here.

Whether it was cruel or not—he

had to live.

A sharp pain shot through her

temples. She pressed her fingers against her forehead, her mana exhaustion

worsening. Her body was at its limit.

The embers flickered, their

glow weak and struggling.

Elena leaned back, staring at

the sky, at the seven moons casting their ghostly light upon the treetops.

Somewhere, in the distance, a

wolf howled.

She closed her eyes for only

a moment, letting the sound echo through the emptiness inside her.

She could not afford to

collapse. Not yet.

She exhaled slowly. "Just

a little longer..."

Meanwhile, inside the

dome…

A presence stirred.

A spark flickered in the

void.

Somewhere, deep within the

darkness of unconsciousness, a voice echoed—mechanical, unwavering.

Notice: Host body repair

initiated.

10%... 20%... 30%...

Kaito couldn't move. He

couldn't react. All he could do was watch as the numbers ticked upward.

60%... 70%... 80%...

A strange sensation coursed

through his existence—not pain, not warmth, but something in between, as if

unseen hands were stitching his very essence back together.

100%.

Notice: Host body

repaired.

Another notification flashed.

Notice: Removing foreign

substances from host body. Initiating…

10%... 20%... 30%...

Kaito didn't know what it

meant. He couldn't ask. He couldn't speak.

100%.

Notice: Foreign substance

removal successful.

The voice continued,

unwavering, devoid of emotion.

Notice: Reforging host

body…

The moment the words flashed,

a searing force surged through him, molding, reshaping. He could feel his bones

stretching, his muscles tightening, his very being reconstructed on a level

beyond comprehension.

Notice: It has been

detected that the host body is the body of a developed 14-year-old boy.

Something stirred inside him.

Not his body—his mind.

"A boy?" His voice, though distant and hollow,

found form in the void. "I am no boy. In Tenria, I am already a grown

man."

The system did not respond.

It continued its cold, methodical work.

Notice: Body reforging:

10%... 20%... 30%...

The sensation intensified. He

felt himself becoming stronger, harder, more refined.

100%.

Notice: Body reforging

complete.

For the first time, something

shifted in the black void. The weightlessness faded. A presence—his own—settled

back into something tangible.

Notice: Brain reforging

can now be initiated.

Then it began again.

Notice: Reforging host

brain: 10%... 20%... 30%...

This time, the sensation was

different. Faster. Sharper. Like thousands of threads rewiring themselves

within his skull.

100%.

Notice: Brain reforging

successful.

The void pulsed. A new

notification surfaced.

Notice: Host skills

unlocked.

Words flooded his vision,

each more perplexing than the last.

Host Skill: Parallel

Thought Acquired.

Parallel Thought – Allows

the host to process multiple streams of information simultaneously, functioning

like an additional thought process that operates independently of his main

consciousness.

Additional Skill Unlocked:

Thought Acceleration.

Thought Acceleration –

Allows the host to think at 10× the normal speed, making time feel slower in

moments of high concentration.

Host

Additional Skill Unlocked: Particle Manipulation.

Particle Manipulation –

Grants the host the ability to control and influence particles at a fundamental

level, enabling him to alter matter, energy, and even magicules in his

surroundings.

New Skill Unlocked:

Identification.

Identification – Allows

the host to analyze objects, creatures, and individuals. The identification

panel is projected directly into the host's consciousness, providing instant information

without requiring external vision or interaction.

New Skill Unlocked:

Navigation.

Navigation – Grants the

host the ability to track movements within a 1 km radius per mana level on

Tenria. A built-in map function is integrated into the host's consciousness,

allowing real-time visualization of terrain, landmarks, and detected entities without

needing external input.

More words. More skills. More

knowledge pouring into his reforged mind.

Notice: Additional

knowledge installed in Parallel Thought.

Uploading… 10%... 20%... 30%...

His mind burned. Visions of

formulas, structures, theories—concepts beyond his previous

comprehension—flooded his consciousness.

100%.

Notice: Upload complete.

A strange sound came from inside the stone dome.

At first, it was faint—barely a whisper against the silence of the night.

Then, a low, agonized whine followed.

Elena's heart clenched.

Kaito.

She rushed toward the dome, crouching low to squeeze through the small

entrance. The dim glow of the dying embers barely illuminated the space, but as

soon as she stepped inside—

She froze.

Her breath hitched, her pulse spiking as she took in the sight before her.

Kaito was floating.

Three feet above the straw bed.

But that wasn't what made her stomach twist in horror.

It was his body.

For the first time, without his clothes concealing the damage, she saw the

full extent of his wounds—and it was far worse than she ever imagined.

His frame, once lean and strong, had withered away. His ribs were visible

beneath paper-thin skin, his entire body reduced to something barely human. The

raw, open stumps of his missing limbs oozed a sickly black fluid, veins

darkened like poisoned roots.

The gaping wound in his abdomen was worse than she had realized—his flesh

split open, as if something had been eating him from the inside. His remaining

limbs bore layers of torn muscle, his skin peeling away in places like the husk

of a dying creature.

A corpse.

That was what she saw.

And yet—

He moved.

No, not him.

The dodecagrams.

Five glowing golden circles, each the size of a human torso, revolved

methodically around his body.

One hovered near his head.

One near his left arm.

One near his right arm.

One near his left leg.

One near his right leg.

Each dodecagram pulsed with light, shifting between gold and deep blue,

moving at a steady pace as they scanned every inch of his broken form.

Elena's breath caught.

This was already happening before she arrived.

The dodecagrams weren't appearing.

They were working.

She watched, stunned, as symbols shifted along the edges of each circle,

morphing into intricate inscriptions she couldn't read. They scanned his

decayed flesh, his severed limbs, his open wounds—passing through his body like

mist through light.

Then, a movement below.

A faint glow flickered at the base of the dome, and for the first time,

Elena noticed it.

The sixth dodecagram.

Unlike the others, this one was massive, spanning the entire floor beneath

Kaito. It did not move—it remained fixed, anchoring him in place.

And then—

The blue glow of the dodecagrams shifted—deepened—

Green.

The moment the emerald light bloomed, Kaito's body reacted.

A grotesque ooze—dark, viscous, and unnatural—seeped from his wounds. It

poured from the blackened veins of his severed arm, from the torn muscle of his

missing leg, from the gaping split in his torso.

It flowed down, pooling toward the ground—

And vanished.

The moment the poisonous substance reached the large dodecagram beneath him,

it disintegrated, swallowed by the mysterious force.

Elena staggered back.

She had witnessed powerful healing magic before. The Priestesses of Brigid

of Nof Sect were capable of mending bones and closing wounds—

But this…

This wasn't healing.

This was resurrection.

One by one, Kaito's injuries began to reverse.

The rot peeled away, revealing fresh flesh underneath. The decayed edges of

his severed limbs reformed, muscle knitting over bone, tendons reconnecting,

veins pulsing with renewed life.

His sallow skin grew full once more. The open wounds stitched themselves

closed, leaving behind only faint silver lines where scars should have been.

It was as if time itself was unraveling the damage.

The five scanning dodecagrams slowly dimmed as they completed their

purpose—and faded.

But the sixth—the one below—remained.

Then, before Elena could even process what she had seen, another phenomenon

began.

From Kaito's center, six new dodecagrams ignited.

These ones shone silver.

They split into two groups, three moving toward his head, three toward his

feet.

And as they passed over his now-healed body, something else changed.

His form grew.

The thin, battered frame of the prince expanded. His once frail limbs

thickened, muscles hardening like those of a seasoned warrior. His shoulders

broadened, his chest filled out, his very bones seemed to

shift—strengthen—fortify.

This wasn't just healing.

This was reforging.

Elena pressed a hand to her racing heart.

She didn't know what to feel.

She had witnessed miracles before, but this—this was something

beyond even the gods.

And then, the silver dodecagrams vanished.

For a moment, all was still.

But before Kaito could descend, two final dodecagrams emerged.

One above him. One below.

Larger than the rest.

Their inner rings shimmered in colors she had never seen—

A steady, ethereal rainbow glow.

For two hours, the colors bathed Kaito's floating form, their silent hum

filling the dome with an unspoken power.

And at last—

Kaito descended.

As his feet touched the ground, Elena noticed something.

His clothes.

They had reappeared, draping over him like they had never been removed.

The moment he rested upon the straw mat, the dodecagrams flickered once—

And vanished.

Elena stood frozen, trembling.

She had no words. No breath. No explanation.

All she could do was clutch her chest, staring at the impossible.

And as silence fell upon the dome, she whispered—

"What in the Gods' name did I witness…?"

A faint chill lingered in the air.

The night had begun its slow surrender to morning. The sky beyond the dissolving

dome remained dark, but the first hints of pre-dawn stirred at the horizon.

A familiar scent drifted in.

Dama de Noche.

Its sweet, intoxicating fragrance mixed with the damp earth and lingering

traces of magic, signaling the hour before dawn—the moment when night-blooming

jasmine released its strongest aroma.

Kaito stirred.

For the first few moments, his gaze was unfocused, his mind sluggish. He

could feel the roughness of straw beneath him, the cold air brushing against

his skin. The scent of earth, stone, and something faintly metallic lingered in

the space.

"Where… am I?"

The last thing he remembered was suffocating pain. A battlefield of agony

where his body no longer belonged to him.

Yet now…

He was whole.

His breath caught. His body tensed. But before he could sit up—

Thud.

His head snapped toward the sound.

Elena swayed on her feet, her hand gripping the dome's interior wall for

support. Her breaths were ragged, her entire body trembling.

Kaito's mind sharpened. It worked faster than most men's, processing details

in an instant.

Through his consciousness, an identification panel

surfaced.

Elena von Celestia

✔

Mana Reserves: Critically Low

✔

Physical State: Severe Exhaustion

✔

Vital Signs: Weak but Stable

Her knees buckled.

Kaito moved.

He caught her before she collapsed, his grip firm but controlled.

She was light, too light. Her skin was cold, her breaths shallow. Strands of

silver hair clung to her damp forehead, her frame fragile against his.

The air shifted.

The dome was fading.

Not breaking. Not shattering.

Dissolving.

Like mist dispersing under the morning sun, the once-solid walls thinned

into translucent layers of energy. The structure did not collapse but faded,

piece by piece, as if the very magic holding it together was being erased.

The catalyst was reaching her limit.

He exhaled through his nose, glancing at her unconscious form.

She saved him.

She suffered because of him.

His fingers curled slightly around her limp frame. His throat felt dry. A

weight pressed against his chest—something unshakable, something that lingered.

He didn't know why.

"Why… Why am I the one you saved, not the Crown Prince?"

The words escaped him, barely above a whisper.

She didn't answer.

She couldn't.

Kaito carried her back to the straw bed, laying her down carefully. His

fingers hovered over her forehead, feeling the warmth of her fevered skin.

The dome's last remnants faded into nothing.

And the cold wind of Tenria's pre-dawn finally reached him.

Kaito's eyes snapped open.

His mind was clearer than it had ever been.

He felt… new.

His body, once battered and broken, was now something else entirely.

Stronger. Reforged. His muscles no longer ached; instead, they pulsed with

controlled power. He flexed his fingers—precise, efficient. Every movement felt

sharper, as if his very being had been reconstructed for a purpose greater than

survival.

Yet, it wasn't just his body that had changed.

His mind.

It moved faster—sharper—filled with knowledge that wasn't his.

Memories poured in. Concepts. Strategies. Systems of power.

Corporate empires. How men of wealth shaped entire nations without

ever raising a sword. The art of acquisition, manipulation,

monopolization. Controlling people not through brute force, but through debt,

politics, and silence.

Political warfare. The illusion of choice. How kings and

presidents were nothing more than pieces on a board, their

hands tied by forces beyond their reach. Democracy? A performance.

Philanthropy? A weapon.

A slow scoff left his lips.

He was born royal—to be served, not to serve.

Then came the machines of war.

Visions of towering metal beasts.

Tanks. Artillery. Guns. Aircraft. Weapons that turned

entire battlefields into graves.

Compared to them, Tenria's warriors—with their steel, their magic,

their outdated notions of strength—were nothing more than animals waiting to be

culled.

A slow grin crept onto his face.

This knowledge… This power…

It was his.

And he knew exactly what to do with it.

—

Then the visions changed.

A kingdom engulfed in flames.

Banners torn, bodies piled in the streets.

His home—Grasia—burning.

Kaito's breathing slowed.

The cold air pressed against his skin.

And at the center of it all—

One figure.

The one who orchestrated it.

The one who betrayed him.

The one who stole everything.

His fingers curled into fists.

His heart did not race. It beat with purpose.

"The biggest mistake you've created…"

His voice was calm, steady.

The fire in his mind burned cold.

"…is not ensuring I died."

Kaito gripped a sturdy tree branch, his mind processing the flood of

knowledge that surfaced—Particle Manipulation, Magicology, Material

Composition.

Creating something from atoms was vastly different from

manipulating magitoms.

Atoms

bonded into molecules, forming tangible substances—but precise

control over molecular structures was required.

Magitoms,

the energy-based counterpart, were easier to manipulate

but required a stabilizer, a mana-absorbing catalyst.

Unlike

atoms, magitoms were consumed upon use, making them

unreliable for permanent creations.

In short: Atoms created, magitoms fueled.

Kaito needed a base material.

The wood for a crossbow had to be neither too moist nor too dry.

He searched, selecting a suitable branch—but wood alone wouldn't be enough for

durability.

His gaze flickered toward Queen Elena's dagger, lying near

her as she slept.

He crouched beside it and pressed his fingers against the wooden

handle.

Instantly, streams of molecular data filled his mind. The

composition of the handle—hardened fibers, resin-infused layers, traces

of oil treatment—unraveled in intricate detail. He absorbed

the knowledge effortlessly, but that was all it was—knowledge,

not experience.

With a flick of his fingers, he directed Particle Manipulation

toward the branch in his hand. Its molecular structure shifted,

its density altered—becoming identical to the dagger's handle.

It wasn't perfect. He wasn't a craftsman.

But for now, it would do.

Now for the frame, string, and bolts.

His **enhanced vision—three times sharper than a Tenrian warrior's—**spotted

his old armor near a tree. Again, magi-threads extended,

wrapping around the metal and pulling it toward him.

He activated Identification, scanning the dagger's

blade this time.

Steel. A mix of iron, carbon, and nickel.

He extracted the same materials from the soil and replicated

the alloy using Particle Manipulation. A massive block of

stainless steel—10 meters wide, 50 meters long—formed in midair.

With practiced precision, he carved the crossbow frame,

shaping it seamlessly. Then came the bolts—sharp, aerodynamic, lethal.

For the string, he wove magi-threads together, forming an invisible

force that only materialized when mana was supplied. Using Magicology,

Kaito engraved rune patterns onto the crossbow's base—

✔

The moment it was touched by a Level 5 or higher mana core,

the magical string would activate.

Now, the test.

He pulled the string back—a pulse of energy surged through the

weapon.

After crafting the crossbow, Kaito's mind remained immersed in Magicology

and technology, analyzing possibilities while simultaneously scanning

the map for nearby activity.

Beyond 20 kilometers west, he detected a group of

adventurers hunting magic beasts. Potential threats. This location

wasn't safe for long.

He hadn't mastered his newly acquired skills yet. Not

ready.

To defeat an empire, he needed:

✔

An army.

✔

A strategy.

✔

Weapons.

✔

Money.

✔

Food.

He had the huge bullet—he just needed the weapon

to execute his revenge.

They had to move. They needed shelter, food, weapons, and

most importantly—a storage solution for everything.

A spatial storage.

He murmured the words to himself. A pocket dimension to

store supplies. But that meant constant mana consumption. He

needed a mana-absorbing artifact.

His eyes flickered to Queen Elena's necklace.

Reaching out with magi-threads, he scanned the gemstone.

Diamonds.

Perfect. Magicology defined diamonds as

one of the best mana storage materials.

Turning his attention to the ground, he activated Investigation

and Identification simultaneously.

Beneath the soil, he detected traces of other gemstones—zircon,

topaz, and opal.

Extract.

The gemstones surfaced, floating in the air.

Next, he examined Elena's jewelry using magi-threads.

The metals were silver and gold—both perfect mana

conductors.

Again, he searched beneath the earth.

More traces of gold and silver.

And… sulfur.

A smirk played on his lips.

He crafted a custom alloy, merging gold, silver,

and sulfur into a flexible, durable material. A

bracelet.

For the core, he embedded a 60-carat zircon,

surrounded by diamonds.

Rune Engravings Followed:

✔ Diamonds → Mana absorption.

✔

Zircon → Spatial stabilization.

And finally, he imprinted two absolute rules:

Only Level 6 or higher

can use the bracelet.

Only the owner can store

or retrieve items.

As soon as Kaito slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, it automatically

adjusted to fit perfectly.

Storage capacity? A 60-meter diameter space.

He tested it.

✔ Stones. Wood. Metal.

Everything vanished into the spatial pocket—and reappeared

at will.

Flawless.

Kaito glanced down at his body, feeling the strain of excessive mana

consumption. His senses sharpened as he activated Identification

on himself.

✔ Mana: 8,580

/ 20,000

"Too much…"

Particle Manipulation drained a ridiculous amount,

especially the magi-threads.

He couldn't afford to stop now. The border was near.

Adventurers lurked nearby. The land crawled with wild beasts and

magical creatures. Queen Elena, exhausted, rested beside him.

He had to find food.

While scanning the terrain with Navigation and Investigation,

he simultaneously absorbed mana. But something felt… inefficient.

"I need a separate mana-absorbing catalyst."

From the vast knowledge implanted in his mind, he recalled a potential

solution—a secondary mana core.

The concept was feasible, but the requirements were

extreme. Forming another mana core demanded exceptional mana

manipulation and output—nearly 1,000 mana per second.

His Level 10 status granted him a mana capacity of 20,000,

a monstrous amount in Tenria. But this was his limit.

A ceiling.

Though he far exceeded the Tenrian threshold, he couldn't

break into Level 11. Not now. Not ever.

He exhaled. He refused to waste time dwelling on it. The solution

was within reach.

Kaito began crafting.

He refined a new mana-absorbing artifact—a necklace.

✔ A layered engraving of intricate runes

allowed it to absorb ambient mana and continuously feed

his mana core.

✔ The gold-silver alloy shimmered

like a celestial artifact.

✔ Diamonds glittered like scattered

stars.

✔ The zircon radiated an unparalleled

aura.

If any Tenrian mage saw this artifact, they would worship

it.

A divine treasure beyond comprehension.

As he clasped the necklace around his neck—

A surge.

A rush.

Mana flowed into him like never before.

His body absorbed mana six times faster than before.

As Kaito felt his mana recovering at an accelerated pace,

he set his sights on their next necessity—shelter.

A portable house that could withstand the unknown

dangers of the deep forest.

Their destination lay 1,500 km away from civilization, a

remote base for his retribution.

His mind raced, planning the house's layout with Thought

Acceleration and Advanced Thought Processing.

Then, using his skills, he began construction.

✔ He started with a 15-meter-wide flooring,

ensuring stability before erecting sturdy walls with

well-placed windows.

✔

The roof followed—crafted from clay, hardened for

durability.

Creating Comfort

His magi-threads extended, brushing against the fur lining

of Queen Elena's robe.

A single touch was enough.

He calculated the atoms, the molecular structure.

From nearby leaves, grass, vines, and flowers, he reconstructed

the exact composition—

✔

Shaping it into a luxurious mattress and soft pillows.

Modernizing Tenria

The Earthling knowledge resurfaced in his mind.

Technology and magic—two sides of the same coin.

Tenria, for all its vastness, was nothing more than a cage painted

as paradise.

✔ Using Magicology, he embedded runes

into newly formed faucets and showers, ensuring a self-sustaining

water source.

✔

The kitchen tops came next, seamlessly integrated into the

design.

✔

The lighting system—a fusion of Earthly aesthetics

and runic enchantments—illuminated the space with a mana-fueled

glow.

Finalizing the Structure

With the interior complete, he stepped outside.

A flick of his fingers—magi-threads coiled gently around

the sleeping Queen Elena.

Effortlessly, he lifted her and transferred her inside.

Now, for security.

Using Magicology, he etched defensive magic arrays

around the house, embedding zircon and opal as catalysts at

its core.

✔ A Level 10 defensive magic array.

✔

A fortress disguised as a home.

With the Queen secured inside, Kaito turned toward the

wilderness.

It was time to hunt.

By the time Kaito returned to the makeshift house, the sun had already

drifted past its peak. He carried the spoils of his hunt—fresh herbs, fruits,

and deer meat, all neatly stored within his storage bracelet.

Without wasting time, he prepared the meal.

Once done, he turned his attention to himself.

A bath was overdue.

Stepping into the comfort room, he activated the enchanted shower. Water

streamed down, washing away the fatigue and grime of the journey. Technology

and Magicology had made this process far simpler—effortless, almost luxurious.

Soap.

That was the only thing missing.

With no time for lengthy experiments, he used raw magicules to conjure a

temporary substitute, cleansing his body with mana-infused foam.

His clothes, however, were another matter.

What once resembled garments now looked more like rags. Using the magicule

soap, he scrubbed them clean, then dried them with warm air manipulation,

restoring their original state.

An hour later, Kaito sat on a chair, staring through the window, lost in

thought.

Then—a soft moan.

His gaze flickered toward Queen Elena.

She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. A strange sensation washed over

her—the feeling of being rested, rejuvenated.

Her fingers brushed against the soft fabric covering her. A blanket. Beneath

her, an actual bed.

A pillow cushioned her head.

Her dazed eyes wandered across the room. A house. Modest, yet structured. A

table. Chairs.

The headache that had tormented her for hours? Gone.

She sat up slowly, her body still adjusting.

Then, she noticed him.

A young man, seated near the window. Silent. Still.

She stared.

Then—it hit her.

Kaito.

Memories flooded back.

Before she lost consciousness—he had awakened.

And before the world faded to black, she had witnessed a miracle.

"Kaito."

His gaze remained fixed outside the window, his expression unreadable.

"There's food on the table. It wasn't prepared by a royal chef, but

it's edible."

A pause.

"You need to regain your strength. We're moving deeper into the

forest."

Elena's tired eyes studied him.

Kaito finally turned his gaze toward her, his expression unreadable. With a

small motion, he raised his hand, and a faint glow flickered in the air. A

translucent map materialized before them, expanding across the wooden table.

It was unlike anything Elena had ever seen.

A perfect, detailed projection of the surrounding forest, villages,

rivers, and even hidden trails. Every marking was precise—distances,

elevations, and even moving indicators tracking creatures

beyond their sight.

Elena's breath caught.

"This is our current position," Kaito pointed at a glowing dot in the dense

wilderness. "Seventy-two kilometers southeast of Grasia's border."

She blinked, barely able to process the level of detail in the display.

Kaito's fingers traced a series of glowing markers,

adjusting the display. "We're heading deeper. Further south, beyond the reach

of adventurers and search parties. Away from the kingdom's scouts."

His voice was calm, yet there was an underlying finality to

his words.

Elena gripped the blanket beneath her fingers.

This wasn't just escape.

This was a calculated retreat.

And the Kaito before her—the one strategizing, preparing, commanding—

He was nothing like the boy she had once known.