CHAPTER 4

I Didn't See This Coming (4)

"Kidnapping? Even I wouldn't stoop that low, you bastards!"

The Skull King's eyes gleamed with fury. The light within his body — the light of a forming mana core — was faint.

Naturally so. It wasn't exactly ideal for humans to witness the process of forging a mana core.

"Mana and divine power are like oil and water."

Of course, that wasn't the only reason to keep it hidden.

"If they found out a newborn could use magic, they'd lose their minds."

After all, humans couldn't normally wield magic until at least the age of five.

But a baby casting spells? That would send the mages into a frenzy, declaring him a child of miracles. Other nations would trip over themselves to claim him.

And yet, he absolutely needed to become a Saint of the Holy Empire — to corrupt their priests, the very servants of the gods.

If word of him spread beyond the Holy Empire — to another nation, or worse, the Magic Empire — things would get… complicated.

Very complicated.

"As long as they don't interfere, I'll manage."

Right now, while the fake maids were too busy arguing over some kidnapping nonsense, this was his chance.

But despite closing his eyes, the Skull King was more tense than ever.

This was the most critical moment in forging a mana core — the point of no return. If the flow was disrupted now, his body might never again produce a mana core.

There was a reason magical houses set the minimum age for successor training at five — not just tradition, but because a certain ability could only be awakened at this tender age.

The Skull King would've preferred a quieter place for this… but—

"This is the only chance I've got."

Right now, there were only wet nurses around. But inside the Holy Empire? The place would be crawling with high-ranking priests.

Creating a mana core inside that damned priest-infested den?

Suicidal.

It would be the same as screaming to the world that the dreaded Skull Demon King was here.

So, while the fake maids' attention was elsewhere, this was the perfect opportunity.

"The first step is simple."

Darkness filled the Skull King's closed-off vision.

This was merely the world behind his eyelids — the first stage. But he didn't stop there.

To forge a mana core, he had to reach a deeper state of consciousness — a world of pure self-awareness.

The Inner Realm.

In an instant, his senses shifted. Sound vanished. Light disappeared. It felt like sinking beneath dark waters.

"Good."

A perfect void — this was the sanctum for forging a mana core.

Why go to such lengths? Simple.

Unless a core was hidden deep within, it risked exposure and destruction.

There was a reason monster hunters specialized in harvesting mana cores.

But this place… this was deep enough. Even dragons — the pinnacle of magic — forged their cores here.

But the Skull King was unlike any other.

Not only was he a master of unparalleled magic, but he had once subdued demon lords with his bare hands — leaving even the gods speechless.

"I'll go twenty layers deeper!"

Far beyond the Inner Realm, into the fathomless depths of the unconscious — to the very boundary of existence — the Primordial Realm.

The Skull King severed his consciousness from the outside world.

Boom.

He felt like his heart stopped.

"I have to hurry — or this could get dangerous."

Only because of his current infant body did he dare attempt such madness. Even he, who wove complex spells as easily as breathing, felt his mind teetering at the edge.

It was the sort of place even the gods feared — lest they lose themselves and vanish.

But the Skull King had chosen this dangerous place for one reason.

"The scale here is on a different level."

A creature's conscious mind could only reach so far.

But the unconscious? Boundless.

That was why he sought to forge his mana core here.

After all — above the creator is the landlord, and above the landlord is the owner of the land.

What good are endless seeds and materials if you lack the land to build upon?

"If you don't have enough space, everything's meaningless."

But here — a place without limits — was like an ever-expanding universe.

In other words, this was the one place where he could forge an Infinite Core — a feat beyond even the gods of magic.

And so, in that moment, the Skull King unleashed all his power.

Rumble!

A brilliant light began to take shape before him.

The mana core.

But as the Skull King gazed upon it, his expression twisted.

"What the hell? It's white?"

Mana cores typically formed in the three primary colors — red, blue, or green — each with their own unique properties.

But white?

Not only was it an unheard-of color, but the sheer, overwhelming energy radiating from that tiny, bead-sized core was astounding.

This was a good omen.

No — a great omen.

It seemed his gamble had paid off.

"Alright… all that's left is the final step."

To inscribe a name onto the core.

Connecting his consciousness to the core — the most critical step. But for him, this was no difficult task.

Forging the core had been the hard part.

Now, with the end in sight—

But then it happened.

"Uh… wait a minute. Isn't the baby Saint not breathing?"

"!!"

The Skull King's mind reeled at the voice from beyond the Primordial Realm.

"What are you talking about? You're imagining things."

"No, look — his chest isn't moving at all…"

The maids' voices grew closer.

The Skull King screamed internally.

Not now — this was the most crucial moment.

Even for him, any disruption now could ruin everything.

"Perform CPR!"

No — don't!

I appreciate the concern — I really do — but please, don't!

Then a male servant's voice rang out.

"I'll do it!"

Shit — not a guy!

The Skull King rushed to complete the final step. Letters of light rapidly engraved themselves upon the mana core.

Just as the maids began positioning themselves to save the "lifeless" baby—

Flash!

[Issac]

It seemed his extreme concentration had finally paid off.

At last, his name was etched onto the mana core — and with a deep, resounding thrum like a drumbeat, mana pathways began to form throughout his entire body.

The mana core had activated.

The Skeleton King swiftly gathered his consciousness and ascended from the unconscious realm back to the physical world. It would still take time for mana to circulate properly through his body, but now that the core had been activated, he could at least use magic.

'This should hold me over for a while.'

Reaching the surface world — the realm of sight — the Skeleton King snapped his eyes open.

The servants gasped in shock.

"He's opened his eyes!"

Only after they hurriedly stepped back did the Skeleton King close his eyes again, as though collapsing from exhaustion. It had been nearly two hundred years since he'd exerted such intense concentration.

'Already… so tired…'

"Oh heavens! The young master has lost consciousness again!"

"I knew it! I must perform CPR—"

Don't you dare, you son of a—!

Snapping his eyes open again, the Skeleton King glared at the male servant, muttering curses under his breath.

'These damn kids… scaring their elders like this.'

Then again, living beings often displayed superhuman focus when faced with life-or-death situations.

In fact, thanks to that extreme concentration, the most important part of the process — the engraving of his name onto the mana core — had been completed perfectly.

"If there are no issues, move the young saint immediately."

"Understood… not ideal, but I suppose kidnapping is better than killing."

Still refusing to give up on the kidnapping plan, huh?

Well, whatever.

It was the moment the Skeleton King faintly curled the corner of his mouth —

BOOM!

An intense force rushed toward him.

The wind howled, startling the servants.

"What was that?"

"Don't tell me… divine arts again?"

Divine arts, my ass. It's magic, idiots.

While divine arts borrowed holy power from the gods, magic worked by absorbing mana into one's own core.

Right now, the Skeleton King was absorbing mana from the air itself.

Of course, gathering mana usually took a long time — like cultivating inner strength over years of training.

Especially for someone who had just formed their mana core, it wouldn't be strange for it to take months just to cast a single spell.

But—

Flash!

The Skeleton King smiled at the familiar, burning sensation in his chest.

'Right. This, too, should be engraved.'

Not just his name — another mark was being inscribed onto the mana core.

A power.

⸢Survival⸥

It was the Skeleton King's Trait — his Origin.

An Origin was a soul's inherent trait — something everyone was born with, but could only awaken through special circumstances.

Most people never realized their own Origin — and that was what separated ordinary folk from heroes.

The Skeleton King had awakened his long ago — back when he'd been nothing but a lowly skeleton, clawing his way through a hellish existence day after day.

And because his Origin was carved so deeply into his soul, it granted him unique buffs and skills.

For instance — if his Origin ⸢Survival⸥ applied to even the most basic first-tier magic, Mana Absorption…

RUMBLE!

"Guhk!"

"W-Wait… urgh!"

Ordinarily, even a skilled mage could only absorb tiny particles of mana slowly over time — like stacking grains of sand.

But the Skeleton King's Mana Absorption, empowered by the Origin of ⸢Survival⸥, was on a completely different level.

Time? Meaningless.

Targets? Irrelevant.

Quantity? Unlimited.

In an instant, the nearby trees withered, and the male servant's cloak disintegrated into ash.

"My cloak!"

In short — his Origin was a trait specialized purely for survival.

[Do whatever it takes to stay alive]

The Skeleton King wasn't just absorbing the free-floating mana in the air — he was draining every trace of mana from nearby plants, objects, even enchanted items.

'I didn't think it would go so far as to suck the mana out of some cheap cloak…'

That thing barely even counted as a magic item — it was just briefly dipped in a mana potion for fragrance.

The Skeleton King's expression soured — but the servants were already panicking, staring at him in shock.

"I've never seen a technique like that — is it divine art? Or magic?"

"The young saint wouldn't use magic! Stop him!"

The servants hurriedly reached into their pockets to draw something — but the Skeleton King only smiled, as if to say they were already too late.

'First-tier magic.'

A brilliant light erupted from the Skeleton King's body — a flash bright enough to steal their sight in an instant.

"AAAAAGH!"

The blinding radiance was like vinegar being poured directly into their eyes. The servants groaned in agony and staggered backward.

And at the center of it all — the Skeleton King, who had turned himself into a literal source of light — grinned wickedly.

'Well, it's only a Tier-1 spell, but this is more than enough.'

In this world, magic was divided from Tier-1 to Tier-10. Tier-1 was little more than a stepping stone for reaching higher tiers — the kind of magic that barely warranted notice from serious mages.

But, as with all things, it was a matter of who wielded it.

A mere kitchen knife becomes a peerless weapon in the hands of a swordmaster. Likewise, the Tier-1 spell the Skeleton King had cast far surpassed its supposed limits.

Proof?

The servants were already on the ground, clutching their eyes, fainting one after another.

…Wait. Hold on a second.

Fainted?

FAINTED???

The Skeleton King stared, momentarily dumbfounded, at the servants who had completely lost consciousness.

All I wanted was to blind them for a moment — just long enough to slip past! Why the hell are they passed out cold, foaming at the mouth like they've seen God?!

'What the hell is this?!'

Even accounting for his blessed body, this was far beyond the output of a Tier-1 spell.

The Skeleton King — who had long grown used to bizarre, unexplained magical phenomena — couldn't wrap his head around it either.

'…Actually, this isn't bad at all.'

No complaints here. If Tier-1 magic packed this much punch, all the better.

It meant he could defend himself — for now.

But there was just one problem…

'Crap… I don't even know whose kid I'm supposed to be!'

Sure, knowing which noble family he belonged to would've been nice — but that required at least one of these fools to stay awake long enough to tell him!

Who would've thought Tier-1 magic would knock them out cold like this!?

He had planned to stun them briefly and then cast another spell, but — well — too late now.

'Whatever! Fine. I'll find out myself.'

Muttering curses under his breath, the Skeleton King crawled over and began rifling through the servants' clothes.

Since they had been pretending to be his wet nurse and attendants, there had to be some clue — a family crest, an insignia, anything.

But the more he searched, the deeper his scowl grew.

It wasn't just difficult to search them with his chubby baby hands — the real issue was that there wasn't a single clue to be found.

'This is bad.'

He could head for the nearest monastery, but from what he'd seen and heard, the political situation was a mess — something about a Holy Child candidate being kidnapped.

In a world like that, where friend and foe were hard to distinguish, it was best to know exactly whose brat he was before asking for food and shelter—

—Food?

—Shelter??

The Skeleton King's eye sockets blazed with fury.

Was he supposed to be satisfied drinking cheap monastery baby formula after regaining a human body for the first time in centuries?

Absolutely not.

His first meal would be a banquet fit for royalty — something so rich and decadent it would bring tears of joy to his undead heart.

"Oi! Wake up already, damn it!" he shouted in his baby voice. "At least tell me whose kid I am before you pass out! You said it was a ducal house! One of the Five Sacred Clans, wasn't it?!"

Of course, what came out of his mouth sounded very different.

"Dah! Dah! Dah-dah-dah!!"

It was a bizarre scene — a baby flailing his tiny fists and slapping the unconscious servants' cheeks in frustration.

At that moment—

"Urgh… Damn bastards… Did they even bring a mage to cast spells on us…?"

"!"

One of the three collapsed servants — a woman — staggered to her feet, groaning.

She had been their leader.

The Skeleton King — now more curious than angry — studied her carefully.

What intrigued him wasn't her identity — but the faint aura of power she exuded.

'Huh… A paladin?'

There was no mistaking the faint trace of divine magic activating around her. Unlike the other two, it must have helped her recover more quickly.

'No wonder they botched killing a mere infant. Not a matter of skill — just a paladin's moral code holding her back.'

Paladins were protectors of the weak, after all — a far cry from cold-blooded assassins.

But the woman wasn't looking at the Skeleton King.

Her gaze was fixed beyond the trees — where the sound of distant shouts and the clatter of armed search parties could be heard.

"This way! Find the kidnapped Holy Child!"

"Damn it, where did they hide the kid?!"

Searchers. Soldiers. Reinforcements.

The woman clicked her tongue in irritation.

"So Eshua's already sent people after us, huh. Well, of course he would — it's his bloodline on the line."

"!"

The Skeleton King's eyes widened.

Eshua.

So that was the family name of his illustrious ancestors.

Perfect.

Now he could find his way home without any more mistakes.

With a small, determined hand, he reached up.

"Dah! Dah!"

As if asking to be carried.

The woman gave a wry, almost affectionate smile as she picked him up.

"You may look like a little angel, but I'm afraid I can't let you go back. Maybe the mages' spells helped you earlier… but you won't be able to pull that off again."

It was at that moment—

The Skeleton King's forehead began to glow.

"…Baby?"

The Skeleton King —

No.

Isaac Eshua —

Smiled brightly.

And then — with a head harder than any rock — he slammed his forehead straight into the woman's.

CRACK!!

THUD!

The sound was so loud, so impossible, that the approaching searchers froze in shock.

Naturally.

Because no one — absolutely no one — could believe that sound had come from a baby's headbutt.