Two years later.
Edward had discovered something that shook him to the core — this was his very first family, the one from his original life. His mother's face was eerily familiar, almost identical to his former girlfriend's mother. That resemblance alone was enough to twist his insides.
It was torment. To look at her every day, to hear that same gentle tone and see that same kind smile — the kind that once made him weak for entirely different reasons — and now have to call her Mother. It was maddening. Fate truly had a cruel sense of humor.
He couldn't decide if this was punishment or irony. Either way, it was torture.
He sighed heavily and forced the thoughts away. Useless distractions. He had bigger problems — namely, the impossible task ahead of him: creating a law.
Almost everything that could exist already had a law attached to it. Fire, water, time, death, even dreams — all taken, all bound to reality itself. What was left for him? Nothing. Or as he put it, "limited— no, nonexistent sources."
Still, if it could buy him freedom from this endless cycle of reincarnation, he'd do it. No matter how hopeless it seemed.
He focused instead on his cultivation. Two years of constant training had turned him into something remarkable. Using a cultivation method he'd invented back when he was still known as a Cultivation Philosopher, his growth was explosive.
From an ordinary child to an 8th level warrior in only two years — that alone was unheard of.
Since the day he could crawl — barely two months old — he never acted like a child. While others played, he meditated. While others laughed, he sat in silence, drawing energy into his body, shaping his soul, strengthening his bones.
His parents thought he was strange. He didn't care. Every hour wasted was another step closer to dying before twenty again.
But even with all that progress, one thing refused to come — inspiration. No matter how long he meditated, no matter how deeply he delved into the laws of existence, nothing new appeared.
He couldn't create something he couldn't even imagine.
"Ughhh!" he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "How hard is it to make a damn law?"
The answer echoed inside his head like thunder: Impossible.
He clenched his fists, anger bubbling to the surface. "Why me? Out of all the people in all the worlds, why did it have to be me?"
He wanted to shout, to tear the heavens apart and demand an answer. But the heavens, as always, were silent.
Then, as he sat there in the dim light of his room, something clicked.
It wasn't a voice. It wasn't revelation. It was… irony. Pure, cold irony.
What if the answer isn't in the great, mighty laws of existence? he thought slowly. What if it's in the forgotten ones — the laws that no one ever cared to see?
He sat up straight, eyes narrowing.
Extras.
The word struck him like lightning. Those nameless figures in every story, the faceless ones in the background — they had no power, no destiny, no role. They existed only to fill space, to be ignored.
Yet without them, no world would ever feel complete. They were everywhere and nowhere at once.
He laughed softly, almost in disbelief.
"Extras," he whispered. "The most powerless… yet the most constant."
The realization set his soul ablaze. For the first time in thousands of years, he felt something new — possibility.
He hadn't done it yet, but he was close.
Finally, after countless lifetimes of failure and frustration, Edward had found his direction.
The Law of Extras — the law of those unseen, unimportant, and unacknowledged — would be his creation.
And this time, fate wouldn't laugh at him.