Chapter 4 — The Broken Crown

"You killed a Reaper unit," someone whispered.

"No, he didn't. He bled with it."

"Kairon's not a slave anymore. He's something else."

Three days after the arena fight, the Salt Pit changed.

Not with banners.

Not with rebellion.

But with silence.

The kind that bent spines. That made guards pause. That turned heads when Kairon walked past.

He hadn't asked for loyalty. He hadn't promised salvation.

But he had survived—again.

And that meant more than words.

Still, he knew better than to revel in shadows. Fear brought attention. And attention brought predators.

— SKILL PANEL —

Pain Tolerance – Lv.3 (32%)

Observation – Lv.1 (78%)

Assassination – Lv.1 (42%)

Endurance – Lv.0 (43%)

Tactical Instinct – Lv.1 (54%)

TRAIT: Adaptive Grind (Passive)

[Trait synergy detected: "Cold Bloodline" interaction pending activation.]

Cold Bloodline?

That hadn't been mentioned before.

The panel gave no answers.

As always.

Just silent proof of progression.

Then the shipments changed.

Guards started unloading heavily-locked cryocaskets. New prisoners—frozen. Dangerous. The kind who weren't meant for labor, but containment.

Rumors whispered between shovels and broken teeth:

"The Reaper Corps are dumping failures here."

"Test subjects. Broken Arcs. Cursed bloodlines."

"One of them used to be a prince."

Kairon paid attention to all of it.

Because where the broken go, opportunity follows.

❖

Later That Night

The pit pulsed with quiet tension.

Kairon sat in his corner, rewrapping his leg with boiled plant fibers. A small group of slaves knelt nearby—not by command, but habit. They brought him gossip. Updates. Minor tributes—scrap metal, purified bone, stitching wire.

Information, as always, was the only currency he accepted.

"New arrival's awake," one said. "Cryocask 3A. Guard killed during thaw."

"They say he doesn't speak. Just stares. His eyes glow blue."

"Reaper-class mana signature, but no collar suppression working."

Kairon glanced up.

That last part mattered.

The pit was sealed to Rank 0s. Anyone stronger had their soul-forge suppressed through neural code embedded in collars. If someone had bypassed that?

Either they were not entirely human, or something had gone wrong. Or right.

"I want eyes on him," Kairon said. "Don't approach. Just observe."

No one asked why.

They moved.

That night, Kairon didn't sleep.

He watched the pit's edge from a higher perch.

And he saw him.

The new prisoner.

Tall. Skin like marble. Hair shorn close to the scalp. No visible wounds. No expression. His collar blinked, but didn't pulse—meaning suppression had failed.

He sat alone.

Still as a corpse.

Watching everything.

Including Kairon.

Their eyes locked—for three full seconds.

Observation – Lv.1 → 81%

Then the man blinked.

And smiled.

Two hours later, a guard was dead.

Gutted. Spine peeled. No weapon.

The body was found impaled on the Salt Throne—a mock seat made of rusted pickaxes. No one claimed the kill.

No one had to.

The guards doubled patrols. The Augur returned the next day. This time, she didn't speak.

She scanned.

And left.

Without comment.

Later that night, the man approached Kairon.

Without fear. Without words.

He sat down beside him and stared at the pit wall.

"I remember you," he said.

Kairon didn't look at him. "Doubt it."

"You fought the Servo unit. You bleed properly."

Kairon's voice stayed flat. "And you're not a prisoner. Not really."

A pause.

Then: "Not anymore."

Kairon turned.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled.

"Crown Prince Veyr of the Ashen Sovereignty. Supposedly dead. Officially... disavowed."

Kairon's grip on his shiv didn't loosen. "Why are you here?"

"They thought they could unmake me. I disagreed. Now I'm… on probation."

"Probation involves murder?"

"Doesn't it always?"

Kairon liked him immediately.

Which meant he trusted him less than anyone.

— SKILL PANEL —

Observation – Lv.1 → 85%

Tactical Instinct – Lv.1 → 57%

Three Days Later

Kairon made his move.

He assembled a team of four—low-profile, disposable, skilled. Not loyal. Just desperate enough to obey.

The plan was simple:

Exploit the north trench supply vent.

Overload the Salt boiler to trigger a containment breach.

Escape during the chaos using Veila's old tunnel route, long abandoned.

Frame the death of a guard on a rival crew leader—one too ambitious, too loud.

If it worked, he'd be gone within 72 hours.

If it failed?

Then he'd still kill five enemies, gain three levels, and maybe burn the pit down.

Either way: progress.

But then—something changed.

The Augur returned that night, dragging with her a half-conscious Veila.

Augmented.

Cybernetic lines crawled across her spine. Her left eye glowed red. Her movements were... unnatural.

Kairon approached the cage she was chained inside.

She didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

Didn't recognize him.

A guard smirked. "Too bad. Rejected upgrade. Her psyche broke mid-injection. Empty shell now."

Kairon turned away slowly.

Not out of sorrow.

But rage.

Tactical Instinct – Lv.1 → 61%

[Trait Synergy Achieved: Adaptive Grind + Cold Bloodline]

You have inherited a dormant bloodline trait: "Glacial Focus."

When emotional control is maintained during extreme stress, gain exponential boost to tactical clarity. Cooldown: 6 hours.

He killed his entire team that night.

Quietly. Efficiently.

They had been assets. Now they were liabilities.

He would plan alone from now on.

The next day, Prince Veyr met him on the wall again.

"She's broken," he said.

Kairon said nothing.

"She can't be fixed."

"I know."

"So what now?"

Kairon's voice was like steel drawn across bone.

"Now I bury this place in fire and salt."