Caelum Veras always saw the world for what it was—a rigged game.
He watched from the back of the class, chin resting lazily in his palm as the teacher droned on about equations and structure. A waste of breath. He had mastered the formulas by age eleven, memorized the national exam systems by thirteen, and beat his first crime ring by fifteen—not with fists, but whispers.
While others fought for scraps of popularity, Caelum pulled strings. School cliques, underground gangs, even national-level competitions—they all fell the same way: calculated precision, psychological pressure, and perfectly chosen words.
But the more he conquered… the more hollow it felt.
Victory lost meaning when your enemies played checkers, and you were born playing twelve-dimensional chess.
At night, his only thrill came from games—MOBA ranked, mind-bending mystery visual novels, impossibly hard boss fights. There was no joy in winning… only a fleeting satisfaction in crushing egos. In exposing the frauds who thought they were kings.
The world had no worthy rivals.
And when boredom mixed with brilliance, it became a slow form of death.
Forty hours. No sleep. One more match.
His screen flashed with the final kill. Victory. Again. No thrill. Again.
He blinked. The sun was rising. His heart was pounding too fast.
Then it stopped.
Silence.
No regret. No fear. Just one final thought:
Maybe… now I'll find something interesting.
He died alone, slumped over his keyboard.
And somewhere beyond time and reason…
A world waited for him.
...
Darkness.
Then pain. A thousand needles of cold stabbing through his spine.
He gasped and coughed, lungs raw, throat dry. His fingers scraped against stone. Rough. Ancient. Alive.
Caelum Veras opened his eyes—and found himself surrounded by glowing sigils on the ruin walls. They pulsed with faint light. Alien… and yet oddly familiar.
His hands were smaller. Thinner. Weak.
He touched his chest, his face. No mirror needed—this wasn't his body.
Reincarnation? So those cult theories weren't complete lunacy.
He chuckled dryly and sat up. Every muscle screamed in protest. Whoever this body belonged to had been malnourished for years.
Stone walls surrounded him. A shrine, or a tomb. He noticed the floor beneath was carved in circular patterns—runes. Cracked, but still humming faintly.
Then he saw it—above him, a high ceiling open to the sky. And beyond it, a voice.
"Leave the child. The ruin will devour him soon enough."
"Such a disgrace to the Veyron name. May his bones rot quietly."
Footsteps retreated.
Veyron…?
So that was his new name.
Caelum was dead. But Kael Veyron just opened his eyes.
And the first thing he felt… was opportunity.
They think they discarded me. But they've already given me my first advantage: anonymity.
He stood, slowly, bones creaking. A strange energy pulsed around the room, syncing with his thoughts. The runes were reacting. Responding.
He stepped forward.
A section of wall trembled—and slid open.
Beyond it, a corridor of shifting stone and light. Symbols floated in the air like data streams in a high-end strategy game. But instead of fear, Kael smiled.
Finally. A worthy game.
[ END OF CHAPTER 1]