Caden.
Named after "fighting spirit." His parents had given him that name with love, but he'd twisted it into his own meaning: fighting to stay awake, just to read one more chapter of a novel.
"I think that's why I died," he muttered with a crooked laugh. "Seriously… who dies while reading? That's just embarrassing."
Or maybe—he paused—"I died because of lack of sleep."Yeah. That felt right.
The thought of his parents and his little sister darkened his mood. A tight ache stirred in his chest. He almost wanted to cry—but no. Not now. Not when he had no idea what kind of situation he was in.
He blinked and looked around.
A vast, distorted sky stretched in every direction. Colors twisted like gears grinding together, ugly yet strangely beautiful. It felt less like reality and more like wandering through the art gallery of a madman.
"Umm… where am I?" he asked aloud, more out of habit than expectation.
A voice answered anyway. Strange, mechanical, and yet not quite machine. It spoke of… rewards.
Caden tilted his head back and froze. Above him hung a colossal, gear-turning construct, endlessly ticking and shifting like some divine clockwork. From its face spilled countless projections of things he didn't understand.
"Ohh. This looks like a Clock, but also not. What is this thing?, hmm, Let's just call this… the Clock System." His novel-fed brain decided that was the only explanation. He ignored the strange projections and zeroed in on what mattered most: the rewards.
Gathering his courage, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me… Mr. System?"Respectful. Actually respectful. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd spoken that way—other than to his parents or a teacher.
The air thrummed. Gears groaned louder. The voice returned:
[Choose from the following options. You have 60 seconds.]
Caden's first thought was one word: Bitch.But, wisely, he swallowed it.
Instead, he rubbed his chin. "Hmm… should I go with… eeny-meeny-miny-mo? Nahhh. Better take a proper look."
[50 seconds.]
The countdown jolted him, panic crawling up his spine. "Okay, okay! No pressure. Totally not panicking," he muttered. His eyes darted upward at the glowing words spread across the sky:
[1. Inner Talent]"Do I need one? Yeah, probably. Definitely."
[2. Sacred Heavenly Body]"Vague… but wow. That sounds amazing."
[3. Primordial Battleship]"Nope. Out. I can barely operate a car, forget a spaceship."
[4. True Spirit Source]"…What even is that? A battery pack? Pass."
Finally, his gaze landed on the last option:
[5. Bloodline]
The moment he read it, something stirred inside him. His pulse quickened. An instinct whispered: This one. This is the right one.
But he bit his lip, forcing himself to look around first. The strange figure who had slashed me earlier was dispersing into smoke. Caden walked closer, searching for any clue. Luck answered: a small, glassy rhombus—like a crystalline chip—floated in the air.
He squinted at it, desperate to make sense of anything. The timer ticked down—[20 seconds]. His chest tightened. While searching, at one angle, the crystal flickered with a blurry image:
"A Giant Fist Shattering The Sky".
A Symbol. Caden's nerves sparked. His mind raced, piecing scraps together. The guy who died here—he'd shouted some cheesy line, something about the "Tyrant Body Technique." Then his body at one point was 10s of meters away, teleported, or maybe his speed increased, and he slashed me. Even if this guy had been average, his background cannot be average. I can definitely say this guy is rich. My reasoning is simple: "I came here empty-handed. This guy should also be". But he is not, which means this is some kind of artifact. Means Expensive.
So the reasoning was simple.If he took that man's bloodline, he wouldn't just inherit a body. He'd inherit power, resources, and potential.
And even if he was wrong?Fuck it. His heart wanted what it wanted.
He lifted his head to the ticking sky, and without hesitation, declared:
"I choose Bloodline."
----
The moment Caden chose Bloodline, the clock flared—and he was struck unconscious.
Then, the grand tapestry began to unfurl.
In one heartbeat, distorted colors flooded the heavens; in the next, everything was swallowed by black. Only the ancient clock remained, its surface burning with vast inscriptions and runes so primordial that even light itself seemed consumed. Darkness devoured all, like a black hole whisking existence away.
From within that abyss, a fishing line appeared—silent, inevitable. It sank deeper and deeper into the unreachable corners of the void, where no being could tread… save for the clock. And there, it hooked onto something.
A Sun.
In the suffocating darkness, it shone with brilliance—dazzling, defiant, like hope itself. Perhaps even more than hope. The line coiled tight around it, pulling, dragging it upward. The sun resisted with all its might, yet it was no match for the clock's inexorable pull. Inch by inch, it was reeled in until it hung level with the chosen vessel. Although the vessel looked like a body, it was a gate to the real body.
The difference was staggering. A grain of sand beside an ocean. Yet that ocean—vast, radiant, overflowing—was made to flow into the grain, forced within without tearing it apart.
----
While this cosmic struggle unfolded unseen, far away, Emil was paying a visit to the Royal Doctor.
The man he sought was not merely a physician, but a renowned biochemist, pathologist, and confidant of the imperial family. To most, he was Doctor Greed; to the House of Imperious, he was but one of the servants among many others.
Emil had announced his arrival, and after a brief wait, the doctor emerged from his private chamber.
"Doctor Greed," Emil asked with a respectful bow, "any findings?"
The doctor sighed, his expression helpless. "My report remains unchanged. There is no issue. His body shows no fallout, no backlash, no abnormalities of any kind."
Greed rubbed his temples, adding under his breath, "Honestly… that boy keeps pushing limits even I cannot measure."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Like an alarm, the monitor in Doctor Greed's cabin flared to life, its screen flickering with static. Both men jolted upright.
In the very next heartbeat, Emil was already inside. He had barged through the door without hesitation, heart pounding in his throat. Doctor Greed followed a moment later, slower but no less alert.
Greed's sharp eyes flicked toward Emil. The young man froze, realizing too late he had trespassed into the doctor's private cabin. He coughed, suddenly fascinated with the floor. Embarrassment flushed across his face—yet Greed said nothing. He couldn't scold the boy; everyone knew the prince's welfare meant more to Emil than his own pride.
Both turned back to the screen. The static bent and shifted, lines of light weaving into a figure. Slowly, the haze cleared—A prince's silhouette emerged in shimmering blue.