Lorian made his way back to the forest, his heart pounding with excitement. He needed to understand what exactly this power was. He had seen its potential, but without control, it was nothing more than an unpredictable force.
Standing in a small clearing, he took a deep breath and focused. The energy inside him stirred as he extended his hand, trying to will something into existence. A weapon—no, something small, something simple.
A deep black shape formed in his palm, stretching and solidifying until a dagger took shape. Its blade seemed to drink in the surrounding light, as if it were absorbing the world itself. He turned it in his hand, feeling its weight, the smoothness of its edge.
"This... this feels natural," he muttered, spinning the dagger between his fingers. His body, once sluggish and unfamiliar, now felt light—faster, stronger.
Curious, he focused again. This time, he activated the skill he had stumbled upon—Emptiness.
The world around him shifted. A faint blue hue tinted his vision, and suddenly, he could see beyond the trees. Beasts hidden behind thick trunks and tangled brush stood out as glowing silhouettes. Mana pulsed within them like embers in the darkness.
He grinned.
Without hesitation, he dashed forward.
The wind roared past his ears as his body blurred through the trees. Every step felt effortless, his movements sharper and more controlled. He weaved between branches, his speed unnatural.
Then—his first target.
A C-rank Razorfang Wolf, prowling near a stream. It perked its ears, sensing something—too late.
Lorian's dagger sliced through the air as he lunged, his body twisting mid-air. Before the wolf could react, he was already behind it. A single precise slash, and the beast collapsed before it could even snarl.
His grin widened.
He turned his gaze to the distance—more glowing figures. Twenty-three more.
He sprinted forward, the thrill surging through his veins.
One after another, beasts fell—a Shadowclaw Panther, a pair of Bladehorn Deer, a Burrowfang Mole. His newfound flexibility allowed him to dodge with impossible precision, his attacks flowing like water. With Emptiness active, he could see every movement before it happened, guiding him like an unseen force.
Lorian finally stopped, his breath heavy, his limbs aching. The thrill of battle had pushed him beyond his limits, but now exhaustion crept in. He wiped the sweat from his brow, a triumphant grin still lingering on his lips.
Then—he saw it.
Orange flickers in the distance. Rising smoke staining the evening sky.
His smile faded.
His body stiffened, mind racing as realization struck. That's… the direction of the village.
For a moment, he just stood there, unable to process it. But then his legs moved on their own. His exhaustion vanished, replaced by a gnawing fear. No, no, no…
He sprinted.
The closer he got, the worse it became. The air reeked of burning wood and blood. The once-familiar houses were nothing but charred ruins. Flames danced wildly, consuming what remained.
Corpses littered the ground. People he had seen every day—merchants, farmers, children—all lifeless. Their bodies twisted in agony, blood pooling around them.
His chest tightened, his breath caught in his throat.
"The fk—"**
His home.
His parents.
He ran.
His house was barely standing, the roof half-collapsed, the walls scorched. And there—just outside, in the garden—two bodies lay motionless.
Blood soaked the soil beneath them. A single sword wound carved through their chests.
His father. His mother.
Dead.
The world blurred. A ringing filled his ears. His mind refused to accept it. This… this wasn't supposed to happen.
His hands trembled as he stepped closer, his knees threatening to give out beneath him.
"…No."
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. A storm brewed inside him, twisting into something dark.
Who did this?
And why?
The flames crackled around him, but all he felt was ice.
Lorian's body tensed as Emptiness activated on its own.
But this time—it was different.
The world shifted. His vision expanded beyond the burning ruins, beyond the crumbling houses. It was as if the structures themselves were transparent, their forms dissolving into outlines, allowing him to see everything that lurked beyond.
And then—he saw them.
Troops.
Armored men marching in formation, dragging the surviving villagers in chains. Their wrists were bound, their faces hollow with despair. Women, children, the elderly—none were spared.
And then, amid the sea of suffering, he saw him.
A boy.
He couldn't have been older than Lorian. His brown eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head back, laughing—laughing—as if the carnage before him was a mere spectacle. With an air of nonchalance, he stepped into an extravagant carriage, its exterior emblazoned with a golden emblem:
A rose beneath the sun.
Lorian's breath hitched. His hands trembled, not from fear—but from rage.
Nobles.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
"So that's how it is…" he muttered, his voice laced with venom. "For a moment, I thought maybe this world was different. Maybe nobility here wouldn't be like the corrupt bastards from stories. Maybe—just maybe—they'd be better."
His eyes darkened.
"But I was wrong."
A suffocating anger coiled within him, deep and relentless. His nails dug into his palms, his teeth clenched so hard it hurt.
They weren't rulers. They were parasites.
His gaze locked onto the carriage, onto the boy inside.
His voice was cold, a whisper carried by the crackling flame
"…Enjoy your laugh while you can."
Lorian's fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood. His entire body trembled, his breath ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum.
The noble boy's laughter still echoed in his mind—mocking, cruel, indifferent to the suffering he and his people had caused.
Lorian could still see them. The lifeless bodies of his parents, their blood seeping into the soil. The villagers, broken and defeated, dragged away like cattle. The homes he had begun to accept, the quiet life he was starting to embrace—all reduced to ashes.
He could taste the smoke in the air, thick with the stench of burning wood and flesh. His vision blurred, not from tears—but from rage.
A deep, hollow rage.
His voice shook as he whispered, "I swear… I will destroy them."
His breathing grew heavier, his shoulders rising and falling with each trembling breath.
"I will end them. I will shatter their legacy, crush their power, and erase the very concept of nobility from this world. The era of the privileged, of those who stand above others simply by birthright, will end—and I will be the one to end it."
His shadow twisted unnaturally beneath him, pulsing as if it shared his fury.
"They think they are untouchable. They think they can take and take, without consequences." He let out a bitter laugh, his voice raw with emotion. "But they don't realize… they've just created their own downfall."
His mind flashed back to his past life. The years of torment. The cruel laughter of those stronger than him. The helplessness of being too weak to fight back.
Back then, he had accepted it. Back then, he had endured it.
But not this time.
"No more." His voice was steel. "No more cowering. No more staying silent. No more watching from the sidelines."
His gaze locked onto the noble's carriage, eyes burning with a newfound resolve.
"I will become stronger. So strong that no one will ever be able to stand above me again."
The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the crackling flames around him dimmed in the weight of his words.
"I will rise." His shadow pulsed, tendrils of darkness curling around him like a living entity. "And when I do—I will tear down this rotten system with my own hands."
His breath steadied. His mind cleared.
For the first time in both his lives, he had a purpose.
A reason to grow.
A reason to conquer.