I used to think my life went wrong the day the war started.
Turns out…It went wrong much earlier.
Long before demons.Long before vampires.Long before I ever held a spear.
It started the day my mother died.
I was 8.
The mansion felt too big after that. Too quiet. The halls echoed when I walked through them, like the house itself was mocking me for being alone. My father stopped talking much. He buried himself in work and politics and numbers and things I didn't understand. Every meal felt like a funeral.
And me?
I coped the worst way possible.
I became trash.
Not overnight.Slowly. Lazily. Comfortably.
I skipped classes. Ignored etiquette tutors. Slept past noon. Ate like a pig. Spent my days gambling with servants, bullying weaker kids in town, throwing tantrums when things didn't go my way.
A high-born noble's son acting like a street thug.
People still bowed when they saw me.Still called me "Young Master Mangrave."
But their eyes had changed.
Disappointment.Pity.Disgust.
I saw it.
I just didn't care.
When I turned fifteen, the Awakening Ceremony came.
Everyone said it was the day your life truly began.
I remember standing in front of my father, bored out of my mind, thinking about what I'd eat for dinner.
The light flared.
Mana rushed into my body.
And my status screen appeared.
Class: Martial Artist
Affinity: Fire, Lightning
Potential rank: SSS
The hall erupted.
People stared like I'd just been blessed by the gods.
A combat class.Dual affinities.Rare-grade potential.
My father looked at me like he was seeing a stranger.
For one moment…Just one stupid moment…
I thought, Maybe I should try.
Then the moment passed.
I didn't train.
Didn't attend Gurukul Academy.
Didn't even bother learning basic breathing techniques.
I went right back to drinking, sleeping, wasting money, and pretending tomorrow didn't exist.
Why?
Because trying meant failing.
And failing meant facing the fact that I'd already disappointed everyone who mattered.
So I stayed trash.
Comfortable trash.
The war broke out two years later.
No warning.
No heroic trumpet.
Just news spreading through the capital like a disease.
Vampires and demons had appeared beyond the northern borders.
Cities fell in days.
Villages vanished overnight.
At first, I didn't care.
It sounded far away.
Someone else's problem.
Then the refugees started arriving.
Then the price of food tripled.
Then my father was summoned to emergency councils.
Then our territory was marked as "at risk."
By the time I realized things were serious…
It was already too late.
They came at night.
I still remember the screams.
I still remember the heat.
I still remember the smell of blood mixed with burning wood.
Our estate's barrier shattered like glass.
Vampires poured in first. Elegant. Smiling. Murdering people like it was a game.
Demons followed. Huge. Brutal. Laughing as they crushed guards under their feet.
My father died trying to hold the main hall.
I saw it.
I froze.
My younger sister, Seraphina died pulling servants toward the back gate.
And me?
I ran.
Not fought.
Not shouted.
Not tried to save anyone.
I ran like the coward I'd always been.
I didn't even know where I was going.
I just kept running until my lungs burned and my legs gave out.
Somehow…I survived.
For weeks, I hid in a Whispering forest and ruins, stealing food from abandoned houses, drinking muddy water from rivers, jumping at every sound.
I lost weight.
Lost my pride.
Lost everything except my life.
Eventually, I collapsed near the mouth of a cave.
I thought it was just a place to die quietly.
It wasn't.
The cave led deep underground.
Cold.
Dark.
Silent.
A dungeon.
I didn't know that then.
I just crawled inside because it felt safer than the outside world.
That's where I met him.
An old man.
Sitting cross-legged beside a small fire.
Long white hair tied back.
Wrinkled face.
Back straight as a spear.
He looked at me like he'd been waiting.
"Took you long enough," he said.
I passed out.
When I woke up, he had already treated my wounds.
Fed me soup.
Didn't ask my name.
Didn't ask my past.
Just said, "Eat. Then sleep. Then we'll talk."
His name was Seon Jin.
A transcendent martial artist.
A monster disguised as a tired old man.
When he learned I had a martial artist class and had never trained once in my life…
He laughed.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Just… disappointed.
"You humans waste potential better than any demon," he said.
He didn't take me in out of pity.
He took me in out of irritation.
And maybe loneliness.
He broke me down.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Every day, I trained until I vomited.
Every night, I meditated until my mind screamed.
He taught me spearmanship from zero.
Footwork.
Breathing.
Intent.
How to feel mana like it was an extension of my spine.
How to move without thinking.
How to think without hesitation.
How to kill without trembling.
Years passed in that dungeon.
The boy who ran away died there.
The man who wanted revenge was born there.
By the time I left…
I was no longer trash.
I was a weapon.
And all I could think about…
Was how much blood I still owed the world.
How ironic.
I had wasted my entire peaceful life.
Only to become serious…
After everything worth protecting was already gone.