Sama sat in the stifling silence of the room, his eyes fixed on the two rings resting on his desk. One bore the pentacle of his rank, the other his family crest—hard-won proof of a life defined by struggle and grit. His heart hammered against his ribs, the thudding rhythm loud in the quiet air. He was a man caught between two storms: his wife, Zeni, whose life was being withered by mana-burn, and his son, Zaemon, who was nothing short of a miracle. Zae didn't cry because he was afraid; he cried because he was processing. That boy has the Seed of Spirit—a dormant storm waiting for a reason to break.
He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a wooden necklace engraved with the image of a wild boar, a parting gift from his grandfather. He remembered the day he had walked away from his training as a guard at Zeni's family estate. His father had sent him to the old man to learn the Art of the Hunt. "You fight like a boar, Sama," his grandfather had told him during their final lesson. That was the day he was tasked with hunting an Iron Boar. It was his first taste of the true thrill of battle. Neither he nor the beast had retreated; they had fought with a desperate, fearless intensity that had tempered Sama into the soldier he was today. He had carried that ferocity into irregular warfare, leading charges against impossible odds. In the mountains, he was the Wedge Formation—the wedge—smashing through Orc shield-walls with a momentum that could not be stopped. His indomitable will hadn't faltered against the Orc Chieftain or his elite guards, and it wouldn't falter now.
He had carried that ferocity into irregular warfare, leading charges against impossible odds. In the mountains, he was the Svinfylking—the wedge—smashing through Orc shield-walls with a momentum that could not be stopped. His indomitable will hadn't faltered against the Orc Chieftain or his elite guards, and it wouldn't falter now.
Let the nobles laugh, he thought, his grip tightening on the wooden carving. They think they have sent me to my grave, but they are wrong. A boar is at its most furious when its back is against the thicket.
Nemius is right about one thing, he thought, heading toward the door to find his wife and son. High risk, high reward. If we survive the forest, I won't just be a baron of the frontier.
He felt a cold, predatory resolve settle over him. They want to use me as a chess piece? I will break the hand that dares to touch the board. In the forest, the laws of the Kingdom are but a whisper. Out there, my blade is the only law that remains.
---
"Your actions at the ceremony were the perfect solution to our problem, Lady Auri Cle," Nemius said, his voice low as they moved away from the Hatar estate.
"I truly had to rattle my brain to coordinate that solution, Mr. Nemius," she replied, a touch of exhaustion behind her clinical tone.
"Now, we can present our actions to both parties in a justified manner," Auri Cle added, a hint of pride surfacing.
Nemius offered a faint, cold smile. "Precisely. We tell the Prince's faction that this was a move to undermine House Hatar's authority—making them look like savages. To the Princess's side, we claim we did it to increase the credibility of the Royal inspection. Everyone wins."
He paused, his eyes narrowing. "So, did you find anything of interest during the scan? Both the mother and the child?"
"The child is physiologically normal," Auri Cle reported. "His mind was in a state of chaos—likely a post-traumatic response to the sacrificial ceremony—but his body is exceptionally well-developed for his age. The mother, however... her mana channels are a ruin. Total structural collapse."
She sighed, touching the pendant at her throat. "This device is only a sub-divine artifact. Had I been granted a semi-divine tool, I might have extracted more. I truly admire her bravery... or perhaps her foolishness."
Nemius looked out toward the dark treeline of the horizon. "You would not understand a mother's pain, Lady Auri Cle."
---
Outside the planetary system, entities were talking to each other without moving body parts or making sound, in an ethereal way.
"Have you analyzed the signs of primordial soul cannibalism among the nascent souls?"
"Yes and no. I have completed the initial analysis, but I believe there is a discrepancy."
"A discrepancy? Explain in detail. What exactly did you find?"
"While observing with my power, I noticed a soul that consumed its counterpart yet simultaneously dropped below its original power level. The loss was minuscule, but it shouldn't have happened."
"Should I send a divine message to audit the births in those regions during that window?"
"What would be the use? It will likely be a normal human born with slight deficiencies in Spirit, Mana, and other natural talents. The only things that could possibly aid such a creature would be the intelligence it develops, sheer hard work, and the harsh realities of the world. It is a dead end."
"Do not waste your divine power on this. Every divine object we use for identification reacts only to high soul energy and essence."
"You are young, so let me remind you: we know that at the moment of conception, some souls occasionally clash. We call this 'primordial soul cannibalism' of nascent souls. They either disengage or consume the defeated energy and essence. After consumption, the winning souls experience a minute increase in power; because of this, they have a better chance to develop their spirit, mana, and other talents faster as they grow. Their base stats are also higher than normal during development. Between souls that have consumed others and those that have not, the natural difference is slight and is referred to as 'modicum level.' In a few rare cases, after the primordial soul cannibalism of nascent souls, the natural difference is slightly greater than the modicum level. These individuals have a higher chance of achieving greatness compared to others. But a soul that loses power after winning?"
"A soul alone is intangible. To function and grow, it requires a biological vessel. Why am I repeating the fundamentals to you?"
"The case you are describing—a drop in power—cannot happen unless something siphoned the soul's energy at the exact moment of conception. Why would anyone do such a thing? You would be shocked to know the number of morons in this world who meddle with things they don't understand. Leave it; it is a waste of time. Concentrate on the high-value targets instead."
-----
I woke from my sleep shortly after the firewall's formation but kept my eyes closed. Resting in my mother's arms, I immediately sensed her distress through the erratic rhythm of her heart. Since completing the firewall, I had spent most of my time coordinating my consciousness with these new neural modifications.
My mind felt significantly clearer and more stable, but I was still blind to the current state of our affairs. My only regret was that I hadn't yet engineered a way to store memories with perfect clarity; such a biological database would have made this life much easier. For a fleeting moment, I even hoped the Adept might return for another scan—the divine particles she provided were an invaluable resource—but I quickly dismissed the thought. The current circumstances were too volatile.
Suddenly, the door opened. Based on the scent and the heavy pattern of breathing, I knew it was my father. He sat beside my mother, and I felt his gaze fix upon me.
I sensed a subtle shift in the air pressure around us—a specialized barrier, likely designed to isolate our conversation from prying ears.
"He looks so peaceful while sleeping," my father said, his voice thick with uncharacteristic affection.
"Zeni... I am being sent to the Forest of Sanni in the Southwestern region. The official order arrives at the month's end.
"My mother's heart rate spiked, and her breathing turned shallow and rapid. She tightened her grip on me until it was almost painful.
"It is a death sentence, Sama!" she cried, her voice trembling with terror.
"I don't understand why they gave us that damned wilderness to conquer."
"We are powerless, Zeni," he replied, his tone grim.
"We knew exactly what we were selling—and to whom—when we traded our lives for that prize."
"But if I had known my treatment would carry such a cost, I never would have accepted the deal," she whispered, her tears falling onto my forehead.
"I will be fine, Zeni. It is a matter of a few years, but once the task is complete, Zaemon and his children will have a secure, free life."
"Have you gone insane?" her voice cracked.
"Insane?" He let out a hollow, jagged laugh. "If that is the word the world chooses for me today, then I shall embrace it."
Squeezed between them, I felt a wave of déjà vu. In my past life, I had heard stories of how my parents started their journey from the very bottom; now, I was witnessing that same desperate struggle firsthand.
"Who will protect us here?" my mother challenged. "These guards? Will you truly be able to sleep while constantly worrying? We will be nothing but hostages in this house."
My father remained silent, his lack of an answer confirming her fears.
"We will go with you," she declared, her resolve hardening. "Do not try to talk me out of this. I will not raise my child alone. We are a family, and we will face the wilds together—even if we perish."
My father tried to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.
Seeing their desperation, I realized it was time to act. With my internal biological hurdles cleared, I needed to address the external waves threatening to drown us. I made three Commitments to my self. First, I acknowledged my status: I was a privileged child. Unlike the children in the village the goblins slaughtered, I had resources, and I had to use them. Second, I had to master the art of the kill and increase my physical strength. The goblin at the ceremony was a wake-up call; had I been born a commoner in that village, I would already be dead.
Third, and most importantly: I had to aggregate knowledge. I needed to master the world's politics, its economy, and its people. In this life, information was the only weapon that could truly tip the scales of power.
___