POV: Valerian
The silence of the dungeon was absolute, save for the rhythmic drip-tap of water somewhere in the darkness. Valerian sat perfectly still against the damp stone. He didn't close his eyes to rest; he closed them to maximize the processing power of his mind.
Garek's body was cooling on the floor. In a few hours, the lack of a guard rotation would be noticed. He had a window of opportunity, but his current vessel was a disaster.
"Nano," he thought. "Status of energy extraction. Can you interface with the ambient particulates in the air?"
"Negative," the synthetic voice replied, sounding thinner, like a dying radio signal. "Ambient energy density—identified by local records as 'Mana'—is present but lacks a standardized interface. Host's mana gates are currently dormant. Recommended action: Forced Awakening."
Valerian's internal database—the memories of the boy he had replaced—provided the context. In this world, children were often taught to move mana before their bodies fully formed. It was a muscle. But Valerian didn't have years to practice. He didn't have a tutor.
He had a machine.
"Force the gates," Valerian commanded.
"Warning: Forced activation of mana gates in a malnourished, prepubescent state carries a 64% risk of permanent neural scarring and a 20% risk of total organ failure. Proceed?"
"Proceed," Valerian whispered aloud. Pain was just data. If the body broke, it was a faulty machine. If it survived, it was a tool worth keeping.
"Initiating Mana Gate Overload."
It felt like someone had poured molten lead into his veins.
Valerian's back arched, his spine snapping taut against the wall. He didn't scream. He bit down on his tongue until the copper taste of blood filled his mouth, using the physical pain of the wound to ground his focus. Inside his chest, near where the heart labored, a knot of pressure began to swirl.
It was the Mana Pool.
"Extraction beginning," Nano reported. "Converting biological energy into system power… 0.2%… 0.5%… 1.2%… Internal cooling systems offline. Host body temperature rising. 39°C… 40°C…"
Valerian watched his own stats flicker in his mind's eye like a flickering HUD. His skin turned a violent shade of red, steam actually beginning to rise from his sweat-soaked rags as the friction of the mana forced its way through his undeveloped meridians.
To any other child, this would be a traumatic, life-altering agony. To Valerian, it was an optimization process. He observed the pathways the mana took, noting the inefficiencies in the boy's natural biology.
"Nano. Map the flow. Correct the deviations. Do not let the energy dissipate."
"Calculated. Adjusting gate alignment."
The pain shifted from a burning sensation to a cold, piercing pressure. The Nano Machines, even at this low power, began to physically shift his internal tissues, carving out wider "pipes" for the mana to flow through. It was internal surgery without anesthesia.
"Battery: 5%… Stability reached. Energy source locked. Hibernation canceled."
The red haze in his vision cleared. The glowing blue lines that had momentarily flickered under his skin faded, retreating into his pores. Valerian exhaled, a long, shaky breath. He felt… different. The world seemed sharper. He could hear the heartbeat of Hance, the guard, standing twenty paces away outside the door. He could feel the vibrations of the mansion above him.
"Status," Valerian thought.
"Host Physiology: Optimized for Mana Circulation (Rank: Intermediate Tier capacity). Battery: 5.2% and charging. Left tibia: Structural integrity restored via mana-fortified calcium bonding."
Valerian stood up. There was no limp. His leg felt stronger than it ever had.
"Efficiency," he murmured.
He walked over to Garek's corpse. He felt nothing—no guilt, no disgust. He reached down and began to strip the man. Leather boots, a belt, a small pouch of copper coins, and a rusted iron dagger.
"Nano. Analyze the blade."
"Material: Low-grade pig iron. Structural flaws detected in the hilt. Sharpness: 42/100. It is substandard."
"It will suffice for a transition," Valerian said. He sheathed the dagger in the belt and strapped it to his own waist.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed from the stairwell. Multiple sets. The "tragedy" of Garek was about to be discovered.
"Hance!" a voice boomed—deep, arrogant, and dripping with the casual cruelty of the high-born. "Why is the door closed? I told you I wanted to watch Garek break his fingers today."
Valerian's eyes narrowed. Gilbert Ironwood. His half-brother. The primary cause of this body's misery.
Valerian didn't hide. He didn't retreat into the straw. He stood in the center of the cell, the torchlight from the hallway beginning to bleed through the bars as the door was unbolted.
The door swung open.
Gilbert was sixteen, tall for his age, with the golden hair of the Ironwood line and a face that was already beginning to bloat from wine and excess. Behind him stood two more guards and a trembling Hance.
Gilbert stopped dead. His gaze went from the upright, calm Valerian to the mangled, purple-faced corpse of Garek.
"What… what is this?" Gilbert stammered, his arrogance momentarily replaced by confusion. "Hance! I thought you said he was dying!"
Valerian took a step forward. The guards instinctively reached for their swords, but there was something about the boy's movement—so smooth, so predatory—that made them hesitate.
"He was dying," Valerian said, his voice cold and devoid of any inflection. "But I decided his life was more useful to me as an example."
Gilbert's face twisted in rage. "You filth! You killed a King's Guard? Do you have any idea what the Baron will do to you? Guards! Seize him! Break every bone in his body!"
The two guards stepped forward, but Valerian didn't move. He simply looked at Hance.
"Hance," Valerian said quietly. "The algorithm has changed. You have three seconds to decide if you want to die with them, or live for me."
"Hance, what are you doing?!" Gilbert screamed. "Kill the brat!"
Hance looked at Valerian. He saw the blue flicker in the boy's pupils—a cold, mechanical light that promised something far worse than death.
Hance drew his sword. But he didn't point it at Valerian. He pointed it at Gilbert's throat.
"I'm sorry, Lord Gilbert," Hance whispered, his voice shaking. "But I'd rather take my chances with the devil I can see."
Valerian's lips twitched. A logical choice.
"Nano," Valerian thought, the iron dagger in his hand feeling light as a feather. "Combat Mode. Target the guards. Zero survivors."
"Acknowledged. Executing Combat Program: Ghost Blade."
End of Part 2