The night of blood had ended, but its echoes traveled faster than any blade. As the Fourth Prince of the Golden Sword Continent, Dong, perished in a blaze that erased eighty kilometers of land, the continent itself trembled.
By dawn, the rumors began to spread—swift as wildfire, venomous as a serpent. Messengers whispered through palace corridors, merchants carried hushed tales to distant cities, and spies delivered secrets wrapped in bloodstained letters. Each retelling sharpened the story, and each whisper found its mark: the First Prince and his mother, the First Queen.
"It was their plot."
"The assassins were sent by her hand."
"The throne is being cleansed of rivals."
The court, once divided by quiet rivalries, now simmered with open suspicion. Ministers gathered in secret halls, their voices low but urgent. Generals clenched their fists in silent frustration, bound by oaths that kept them from striking too soon. Even the common folk, who rarely dared to speak the names of royalty, muttered curses beneath their breath.
The First Prince, heir apparent and once celebrated as the empire's future, now stood at the center of a storm he had not yet faced. His mother, the First Queen, known for her elegance and sharp mind, became the subject of every dark speculation. To the people, her influence was undeniable; to her enemies, this tragedy was the perfect spark to ignite rebellion.
Behind closed doors, the Emperor remained silent. His gaze, cold and unreadable, swept over the court as if weighing the value of each soul present. Was this truly the First Queen's scheme—or the opening move of something far greater?
The Fourth Prince's death was not just a loss; it was a fracture in the empire's heart, and from that crack, the scent of war began to rise
In the endless dark where even time forgot its name, a boy stood alone. His name was Dong, once the Fourth Prince of the Golden Sword Continent, now a soul without a world.
There was no ground beneath his feet, no stars above his head—only the stillness that comes before the first dawn. And in that stillness, something ancient moved.
From the void rose a figure without a face, without a form that one could truly see. It sat upon a throne older than light itself. Its presence was not loud, yet it pressed upon the soul like the weight of eternity.
Dong felt his skin tighten, a rare shiver passing through him. This was not fear of death, for he had already faced death—it was the feeling of standing before something that had watched the birth and end of worlds.
The figure spoke, its voice low but carrying across the endless dark.
"Listen well, human. I am not here to trick you with riddles. I am the God of Eternity. I have no beginning, and I shall have no end. I was here before light, before the word 'existence' even had meaning. And I… I have been watching you."
For a moment, Dong stayed silent. Then he raised his head and spoke as he always did—without bowing, without begging.
"So what if you have watched me? So what if you were here before light? Do you want me to kneel? Are you here to ask me to choose between heaven and hell?" His lips curved in a faint, fearless smile. "Call me weak all you want. If I get the chance, I will grow so strong that even you will have to step aside."
The void did not shake; it listened. The figure's voice came again, calm as stone:
"Mind your words, young one. I am not here to drag you to heaven, nor to throw you to hell. I am Eternity… and this is where your real story begins."
A wind stirred in the emptiness. Strange, for a place with no air, no sky, and no world should not carry a breeze. Yet it moved—soft at first, then curling like a whisper between two beings whose fates were about to intertwine.
Dong, standing firm in the center of this formless abyss, let his long black hair shift slightly with the unseen current. His pure black eyes reflected nothing, yet they held a calm defiance that no darkness could swallow.
"So," Dong spoke first, his voice steady, "can we now begin the real talk? Enough of empty titles and grand speeches. Tell me the main points of this meeting."
The figure upon the throne, vast as the void itself, tilted its faceless head ever so slightly. "Very well," the God of Eternity replied, voice like a river that had flowed since before rivers were born. "Let us speak plainly. Do you wish to know who poisoned you when you were fourteen?"
Dong's jaw tensed, but his eyes did not flinch. "I think I already know," he said. "It was the First Queen… and the First Prince, wasn't it?"
Eternity's deep voice rumbled in the void. "Exactly. You knew it all along. Then why did you remain silent? Why did you not strike back, even when the poison sealed your potential and crippled your power?"
Dong let out a quiet breath, neither a sigh nor a laugh—something in between. "At that time, I was too weak. My powers were sealed, my strength was stripped away. Even breathing felt like defiance. So I endured. I chose not to speak, not because I was afraid, but because I had no blade sharp enough to cut that web. Still, I made sure to darken his name, to plant seeds of rot in his reputation. I did not fight with a sword, but I did not kneel either."
The shadow shifted, its presence like a mountain leaning closer. "So, to the true matter—do you seek revenge?"
Dong's eyes narrowed slightly. "I think so. But if you are offering me a chance at life, at power, I will not waste it chasing revenge alone. Revenge is a shadow; I seek something far larger. I will show the world who I am."
The God of Eternity chuckled—if such a sound could be called laughter, for it was deep and cold, like stones rolling in a cave. "Do you know what I am thinking, boy?"
Dong looked up at the giant silhouette. "I know you want something from me. No one gives power without a price. But hear me well—I will decide what I give."
Eternity's throne pulsed faintly, as though the void itself listened. "Then tell me, what will you offer?"
Dong straightened his shoulders. "I will obey your orders… ninety-nine times. Whatever you command, I will do it. But only ninety-nine chances—you cannot command me beyond that."
A long silence followed, then a booming laugh rolled through the void, shaking what could not be shaken. "Hahaha! You are mad, boy. But that madness… is what makes you different. Very well, I agree. You are not like the others I have seen. You are special."
Dong's lips curved faintly—not in gratitude, but in recognition of the first step taken. "Good. Then I will tell you what I want in return. I need three powers. Can you grant them?"
The shadow leaned closer, its vast form bending slightly. "What a lunatic child… Fine. Speak."
Dong's voice did not waver. "First: Infinite Storage. A space that belongs only to me, where I can store anything—be it a grain of dust or a mountain. It must be bound to my will, and it must grow with me. One upgrade slot shall remain for its future."
The God of Eternity nodded slowly. "Not bad. A clean start."
"Second," Dong continued, his eyes sharp, "Immortality. Not the kind that chains a man forever, but one that allows me to shift my age at will. A body that heals nearly everything—ninety percent of wounds, even if half my body is gone, it shall return. Time will not drag me by force; I will decide what I become."
The shadow rumbled again. "Hmmm… A bold request. That alone would make you feared among kings. I will grant it—and perhaps, borrow it for my own amusement."
Dong did not pause. "Third: Void Devour. When I kill a monster or an enemy, I can use this skill to absorb their essence and gain something from it—strength, energy, perhaps even their skills if fate allows. And if I gather enough, thousands upon thousands, I want to merge them—to forge the best of the best into one ultimate ability."
For the first time, the vast figure shifted with something like surprise. "Bruh… that is broken."
Dong's faint smile deepened into a quiet smirk. "Broken or not, that is my choice. These are my conditions."
The wind stirred again in the void, carrying the echo of a deal that would change the fates of worlds.
A cold wind slashed across the void, whispering like the breath of ancient worlds forgotten by time.
Dong stood unwavering, his long black hair stirring in the ethereal current. His eyes, dark as the abyss itself, locked upon the colossal figure before him. The void trembled—not with rage, but with the weight of something far older, far beyond mortal comprehension.
Dong broke the silence first. "Do you know why I chose these three skills? Do you know how I will shape them?"
The vast shadow shifted slightly, its form undefined, its voice a thunderous echo that bent the void itself. "Do you think I am a fool, boy?" The figure chuckled—a sound like worlds collapsing. "I am not only the God of Eternity. I am the God of Knowledge as well. Your choices, your desires, your hidden meanings… they are already clear to me."
Dong's lips curved in a faint, mocking smile. "You really are a lunatic."
The void quivered as the entity's laughter deepened, not out of anger, but amusement.
"Each of your skills," the narrator whispered, "holds a secret far greater than its name suggests. Infinite Storage carries a hidden purpose, Immortality hides a path of legend, and Void Devour… it creates power."
The void fell silent once more, and Dong's gaze sharpened like a blade. "So, now you understand. These three will be my foundation, the tools to carve my own destiny."
The entity loomed forward, its voice now darker, colder. "Foundation or folly, boy, you tread upon a path where even gods hesitate. Yet you ask for power with the arrogance of one who has already claimed the throne of creation."
Dong did not flinch. "Arrogance? No. Vision." His voice was calm, steady as the void around them. "Why wait any longer? Let me go. Let me start my story. Send me back… to the time when I was still thirteen."
The figure paused, the void rippling with an ancient mirth. "You dare order me?" Its voice cracked the silence like a thunderbolt. "You motherf—"
Before the words could finish, the void itself responded. From beneath Dong's feet, a portal began to form—an endless spiral of light and shadow, a gate of rebirth forged from the essence of eternity.
Dong smiled—not the smile of a boy, but the smirk of one who had already seen his own future. The entity's featureless face seemed to bend into something akin to a grin as well.
"Very well," the God of Eternity murmured. "Walk your path, boy. Carry your madness with you. The world has forgotten what true chaos looks like."
As the swirling gate reached its peak, the winds howled, and time itself seemed to bend in reverence.
Thus began the story—not of a prince who died, but of a being who would rise
The chapter End