The warmth of the sun brushed across Aldric's face. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking several times as the bright light made him squint.
The last thing he remembered was the chest, the unbearable pain, and then the feeling of collapsing into darkness. Now, his body felt light and comfortable, as though he had been reborn.
He pushed himself up and stood. His movements were steady, without the weakness or trembling that usually accompanied him. For a moment, he just stood there in silence, staring at his hands. His fingers were no longer thin and frail. His skin, which had been rough from labor and scars, now looked smooth and firm. He clenched his fists and felt strength surge naturally from within.
The wounds that had once covered him were gone. Not even a scar remained. The bruises, cuts, and broken bones had all healed completely, leaving no trace of his suffering from the previous night.
Even though he still wore the ragged, dirty clothes of a slave, he no longer looked like one. His back was straight, his breathing calm, his entire body giving off an air of refinement.
Curious, Aldric walked to the edge of the river and peered at his reflection. What he saw stunned him.
The face staring back was not the one he knew. His black hair was now smooth and silky, swaying gently in the breeze instead of clumping together like unwashed straw. His dark eyes seemed deeper, as if they could draw others into them. His jawline was more defined, his skin clearer, his expression no longer dull. He looked like he had been remade with completely new materials, crafted into something better.
"This is me?" Aldric muttered to himself, his voice carrying disbelief.
It felt strange. He had been ordinary for so long that he had accepted weakness as part of his existence. Yet now, just by looking at his reflection, he could feel the difference.
And deep within his body, there was something else. Something new.
It was like a quiet flame flickering at his core, calm but undeniable. He didn't know how to describe it properly, but instinct told him exactly what it was.
He had become an arcanist.
The realization struck him with force. Aldric almost laughed, though the sound stuck in his throat. To think that the boy who had always been powerless, who was always looked down on, who had been treated as a joke… had finally awakened.
He clenched his fist again, trying to sense that energy within him. It moved faintly, responding to his thoughts, flowing like water under his control. He did not know any techniques or skills, but he knew what this meant.
He was no longer an ordinary mortal.
---
In this world, the difference between mortals and arcanists was absolute. Mortals were ordinary people. They could work hard, train their bodies, and even achieve some success. But in the end, they were limited. They could never cross certain boundaries. They could not summon fire from their palms, could not strengthen their bodies with qi, and could not resist the overwhelming might of those born with power.
Arcanists, however, were the true rulers of the world. They were rare, but their existence shaped everything. Kingdoms, sects, families, and even cities were built around the strength of arcanists. They could destroy armies single-handedly, alter landscapes, and command respect wherever they went.
Normally, people became arcanists naturally. It was like drawing the lottery. Some were simply born with talent, and their qi awakened on its own as they grew older. Most, however, lived and died as mortals, never touching power.
But there were other ways.
The first method was through the help of experienced arcanists. If several powerful arcanists worked together, they could pour their own essence into another person. This forced the recipient's qi points to open, awakening them to the path of power.
This process was extremely dangerous. Forcing open qi points was like forcing a door to unlock by breaking the hinges—it could cause permanent damage, or even death, if not done carefully. But when this method was performed by close relatives, the risk decreased greatly. In fact, for families with strong arcanist lineages, the process was almost entirely safe.
Because of this, noble clans and great families dominated the world. They could awaken their descendants early, ensuring that every generation produced more arcanists. Bloodline, talent, and resources kept their power unshakable.
The second method was much rarer. There were treasures and objects in the world that could forcefully awaken a person. Ancient relics, spiritual herbs, or strange phenomena. These things contained enough energy to break through a mortal's limits and ignite their qi. But most of these items were hidden, lost, or guarded. To obtain one was nearly impossible for an ordinary person.
And yet, by some twist of fate, this was exactly what Aldric had encountered.
The small chest from the river was one of those rare objects. It had chosen him—or perhaps it had simply been luck. Either way, it had forcefully awakened him, dragging him across the boundary he had never thought he could cross.
---
Aldric stared at his reflection a little longer before finally sitting down on the grass. His heart was calm, but deep inside, emotions he could not describe were stirring.
Arcanist.
He had no master, no family, no resources, and no foundation. But that did not matter. What mattered was that he was no longer powerless.
The memory of the young arcanists who had beaten him surfaced in his mind. Their laughter, their contempt, their casual cruelty. They had not even chased him when he fled, because to them, his life was worth less than nothing.
Aldric exhaled slowly. He felt no immediate anger or plans for revenge. It was too early. For now, he only needed to understand himself and the power now resting inside him.
The world had always been divided between those with power and those without. Yesterday, Aldric had belonged to the powerless. Today, that had changed.
For the first time in his life, the future no longer looked completely dark.
---