Three hours later, Kael stood barefoot in the cold courtyard behind the spire.
The stones beneath his feet were black marble, smooth and deathly cold. Towering statues of ancient Valtazar ancestors loomed above, their wings spread wide, frozen in cruel postures. Bats circled overhead in a sky veiled by blood-colored clouds.
The air was thick with magic.
Across from him stood a towering man in a high-collared tunic, arms folded behind his back. His eyes were the dull gray of old steel, and his fangs were longer than most vampires Kael had read about.
This was Instructor Varian—hand-selected by Malrik Valtazar to "mold the boy into something useful."
Kael had seen him before—in Crimson Reign. A sadistic war veteran who once trained vampire assassins using methods that would make demons wince.
"I was told the Young Master was clever," Varian said, pacing in front of him. "I see only a soft little corpse in noble silk."
Kael didn't speak.
"You will speak when asked. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Kael said, calm.
Varian stepped closer. "Yes what?"
"…Yes, Instructor," Kael said.
The man's boot suddenly slammed into his chest.
Kael was thrown back five feet, crashing into the hard stone with a grunt.
Pain exploded in his ribs.
Not lethal. Not even serious. But it was a message.
Varian leaned down over him.
"Lesson one: your name means nothing if your blood can't back it up. Do you understand now?"
Kael coughed. "Yes… Instructor."
"Good."
The next hour was worse.
No weapons. No magic.
Only pain.
He was ordered to dodge low-speed attacks. Jump over sweeping kicks. Roll away from thrown daggers.
It might've been simple for an older child—but Kael was five.
His small limbs shook. His breathing grew erratic. Sweat poured down his temple as he pushed his underdeveloped body harder than any child ever should.
Each time he collapsed, Varian struck him—not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to remind him that he was prey in a world of predators.
Kael's mind screamed with frustration. He was older than this. Smarter. He had read this man's techniques in fiction. He knew how this worked.
So why did he feel so close to breaking?
Because I'm weak. I'm just a kid again. And this body isn't ready.
But his soul?
That was something else entirely.
And deep within him… something was watching.
On the fiftieth strike, Kael didn't fall.
Instead, he locked eyes with Varian.
For a brief second—pure instinct—his vision blurred.
A black ring of energy surged through his iris like ink dissolving in water.
Varian froze.
His hand halted in midair. His legs stiffened. His face twisted in sudden alarm.
Kael gasped. Something clicked in his skull.
[Cursed Eye: ACTIVE]
[Target Identified: Varian – Vampire Soldier, Tier V]
[Magic Pattern: Bone Reinforcement / Shadow Dart / Crimson Haste]
[Copying Active Spell: Crimson Haste]… Success.
[Paralysis Imposed – Duration: 4.8 seconds]
Varian stood frozen, one arm outstretched, unmoving.
Kael stumbled back, panting.
He didn't mean to do it.
He just… wanted the pain to stop.
And now?
He had paralyzed a Tier V vampire.
His five-year-old body shook from the magical recoil—like black lightning dancing across his veins.
The Cursed Eye…
Unlike the Eye of God, which observed and influenced gently, this one struck. It stole. It suppressed.
It was raw aggression. Ruthless mimicry. And it had awakened in a moment of desperation.
The freezing hold wore off seconds later.
Varian blinked rapidly—then staggered.
He looked down at his unmoving limbs in disbelief. Then turned to Kael.
His eyes flared.
Kael instinctively took a step back.
But Varian didn't strike.
He stared at Kael's glowing black-red eye.
"…So the rumors were true," the instructor muttered. "Both eyes. In one child."
Kael said nothing.
Varian exhaled slowly. Then he knelt.
Not in worship. Not in respect.
But in acceptance.
"You don't need training in endurance," he said quietly. "You need control."
Kael blinked.
Varian stood.
"Come back at dawn tomorrow," he said. "Next time, you'll bring pain to something else."
That night, Kael stood alone in front of the mirror again.
The Eye of God and the Cursed Eye flickered faintly in his reflection—one gold-red, swirling with divine light… the other dark as night, pulsing with violent magic.
Both had awakened now.
And both were hungry.
He didn't know what he had truly become…
But he knew one thing for sure:
He was no longer just reading a fantasy story.
He was the story.
And if this world wanted to test him—
Then it would soon learn what a monster really looked like.