Memories of the Fornes family flowed into his mind; they were the Knights family, noble and so famous at the western border of the kingdom of Lors. Their strict hierarchical system was powerful.
"Cruel father, Lord Valerian, he's a seventh, ruthless, with a huge reprehensible aura in the family."
"A big brother, Ryan, is a fourth-level aura. The second sister, Laila, is a third-level aura. The third brother, Derek, the spoiled boy with a level one aura."
Cayos thought he learned that the highest level was ten.
He folded and let his hands run between his short black tufts of hair.
"This boy, Aseel, has been bullied for a long time by every member of his family; he feels inferiority, deficiency, and helplessness. I can feel all of those feelings, which have been immortalized between this boy's limbs. Although I am inside his body, I feel that his body is weak to death."
Cayos stared at himself in the mirror; a spectrum of some shots passed through his head. They were Aseel's last memories.
He watched a cup of milk, a cup of milk that was offered to Aseel. Yes, that strange smile on the servant's face scared the boy, but he didn't care; his hands were trembling hard.
No one recognized him in this family, nor in this world. Aseel took the glass of milk and drank it, feeling a burning pain after a few minutes, and then the ending finds out that what he drank was "poison," Aseel concluded.
That memory faded from before Cayos's eyes; it seems that he would not return to his body or to his world. It seemed to him that he was stuck. "This child was poisoned; he was not afraid, nor disgusted, not even in complete shock. he let his death happen."
Cayos felt a kind of anger and pity for Aseel, but that didn't mean he had to continue to live like this.
Cayos had had countless games. In his view, this is just a new level of realistic games. Instead, he felt a kind of subtle satisfaction. He got what he wanted. New world. A real bet. Death was not just a restart.
Perhaps he would respond to his wish, "Good? Evil? These are just words invented by the weak to restrict the strongest."
Aseel muttered to himself; his looks seemed strange. He radiated that all his cells in this new body were burning.
"Anyone who does not seek absolute power is dead, walking on earth without a purpose."
He said in a clear voice, and he looked at his little hands again. This weak body and this arrogant family. New challenge. Much harder than any game he played. Aseel thought quietly. "Alright, the match just started, and there will be no draw."
He was now Aseel Fornes, the stupid fourth son, and this cover gave him freedom of movement in the shade, so he got out of his room and went to the library.
The smell of old paper was filling the place. He did not search for stories but for pure knowledge. He had renewed a number of manuscripts and books on the history of the kingdoms in this world, geography, and monsters' attributes. Then he reached the true treasure, which aroused every feeling of joy in his heart; they were all about mana, aura, and magic.
"Magic, it seems, is worth overburdening this body for a few nights by reading."
Aseel sat reading for hours, his brain absorbing every word he read; for some reason the language of these books was understandable to him. Perhaps this is the influence of the world.
For some reason, when he started applying what he had learned about using mana to create magic, he failed; no matter how many attempts he made, he did not succeed. On the ground, he stumbled on an old manuscript; he opened it and read its content.
His pupils widened. "Danta flawed" was the term used to describe his inability to use magic. Coldly, this was not a defect but a challenge that must be broken. He had always thought that the end justifies the means; even if the means were to destroy his new body, he was the kind of risk-taker even when the prospect of success was nonexistent.
There was no time to hesitate. He had to destroy and rebuild this Danta. The matrix also stated that it would be a suicide operation that would require tremendous focus and bet on the unknown. But Aseel was not afraid to take risks. He died thousands of times in games before he became the strongest; this was just a new tour.
He didn't know that there were eyes watching him; a servant entered the library, staring at him from top to bottom, and then he went out in a hurry.
It was as if he didn't care about him being here or what he was doing, as if this was a question he hated to ask him. 'Damn him, why doesn't he die? Taking care of a useless person like him will make me underestimated among my peers,' the servant thought before he closed the door to the room. He came to reassure him; he did it once a month.
Aseel did not pay any attention to the servant; when he put something in his head, he poured his focus on it.
…
On a moonlit night, he began his operation to break his Danta. He sat in his room, focusing all his consciousness on his stomach. He started directing the manna to his flawed Dantes, not to absorb it, but to put pressure on her, to destroy it.
A cold sweat covered his forehead, and his little body shivered. But Aseel did not back off. His mentality, which refused to be defeated, was leading him to bear a little more.
The pain reached its climax, and darkness began to crawl to block his sight. Then, in a moment of great despair, he felt a silent explosion inside him. A feeling of lightness in his body.
The pain did not go away, but it turned into a slight tingling. He opened his eyes to see the sun's light sneak out the window. He was still alive. Most importantly, he felt something different in the Danta area.