The dawn over Devon did not break with the gentle warmth of the southern sun; it arrived as a cold, sharpening blade of light that cut through the volcanic haze of the northern peaks. This was the morning of the Sacramental Appraisal, a day where the lineage of the Obsidian Throne would be measured against the ancient standards of the divine.
The Holy Area, a colossal cathedral-like structure separate from the main palace, was a sanctuary of "Convenient Delusion." Built from the purest white marble imported at a staggering cost from the East and encrusted with gold leaf that traced the patterns of celestial constellations, it was designed to overwhelm the senses. It was a space where the brutal reality of Devon's industrial forges was erased, replaced by an atmosphere of hushed, reverent opulence.
By 9:00 AM, the sanctuary was a sea of high-tier silk and weighted velvet. The seven Ministers sat in their elevated pews, their hooded faces unreadable but their eyes sharp with predatory anticipation. Behind them, the Senators and high-ranking nobles of the North occupied the carved ivory benches, their hushed whispers creating a low-frequency hum that vibrated against the marble pillars. At the very front, the Royal Family sat in gilded chairs, King Alaric's face a mask of iron discipline, while Queen Elara clutched a lace handkerchief, her eyes fixed on the empty dais.
Then, the heavy obsidian doors at the rear of the hall groaned open.
Eizen entered the Holy Area not as a boy, but as a statuesque monolith of refined authority. He had discarded the rugged traveling clothes for an ensemble of "Sovereign Grade" sophistication. He wore a sharp, black-and-white striped three-piece suit that hugged his lean, high-density frame with surgical precision. Over this, he draped a floor-touching long coat of heavy charcoal wool, its weight ensuring it didn't sway with his movement, but followed him like a trailing shadow. his light brown hair styled in a textured fringe that framed his hauntingly handsome features, his emerald eyes reflecting the cold gold of the hall.
He walked the length of the nave, his black penny loafers clicking with a rhythmic, clinical finality against the white marble. Every head in the room turned. The noble daughters of the North sat frozen, mesmerized by the sheer, devastating clarity of his looks—a beauty that felt dangerous, like a blade polished to a mirror finish.
Eizen stopped at the base of the elevated dais. There, atop a pedestal of black quartz, sat the Appraisal Sphere. It was a perfect globe of ancient, semi-translucent glass, humming with a dormant, primordial power.
High Priest Malachi stepped forward, his white robes shimmering under the artificial solar lamps. He raised his hands, his voice rasping through the silence of the hall as he began the ancient holy chant:
"O, Core of the World, Flame of the First Flint,
Measure the marrow, weigh the spirit's intent.
By the blood of the peaks and the iron of old,
Reveal the path that the Heavens have told."
As the final note of the chant faded into the vaulted ceiling, Eizen ascended the few stairs. He stood before the sphere, his expression a mask of frozen indifference. He didn't hesitate. He raised his hand—his fingers long and steady—and placed his palm flat against the cold surface of the glass.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the sphere ignited.
It didn't just glow; it began to cycle through every possible color available in the spectrum of human history. Vivid crimsons shifted into abyssal violets; searing golds bled into toxic emeralds. Eizen's emerald eyes didn't blink; they merely reflected the rapid-fire kaleidoscope, his pupils dilating as the sphere began to vibrate with a violent, high-frequency hum.
Then, abruptly, all color vanished. The sphere turned perfectly transparent—so clear it seemed to disappear entirely. For four agonizing seconds, the hall held its collective breath.
Then, the air itself screamed.
The sphere exploded. It didn't just crack; it shattered into a million microscopic diamonds, a cloud of glittering glass dust that expanded outward in a shockwave of raw mana. The nobles in the front rows shielded their eyes, cries of alarm breaking the sacred silence.
Amidst the glittering haze, a systemic, transparent screen—thin as a moth's wing and glowing with a faint, ethereal light—flickered into existence directly in Eizen's line of sight.
[Initialization Complete]
A voice, crisp and devoid of human warmth, resonated directly within Eizen's mind, bypassing his ears entirely:
"Greetings, Eizen. I am Diablo. I shall be your assistant from today onwards."
Eizen's emerald eyes narrowed to slits. He had memorized every text in the Great Codex; he had studied the histories of every Sovereign. Nowhere had it been recorded that an Appraisal resulted in a hovering paper of light or a sentient voice. He glanced around the hall.
The shock was absolute.
High Priest Malachi had fallen to his knees, his hands trembling as he stared at the empty pedestal. "The Sphere... the artifact of the Gods... destroyed? Has the boy's soul reached a level of corruption that the divine itself rejected him? Or is it something far worse?"
King Alaric stood half-risen from his throne, his jaw tight. "An explosion? My father's appraisal was a brilliant white flare... but this? To break the vessel entirely implies a density of mana that the world's anchors cannot contain. Is he a miracle or a catastrophe?"
Queen Elara was pale, her mind a whirlwind of superstition and fear. "The prophecy of the 'Broken Vessel'... it was a myth of the Shadowed Vale. My son... what have I brought into this world?"
The Seven Ministers were in a state of silent, tactical panic. Minister Thorne's mind raced to the cost of the artifact, while Minister Vane was already drafting a total information blackout. They had wanted to measure the boy; instead, the boy had destroyed the ruler.
His Brothers, Kaelen and Valerius, stood paralyzed. They didn't feel jealousy anymore; they felt a primal, instinctual dread. They were looking at a brother who had just shattered the most sacred law of their world without shedding a drop of blood.
Eizen realized instantly, judging by their vacant stares, that none of them could see the screen or hear the voice of "Diablo." To them, he was simply standing in the ruins of a holy relic.
He turned toward the royal family and the stunned nobility, his voice cutting through the panic like a cold wind.
"There is no need for alarm," Eizen said, his tone one of calm, authoritative reassurance. "I have read of this rare phenomenon in the restricted archives of the Academy. It occurs when a practitioner begins from a Tier significantly higher than the Appraisal vessel was designed to measure. The vessel simply reaches its structural limit and dissipates."
It was a blatant lie, crafted in a second, yet delivered with such absolute conviction that the tension in the room began to drain away, replaced by an even deeper, more terrifying awe.
Eizen didn't wait for their questions. He turned on his heel and walked away, his charcoal coat billowing behind him. He moved rapidly through the halls, his loafers clicking a fast, aggressive tempo. He entered his private chambers, slammed the obsidian door shut, and turned the heavy iron lock.
Eizen sat on the edge of his bed, the weight of the day's chaotic events settling into the room's silence like the heavy volcanic dust of his homeland. Hovering directly in front of him, the transparent, cerulean screen hummed with a soft, bioluminescent glow, casting long, shifting shadows against the obsidian walls. It didn't flicker like a candle; it remained steady, a window of light that shouldn't exist in a world of leather and ink. The air in the room felt ionized, buzzing with a static charge that made the fine hairs on Eizen's arms stand at attention.
"Explain," Eizen commanded again, his voice like the grinding of stone.
"This interface you see—this 'paper made of light'—is called a Screen," Diablo's voice resonated in the marrow of Eizen's bones, crisp and clinical. "And the totality of the force I represent is known as the System. Think of it not as a magical artifact, but as a living archive of Science."
Eizen's light brown hair caught the blue light as he tilted his head. "Science? Define it. I have read the Great Codex, and that word is absent."
"Science," Diablo replied, the text on the screen shifting and re-forming as it spoke, "is the systematic study of the structure and behavior of the physical and natural world through observation and experiment. It is the pursuit of truth without the veil of mysticism. In the System, the laws of the universe are laid bare. There are no Gods here, Eizen—only equations."
The screen shifted, revealing a Home Page. Eizen stared at the symbols—sharp, clean lines and shapes he had never seen in any manuscript. Diablo began to explain that this system contained blueprints and knowledge of a world far more advanced than the thirteen kingdoms, filled with high-tech marvels that defied current logic.
"In this place, knowledge is power in its most literal sense," Diablo continued, the screen displaying a complex bar of progress. "The System operates on a metric of progress. As you read, study, and absorb the subjects within the Study Tab, you will accumulate XP, or Experience Points. Specifically, for every subject or concept you master, you will receive 10 XP. This is the currency of your growth. When you reach 100 XP, you will gain 1 Level."
Eizen watched as a bar at the top left of the screen glowed with a faint, pulsing light. "And what does a level buy me?"
"Freedom from the limitations of your birth," Diablo said. "You can use 1 Level to unlock a Tier 1 Initial magic. Once used, your level returns to zero, and the accumulation begins anew. It is a cycle of intellectual harvest. However, be warned: the path of the scholar only leads so far. You may use the 'Reading XP' method to unlock and upgrade common elemental magics—Fire, Ice, Water, Air, and Earth—but only up to Tier 2 Peak."
The screen shifted to a darker, more ominous interface, pulsing with a deep crimson hue that seemed to eat the surrounding blue light.
"To reach the heights of the Sovereigns—to unlock rare magics or transcend Tier 2—knowledge is no longer enough. You will require Human Souls. Each magic and each higher tier has its own unique, blood-soaked requirements. You cannot think your way to Godhood, Eizen; eventually, you must take it. The complexity of the soul provides the fuel for higher-order reality-warping that mere study cannot ignite."
Eizen's emerald eyes didn't even blink. The cost of power didn't offend him; it was merely a transaction, a necessary expenditure in the pursuit of absolute structural integrity. "Show me the rest."
The screen flickered, the bioluminescent cerulean light condensing into a grid of shimmering icons. Diablo's voice grew even more precise as the Store Tab expanded to fill Eizen's vision. The icons depicted objects that defied the logic of the thirteen kingdoms: heavy tubes of reinforced steel, skeletal frames of flying iron vessels, and gears so microscopically small they resembled metallic lace.
"Observe the inventory, Eizen," Diablo's voice vibrated through the air. "This is not a shop for trinkets, but a repository of advancement. There are two distinct methods to acquire the power found here."
Diablo highlighted a section of the screen where intricate blueprints pulsed with a soft white glow. "The first path is through the Blueprints. These are the architectural and mechanical truths behind high-tier technology. You may use your Reading XP—the knowledge you harvest from the Study Tab—to purchase these designs. Once a blueprint is unlocked, you possess the absolute understanding of how to construct that object using the resources of this world. You will not be relying on magic; you will be relying on the immutable laws of physics to create weapons that the mages of this era cannot comprehend."
The screen then shifted to a different section, where the icons were vibrant and solid, appearing as if they could be plucked right out of the light.
"The second path is the Direct Exchange," Diablo explained, the screen displaying a balance of zero Coins. "Through the sacrifice of Human Souls, you generate a specialized energy that the System converts into digital currency. These Coins allow you to bypass the need for factories or raw materials. You can buy 'Ready-made' items from an era of total warfare—tools and armaments that are materialized instantly from the System's own data stores. Whether it is a handheld ballistic weapon or a device for invisible communication, each has a price in Coins that scales with its lethality and complexity. In short: Study gives you the knowledge to build the future; Souls give you the power to summon it."
Eizen's gaze lingered on a blueprint for a long-range projectile weapon, his mind already calculating the tactical shift such a device would cause on a battlefield of swords and shields.
"I see," Eizen murmured, his eyes reflecting the blue light of the store. "The System does not just teach; it provides the means to bypass the slow crawl of civilization."
"Correct," Diablo responded. "But remember, Eizen: a weapon is only as effective as the structure that supports it. Do not neglect your studies, or you will find yourself holding a tool you do not understand."
Returning to the Home Page, Diablo pointed out the navigation tabs. "Touch the Current Magic and Skills tab," the voice instructed.
Eizen reached out, his finger passing through the light as if it were air. A sub-menu opened, displaying a stark summary of his current being:
Skills: Obsidian Skeleton (Passive - Mastered)
Magic: [EMPTY]
He closed it with a flick of his wrist. Diablo then pointed out the other sections. There was the Study Tab, containing every branch of knowledge imaginable; the Magic and Skills Tab, which listed every power he could eventually unlock and upgrade; and finally, a section simply labeled Modern Section.
Eizen touched the Modern tab and was immediately bombarded by words that looked like gibberish—Quantum, Internal Combustion, Silicon, Ballistics. The sheer volume of unknown terminology made his head thrum with a dull ache. He closed it instantly. "Later," he muttered. "The foundation first. I will not build on sand."
Finally, Diablo directed his attention to the right side of the screen. "Your Stats, Eizen."
Eizen stood up, quite impressed by what he saw. It wasn't a flat illustration on paper; it was a 3D Structure of his own body, a miniature, rotating version of himself made of blue light. It was eerily accurate, capturing the lean, high-density frame he had worked so hard to build. The phantom Eizen rotated slowly, allowing him to see the alignment of his spine and the density of his muscle fibers. Beside it, the data was arranged with surgical precision:
Age: 13
Height: 174cm
Weight: 56kg
Intelligence: Error 404
Eizen's light brown brow furrowed. "Diablo, what is 'Error 404'? Is the System failing?"
"On the contrary," Diablo replied, and for the first time, Eizen thought he heard a hint of something resembling awe in the cold, synthesized voice. "Error 404 indicates that your cognitive capacity and analytical depth have crossed the maximum calculation parameters of the System. Your intelligence is higher than what can be recorded by the current version of the interface. You are a variable that the equation cannot fully contain."
Eizen let out a long, slow sigh, the immense weight of the information settling into the cracks of his mind. He looked at the 3D model of himself—a 174cm boy who had just shattered a holy relic and was now being told he was an anomaly even to a god-like system of science. He was thirteen, yet his height of 174cm and weight of 56kg spoke of a body that was hyper-efficient, stripped of all unnecessary bulk.
His mind raced with questions: Who built the System? Where did this knowledge come from? How many souls would it take to reach Tier 6? But he silenced the noise. He knew where he had to start. Logic dictated that the most complex machine was built from the simplest parts.
Eizen reached out and touched the Study Tab. The light flared, reflecting in his emerald eyes as he prepared to dismantle the laws of his world.