The river flowed quietly before him, rippling like a silver thread in its beginning, only to grow stronger the further it went, until it ended in a mighty waterfall, roaring with the power to crush any body that dared fall into its grasp. Shion sat by the riverbank, his weary black eyes fixed on the water, yet deep inside, he was far from calm.
"I'm nothing but a one-circle mage…"
The words echoed inside his mind like a bell striking his chest.
"But I need to become stronger. The examinations are drawing near, and no one will show mercy to my weakness."
He drew in a deep breath. Training for mages wasn't about brute strength alone—it was about understanding the flow, grasping the laws that governed the world: physics, chemistry, sciences he had never cared about in the past. A bitter smile curved his lips whenever he recalled his past self; never a book opened, never a page read. And yet… now, it wasn't impossible.
Shion was a Water Mage, feeble to the point of disgrace. A pariah among nobles. He had barely scraped through the written exam, only to fail miserably in practical magic. But this time, he possessed what he had lacked before: an immense patience, a skill that surprised even himself, and an unshakable will to twist his fate, even if it meant tearing apart everything he once was.
He clenched his fist and fixed his gaze upon the running water. Little by little, he felt harmony building within, as though his spirit began flowing with every droplet. And when that deep sensation consumed him, he closed his eyes to peer into his inner world.
What he saw there nearly made him laugh—if only the suffocating frustration allowed it.
"What is this trash? Even garbage would be worth more than this circle!"
He snapped out of his meditation in anger, but quickly steadied his breathing. There was no time for rage. He could no longer afford complaints. Closing his eyes again, he surrendered to the rhythm of the river. His inner vision sharpened: a broken, unstable magic circle, incapable of channeling energy.
He whispered firmly: "Shatter."
Within him, the fragile circle cracked, then collapsed like brittle glass. Yet in the very moment of its destruction, a sight rose before him that he had never expected: a towering pillar, stretching endlessly in his inner horizon, composed of nine levels stacked atop one another. Around each floor drifted a faint, ghostly light.
His blood ran cold. The presence was heavy, suffocating, like standing before a Grim Reaper devoid of mercy. A memory stirred, and only one name surfaced:
"Shi Yun Lan…"
As he gazed closer, his heart almost stopped in shock.
"Nine veins… Nine stars… Nine circles?! Impossible… How can this be? Who exactly are you, Shi Yun Lan?!"
The classifications of the world flooded his mind:
Warriors measured by stars, mages by circles, inheritors by veins. Each had nine ranks. But for all three to manifest at once? That was beyond myth.
Then, he noticed the imbalance. Only four veins glowed with power, while the rest appeared withered. Six stars moved sluggishly, while the others lay frozen. Six circles pulsed faintly, the remaining five dead still.
A chilling question echoed inside him:
"Should I… awaken these veins?"
He knew the danger. Veins could be blessings, yes—but they could also harbor alien souls seeking to seize his body. For inheritors, the eternal question was never "Can I use this?" but "Is it a gift… or a curse?"
Despite the fear gnawing at him, curiosity blazed hotter. He chose to activate the first floor.
At once, a grand magic circle unfolded before him, vast and intricate, designed with terrifying perfection. Even in his ignorance, he could sense its overwhelming might. This circle alone could rival two ordinary ones. As it came alive, a star slid into orbit along its edge, spinning in perfect harmony, releasing a torrent of aura and energy that stormed through his being.
Suddenly, one of the dark veins flared with a sinister glow, like a shadowy flame.
But instead of power, a cold voice pierced his ears, sharp as a blade:
"You are weak."
Shion trembled. And then, before his inner eyes, a figure emerged—a small child, no more than three years old. His face was angelic, breathtakingly beautiful, save for one detail that turned beauty into pure dread: his eyes.
Pitch-black, hollow, devoid of warmth or life. No reflection, no light—only an abyss capable of swallowing everything.
The child's lips parted slowly, and a lifeless voice reverberated through Shion's very core:
"I am Shi Yun Lan… Who are you?"
Despite the simplicity of the boy's words, they carried a terrifying weight that Shion dared not stand against. Still, he steadied himself and asked,
"I am Shion Lan, and I have a question. What do you mean when you say I am weak?"
Though he acknowledged his own weakness, Shion needed to understand his path forward—otherwise, all his efforts would be wasted.
The child replied with a calm yet cutting tone:
"With your current strength, you can't even withstand my will. That means you're not qualified to obtain even the weakest of my art's techniques."
Shion's eyes widened. The word art was a thunderclap in his mind. Techniques were the inheritance of noble families and the royal lineage, each representing a fusion of combat, sorcery, and bloodline. Families like the Sano clan specialized in Ice Arts, blending combat techniques, magic incantations, and bloodline resonance with the element of ice.
So… what kind of art could I possibly inherit? Shion wondered, his heart beating faster. Could it be something that would turn him into a legend of the kingdom?
He finally asked, voice trembling,
"May I ask what kind of art I will be trained in?"
The boy smirked with arrogance that felt almost divine.
"With your current level, you don't even deserve to know its name. But since nothing forbids it, I will tell you anyway."
Shi Yun clenched his fists. Arrogant brat… but he truly has the right to be.
The child's eyes burned with eerie pride as he declared:
"The profound art I devoted my entire life to since childhood—an art recognized in my world as the strongest of all—is… the Art of Annihilation."
Shi Yun's breath caught in his throat.
"What?!"
He hadn't expected such an answer. But when his mind recalled the massacres and the rivers of blood, it all began to make sense.
Trying to shake off his unease, Shi Yun asked,
"Then… why are only four of my veins pulsing while the other five remain dormant?"
The boy's sharp eyes shifted toward him.
"Four veins mean you've passed four trials. You stopped at the fifth."
Shi Yun's pulse quickened.
"Then how do I awaken the rest?"
The boy's words cut like a blade:
"Through life-and-death experiences… just like the poison of the last time."
Shion froze. His mind recoiled in shock. Was I poisoned? But when? Did mom hide this from me? But why?
He stammered,
"But… I only saw the visions because I called the name Shion Lan. I don't remember anything else."
The child sighed in disappointment.
"As expected of someone so weak. You didn't even realize you were dying from poison. Truly pathetic."
Then, closing his eyes with disdain, the boy muttered,
"I thought you might be interesting. But you're just weak and foolish. Better to die than waste more time looking at you."
Rage and humiliation burned inside Shion. This boy was truly gifted at provoking people—and he didn't even bother to hide it. Yet a new thought gnawed at him: Who tried to kill me with poison?
He asked instead,
"Are you the reason I survived? Did you purge the toxins?"
The child looked at him, about to speak, but then fell silent.
Shion pressed,
"What is it now?!"
The boy countered with his own question,
"When do you think the veins were truly activated?"
Shi Yun swallowed, realizing the boy had no intention of answering directly. So he turned to the puzzle that haunted him most:
"Fine. Then tell me—what is my connection to Shi Yun Lan? Why did he appear to me? And what was that voice that dragged me out of the dream?"
The disappointment in the boy's face faded. His expression grew strangely solemn.
"As for the connection… it is extremely strong. I feel it too. But what it truly is, I don't know. I was only three when I appeared. When I recover more memories, perhaps I'll have answers. The same goes for the voice."
Then his eyes grew distant, almost melancholic.
"But one thing I am certain of—I am not from this world."
Shion stared at him in stunned silence. Another world? Could such a thing truly exist?
"How do you know you're from a different world?" he asked.
The boy's answer was chilling:
"Because my world has no stars, no circles, no veins. My power only took this shape to conform to your world."
Shion's thoughts churned. If this child truly came from another realm, then what else was possible?
His voice lowered, heavy with urgency:
"Do you have any training methods for magic or anything useful from your world? If I continue like this, I'll lose everything—not just the Art of Annihilation, but more."
The boy closed his eyes, then extended his hand. Three books materialized from thin air.
"These are martial arts from my world. If you can grasp their essence, you might achieve something. They're different from the veins—these don't grant instant mastery. They demand comprehension. Still, they may benefit you."
He tossed the books toward Shion. Their titles gleamed faintly:
Water Ripple
Burning Flame
Weapon Fundamentals
Shion examined them and said,
"I'll only take Water Ripple. I'm a water mage, after all."
The boy's mocking laugh cut him off.
"Do you really think with just your pathetic water magic you'll rise high enough to defeat me—or anyone beyond me? Impossible. Rely on your body as well. Take the rest."
Shion's jaw tightened. He could barely restrain himself from throttling the brat.
He took a deep breath and said,
"Enough. I may not understand your power, but I refuse to be humiliated any longer. Allow me to fight you now."
His heart had changed. He no longer wanted guidance—he wanted to stand on his own. Even if the child radiated an evil aura, Shion had grown tired of endless scorn.
The boy smirked.
"I'll defeat you in a single blow."
He straightened his back, his tiny fingers cracking like thunder.
Shion lunged forward, determined to seize the boy. What could be so hard about grabbing a three-year-old child?
He succeeded, gripping the boy tightly. But just as he tried to lift him, the child's calm voice rang out:
"As I said… one blow is enough."
A sharp kick landed in a devastating spot. Pain exploded through Shion's body, forcing his mind out of the dreamscape entirely.
He staggered back to consciousness, gasping, eyes fixed on the flowing river before him.
His roar echoed in the silence:
"I'll kill you, you damn little brat!"