Days bled into weeks, and weeks into months. To the eyes of the household, Ryner Alostrio was nothing more than a harmless child—barely old enough to crawl across the polished marble floors, babbling nonsense, giggling when his mother tickled him, clinging to her dress when strangers approached.
But behind those innocent eyes was not a child.
It was the soul of a boy who had once died, broken and betrayed. The soul of one who had screamed in the Valley of Sins until his voice turned to ash. The soul of the Fifth Crown's chosen.
Every laugh was calculated.
Every stumble was measured.
Every tear was deliberate.
If they saw weakness, they would overlook him. If they saw innocence, they would dismiss him. And in that dismissal, he would plant the roots of vengeance.
*If they see me as harmless, they won't notice when I sharpen my blade.*
---
The mornings were filled with his mother's voice.
Alia hummed softly as she bathed him, brushed his short black hair, and fed him warm milk with a spoon. She was gentle, yet tired. Ryner noticed the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the subtle stiffness in her body. She bore her hardships quietly, never speaking of the isolation she suffered, never admitting how Hannas's indifference crushed her more than Maria's venomous schemes.
"Such a clever boy," Alia whispered as she watched him stack wooden blocks one atop another, far steadier than a child his age should manage. "My Ryner… you'll surprise them all one day. I know it."
Her belief was both a blessing and a knife. In his past life, he had failed her faith. This time, failure was not an option.
---
One morning, as she held him by the window, Ryner felt it.
A faint pulse inside his chest—like a spark flickering to life.
His cultivation core.
In his past life, that core had been his pride and his downfall. Once praised as a genius, it had been cursed by poison, shattered beyond repair. No matter how he trained, no matter how he bled, it could never be whole again. That curse had been the beginning of his fall, the reason he had become the "trash kid."
But now…
The mark of the **Fifth Crown** shimmered faintly within his soul, unseen by mortal eyes. It had not only returned him to life but restored what had once been destroyed.
For the first time since his rebirth, Ryner attempted to guide his breath. He calmed his mind, focused inward, and drew in the faintest thread of spiritual essence.
The air trembled slightly.
A tiny flicker of warmth entered his body.
His baby hand twitched.
*Yes… it works. Even in this fragile body, I can cultivate.*
The elation nearly broke his composure. He wanted to laugh, to weep, to scream his triumph. But he forced it down.
He could not show results too quickly.
If Hannas noticed unusual progress, suspicion would be aroused. If Maria discovered his cultivation, she would poison him before his foundation solidified.
*Slowly. Carefully. Hidden growth is the deadliest weapon.*
He would crawl before he ran. Whisper before he roared.
---
Meanwhile, he observed.
Hannas visited less and less. His footsteps echoed in the halls, firm and commanding, but they never led him to Alia's chambers unless duty demanded it. When he did appear, his gaze drifted past Ryner as if the boy were nothing more than furniture. His words to Alia were clipped, his presence fleeting.
Once, when Alia tried to place Ryner in his arms, Hannas merely frowned, shifted uncomfortably, and handed the child back within moments.
"Too fragile," he muttered, as though dismissing a cracked vase.
The words lodged like glass in Ryner's chest. *Fragile? You will choke on that word.*
Maria, however, visited often. Too often.
She came with silken dresses and jewels that glittered in the candlelight, her every movement calculated elegance. Her smile was sharp enough to cut, her voice honeyed enough to poison.
"How is little Ryner today?" she would ask sweetly, her tone so perfect that even the servants dared not question it. But her eyes—those eyes—lingered with venom, narrowed with disdain.
Behind her, her sons always followed.
Chris, the elder at eight, carried himself with practiced arrogance. He spoke too loudly, walked too proudly, as though the estate already bent beneath his feet. He glanced at Ryner with a smirk, his words dripping with scorn.
"Still can't walk? Pathetic."
Carlos, two years younger, was crueler in smaller ways. He pinched the arms of servants when no one looked. He pulled cats' tails for amusement. And when his gaze landed on Ryner, his laughter rang sharp.
"Like a rat! Look at him—he's so small."
They thought their mockery was unseen. They thought their words vanished in the air. But Ryner heard. Ryner memorized. Ryner carved their insults into the ledger of his heart, each word another reason to repay them.
And Maria—she smiled at their cruelty. Not a word of correction passed her lips. In fact, her silence was permission, her smirk encouragement.
*Enjoy it. Laugh while you can. For every insult you've given, I'll carve a punishment. Slowly. Thoroughly.*
---
The estate was a battlefield of whispers. Servants bent their loyalties toward whichever wife offered better coin or safety. Guards turned blind eyes depending on who issued their orders. Hannas's absence left the house a kingdom divided, and Maria thrived in the chaos.
Ryner watched it all.
The bribes Maria slipped to kitchen hands.
The subtle favors she gave guards.
The way her words dripped into Hannas's ears until his indifference toward Alia hardened into disdain.
It was a slow strangulation, a quiet suffocation of his mother's position.
In his past life, he had been too young, too naïve to see it. By the time he realized the noose tightening around Alia's neck, it had already choked her.
But this time, he saw every thread. And he would cut them one by one.
---
One night, the moon spilled silver light across his crib. Ryner lay awake, staring at the ceiling beams. His tiny chest rose and fell, but his soul churned with fire.
"Hannas. Maria. Chris. Carlos," he whispered in his heart. "You destroyed me once. This time, I'll destroy you in silence. Piece by piece. Until nothing remains."
The mark of the Fifth Crown pulsed faintly, resonating with his vow.
And then, like a chorus of shadows, the Crowns whispered.
Luis's childish voice rang first, cheerful and mocking.
"Yo, Trash Kid! That's the spirit. Sneaky, sneaky—just like me. I like it!"
Rune's calm tone followed, steady as a river.
*"Patience, Ryner. Rage without restraint is wasted fire. Learn their habits. Master their patterns. A single precise strike topples more than a hundred reckless blows."*
Then Ming Zing thundered, his golden authority slicing through the silence.
*"Crush them. When the time comes, hesitate for no one. Mercy is weakness, and weakness is sin."*
Finally, Lucas's smooth voice curled like silk.
*"Every insult, every glance, every betrayal—they are threads. Weave them into a trap, Ryner. Let destiny strangle them with their own rope."*
Their voices faded, leaving only the thrum of his own heartbeat.
Ryner's baby hand curled into a fist. His eyes, too sharp for a child, glimmered in the moonlight.
This time, there would be no hesitation.
This time, he would not suffer silently.
This time, he would wield his pain as a blade.
The first steps of vengeance had begun.
And no one—not Hannas, not Maria, not her cruel sons—suspected the storm growing in the heart of the child they mocked.
**(Chapter End)**