Drip… Drip… Drip…
Blood splattered onto the cold stone floor, each crimson droplet merging into an ever-growing pool beneath me. The wound in my stomach throbbed, a searing pain twisting through my body like molten iron. My knees buckled, and I collapsed, my fingers clawing weakly at the ground.
I thought maybe… maybe if I pushed myself harder, if I ignored the world completely, forsaken every fleeting distraction, locked myself away in that basement—perhaps I could have stood against them. Perhaps I could have proven that effort could surpass talent.
That those born with everything did not define this world.
But…
A bitter lump rose in my throat. My vision blurred, and I realized with disgust that tears—pathetic, weak tears—were forming at the corners of my eyes.
I had never expected… never even considered… that my dreams could be shattered so effortlessly. That all I had bled for, trained for, sacrificed for—could be trampled beneath the heel of someone born superior as easily as a cockroach beneath a boot.
Never had I expected such an insurmountable difference in our stren—
—Fucking weakling."
A shadow loomed over me, its presence devoid of warmth. The words were not spat with contempt, nor laced with cruelty. They were not a taunt, nor an insult.
They were a simple truth.
The one who had struck me down crouched, bringing his face level with mine. Twin pools of onyx-black stared into my eyes—cold, emotionless, utterly unmoved by my suffering.
My brother.
"You see, little brother…" His voice was composed, detached, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than addressing the sibling he had just impaled. "With this level of power, you won't even survive as an adventurer. Forget about ever becoming a hunter."
His gaze drifted away, as though I were no longer worth his attention.
A slow rage burned beneath my pain, hotter than the blood dripping from my wound. My fingers dug into the earth.
What the hell do you know?
What have I been doing? Training. Endlessly. For years. Every second of my existence, I have fought against my own weakness, pushing my body and mind past their limits, killing every useless emotion that stood in my way.
And you dare ask me that?
My lips parted, but only a strangled breath escaped. The agony tearing through my body swallowed my voice whole.
I could feel my strength slipping.
Two figures in white cloaks appeared beside me in a flash of light, their hands pressing against my shoulders. Divine prana—cool and searing all at once—washed over me, flooding through my veins. A transparent glow engulfed my body, the ethereal flames consuming my mana to fuel their healing magic.
I barely registered my brother's polished shoes before my vision darkened. But even as I slipped into unconsciousness, I heard him speak—his voice no longer indifferent, but tainted with something I had never heard before.
Disgust.
"You can't even use healing?"
A pause.
"…How unsightly."
--------------------
My name is Ren Kuroshi.
I am the son of the head of the Kuroshi Clan—one of the Twelve Great Clans that have ruled since the 665th World War. Our family has stood at the peak for centuries, securing our position as the third most powerful clan in existence.
Each Great Clan is blessed with a unique ability, a power that sets them apart.
For us, it is our eyes.
The Gdrfnd.
"_"
Ah. You cannot comprehend that name, can you? Don't worry. It is not your fault.
It is simply beyond you.
Even the outsiders, the ones who know of our clan, cannot grasp its true name. They refer to them in simpler terms—The Eyes of Death.
A foolish name, really. Our eyes do not kill.
They heal.
It is because of this ability that our clan is vital to every war. With our eyes, we can return soldiers from the brink of death in an instant. We can mend wounds, restore lost limbs, rebuild shattered bones. We can stand on the battlefield indefinitely, bringing warriors back from the grave without ever depleting our mana.
We are untouchable.
That is…
All of us except me.
I cannot heal.
No matter how much I train, no matter how much I desire it, no matter how much I try to force my body to obey—I simply cannot use my eyes.
And in this world, that means I am nothing.
People are born with Zones—innate affinities that determine their magical strength. A higher Zone means a greater connection to mana, a greater ability to shape the world.
The Kuroshi Clan has never birthed anyone lower than Zone 5.
Until me.
Zone 0.
A stain upon my bloodline. A failure.
I discovered this at the annual clan ceremony three years ago, when I was nine. Normally, a child's Zone is tested at birth—but our clan was so certain of our strength that they had never bothered to check mine.
They should have.
The moment my results were revealed, the hall fell silent. Then, whispers.
Disbelief. Shame. Pity. Hatred.
"A disgrace to our name."
"A blot on the Kuroshi bloodline."
But it didn't matter.
That day, I cut off everyone.
I locked myself in the basement of our estate, devoting myself to nothing but strength. I sacrificed my childhood, my happiness, my very humanity. Every second of every day, I pushed my body to the brink, until the scent of my own blood became as familiar as the air I breathed.
My old caretaker, the one who had raised me, pleaded with me to stop. Tears filled her green, wrinkled eyes.
"Please, young master… You're only a child!"
I dismissed her. Replaced her.
I would cut away everything that made me weak.
And yet—I was still powerless.
Today, I had finally tested myself.
My brother, returning from his time in Polasia—the frozen wasteland at the edge of the world—had agreed to spar with me. He was Zone 7. Blessed. A prodigy.
I did not expect to win.
But I thought I could at least hold my ground.
I lasted less than a mere second.
One attack.
One effortless attack from him—and I was already on my knees, bleeding out.
A dry, hollow laugh tore from my lips.
Everything I had worked for… was nothing.
------------------
Drip… Drip… Drip…
Blood pooled around me.
But this time, it was not from a battle wound.
The dagger gleamed, slick with my own blood. My arms and legs lay severed beside me, cleanly cut from my body.
And yet—I did not feel pain.
Mana swirled around me, dulling every nerve.
This was my last resort.
A gamble based on a crazy man's words.
But it really did not matter anymore, anyways.
The ritual circle carved into the stone beneath me glowed, its intricate patterns igniting with an unnatural red light. The air crackled.
A demon. No—a king among demons.
The source of my clan's power.
I lifted my head, my lips parting in a whisper.
"I summon you… King of Hell… Gdrfnd."
The world trembled. The earth cracked.
My eyes widened. The ritual was working.
And for the first time in my life, I felt something stir within me.
Not fear. Not despair.
Power.
A manic smile bloomed on my face on seeing that the ritual was working. Happiness bubbled from the very core of my soul. At that moment, it felt as if I also was going to become something beautiful.
The ground rumbled, the wind distorted and the walls cracked.
"This is the start… the start of a wonderful future, a future that no one had foreseen!", I screamed.