Five years.
That is how long I have been a resident of this quaint, drafty pile of stone and splintered timber known as the "Ashburton Home for Wayward Seeds." It turns out that when you're reborn with the karmic weight of a planetary satellite, the universe doesn't drop you into a cradle of silk and royal heraldry. It drops you in a wicker basket outside an orphanage in a backwater town in northern Sapin, right in the middle of a sleet storm.
I've been told by Sister Martha—the owner and a woman whose face resembles a topographical map of a particularly rugged mountain range—that when she found me, I wasn't crying. I was simply staring at the moon with a look of "profound disappointment."
Well, Martha, I thought as I swung a crudely carved wooden sword in the gray light of dawn, you'd be disappointed too if your last mahogany desk was replaced by a basket that smelled of damp hay and existential dread.
Whish. Whish. Whish.
The wooden sword felt right in my hands. It was a simple tool, but through the lens of the Transparent World, it was a masterpiece of physics. Even at five years old, my perception was… unfair. I could see the stress points in the wood, the way the air resistance curled around the tip, and more importantly, the way my own tiny, developing muscles fired in sequence.
System check, I mused, keeping my breathing rhythmic—the deliberate, oxygen-rich lung-expansion of Sun Breathing.
A translucent blue window flickered into my vision.
[STATUS INTERFACE]
Name: Adam Henry
race:??(human)
Age: 5
Level: 2
Core: Unawaken (Progress: 98.4%)
Current State: Sun Breathing (Constant - Low Output)
Active Buffs: Transparent World (Passive - Range 10m)
"Ninety-eight percent," I whispered, my voice still high and squeaky, much to my eternal chagrin. "Almost there. Arthur Leywin did it at four. I'm a year behind. Then again, Arthur didn't have to lug around a metaphysical anchor made of cult-leader sins."
The Sun Breathing was key. While the other children were busy playing "stick-and-hoop" or crying over spilled porridge, I was oxygenating my blood to a degree that would make a professional athlete look like a heavy smoker. I was preparing the vessel. You don't pour a King's wine—or a King's Cursed Techniques—into a cracked clay pot.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the center of my solar plexus. I could feel it there—the mana. It wasn't mine yet. It was just atmospheric energy, drifting lazily through the air like dust motes. But my soul, modified by the Shrine and Dabura's demonic blueprint, acted like a vacuum. I wasn't just waiting to awaken; I was sieging my own core.
"Adam! Are you doing the 'staring-at-the-wall' thing again? Sister Martha says it makes the donors nervous!"
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. My perception showed me the rhythmic thumping of a small heart and the erratic, clumsy movement of a four-year-old girl.
"I'm practicing my forms, Elara," I said, transitioning from a mid-level guard to a horizontal slash. "And it's not 'staring at a wall.' It's contemplative silence. You should try it. It's excellent for the complexion."
Elara skidded to a halt near the well, her messy blonde pigtails bobbing. She was one of the few here who wasn't terrified of me. To most of the orphans, I was "the weird kid who reads books meant for adults and talks like he's forty." To Elara, I was just a source of entertainment.
"Contem-platey is boring," she declared, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Toby found a frog. He says if we kiss it, it might turn into a Prince. Do you think it'll be a Prince with a horse? I want a horse."
"Statistically, Elara, kissing a frog only leads to salmonella," I replied, finally lowering my wooden sword. "If you want a Prince, find one with a high mana-core aptitude and a stable inheritance. Much more reliable than amphibians."
"You're weird," she giggled, completely ignoring my financial advice.
Behind her, a slightly older boy drifted into view. Toby. He was six, lanky, and possessed the kind of nervous energy that usually results in accidental fires. He was currently holding a very disgruntled bullfrog.
"Adam," Toby whispered, his eyes wide. "The frog... it turned blue. Is that magic?"
I squinted. Through the Transparent World, I saw the frog's internal organs. It wasn't magic; it had just eaten a poisonous beetle.
"It's dying, Toby. Put it down before its secretions give you a rash."
Toby dropped the frog with a yelp. "Everything you say is scary, Adam! Why can't you just play tag like a normal person?"
"Tag is a game of pursuit and evasion," I said, walking toward the small bench where I kept my books. "I've already mastered the pursuit of knowledge and the evasion of mediocrity. I don't see the need for the physical exertion."
I picked up a heavy, leather-bound volume titled The Fundamental Lexicon of Sapin. I had spent the last three years teaching myself to read the local script. It wasn't hard—languages are just codes, and I've always been a master decoder. I needed to know the geography, the politics, and the names of the "Whales" I'd eventually have to deal with.
"Books, books, books," Toby grumbled, sitting on the dirt. "You're gonna turn into a book."
"Better a book than a garden gnome, Toby," I murmured, my eyes scanning the text.
I was looking for mentions of the Lances. Of the Greysunders. Of anything that could give me a lead on the timeline. I knew the war was coming. I knew the Asuras were playing their long game. And I knew that I was a massive, glowing target for anyone who could sense the "rot" on my soul.
Suddenly, a sharp pain blossomed in my chest.
It wasn't a heart attack. It was the sensation of a dam breaking.
Oh. Finally.
The mana in the air around me didn't just drift anymore—it rushed. It felt like I had suddenly become the center of a whirlpool. Toby and Elara fell back, eyes wide, as a faint, violet-tinted wind began to swirl around my feet.
"Adam?" Elara whimpered. "Your eyes... they're glowing."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was too busy managing the internal explosion. My core was forming, but it wasn't the clean, white light of a typical mage. It was a swirling, turbulent vortex of dark violet and charcoal gray—the color of a storm cloud at midnight.
Karmic interference, I realized, my teeth gritting. The negative energy is tainting the core formation. It's trying to reject the mana.
Not today, I thought, pulling on the memory of Sun Breathing. I forced my lungs to expand, my blood to roar. I used the precision of Yoriichi's talent to guide the mana, weaving it into the core like a master tailor. I used the cold, sharp logic and fundamentality of the Shrine to "cut" away the excess turbulence.
BOOM.
A shockwave of mana erupted from my body, shattering the wooden sword in my hand and sending Toby's frog (which had miraculously survived the drop) flying into the well.
Silence returned to the courtyard.
I stood there, breathing heavily, feeling a new weight in my center. A core. It was small, no larger than a marble, but it was dense. It felt less like a battery and more like a black hole.
[NOTIFICATION] Mana Core Awakened. Rank: Black (Unrefined) Trait Unlocked: Cursed Mana Affinity (Derived from Shrine/Dabura integration). Karmic Debt Neutralized: 0.0001%
"A journey of a thousand miles," I whispered, looking at my trembling, tiny hands, "begins with a very small percentage of debt repayment."
"Adam?" Toby asked from the ground, his voice shaking. "Was that magic? Are you a mage now?"
I looked at them. I could see their fear, but I also saw that familiar spark—the awe. The same awe I had cultivated in my followers centuries ago. It was a dangerous thing, but in this world, it was a currency.
I gave them my best "benevolent leader" smile—the one that promised safety in exchange for loyalty.
"It was just a start, Toby," I said, patting his head. "And don't worry about the frog. I'll buy you a horse one day. Or at least a very large lizard."
I turned and walked back toward the orphanage, my mind already calculating. I had the core. I had the talents. Now, I needed to get out of this town. There was a world to navigate, a protagonist to eventually meet, and twelve thousand souls' worth of debt to burn.
"Step three," I murmured to myself, "find a teacher who won't ask too many questions when I accidentally slice a tree in half without touching it."