Chapter Three: The White Sea
Drake Primordia had always admired 'The last descent of a god', it was his sanctuary of peace whenever he was suffering from supreme depression, when he had almost killed himself 13 times.
Even after transmigrating it was the same. The same suffering he had on earth, the difference was that it was way more severe here in novel.
Drake decided to get stronger to destroy all those that have and will betray him. Dying twice is enough for an Otaku who has had enough of life.
Now… back to the main point.
The White Sea.
The name was deceiving. It wasn't truly a sea at all but an island of rolling hills, covered in wild forests and strange vegetation. Its air shimmered faintly, as though light itself bent differently here. The mana was so pure, so dense, so endless that it seemed to swallow the land in an invisible tide. That was why it had earned its name. To step onto this land was like drowning in waves of essence—hence, the White Sea.
For the Primordia family, for the Peak families, for anyone who knew of power, this place was both treasure and death.
Drake knew this. He was only four years old, a child in the eyes of everyone else, but he wasn't walking to the White Sea for play. He had little to no mana in his body. He was nothing compared to his peers, not even worthy of the family name. If he wanted to live, to take vengeance, to carve his name into the marrow of this world, then he needed mana. Pure mana.
And there was no place richer than the White Sea.
There was also no place more dangerous. Beasts of the 6th rank and above prowled here. Creatures that could kill trained warriors effortlessly. But Drake didn't care. Fear had already been beaten out of him through two deaths.
He wanted power, and power demanded risk.
It took four days of walking before Drake reached the edge of the White Sea. Four days under the sun, four nights sleeping in dirt, drinking from streams, eating whatever scraps he could find. His body, small and frail as it was, endured.
When he finally stepped past the boundary into the lush hills, the Dragon System pulsed faintly.
[Endurance +2]
His lips curled into a faint smile. A start. Weak, but a start.
The sight before him was unlike anything he had ever known.
Green stretched endlessly—forests that shone like emeralds, grass glistening with dew that sparkled like gemstones, flowers so vibrant they looked painted by the hands of gods. Even the air itself glowed faintly, thick with essence. Every breath filled his lungs with vitality.
It was beauty, yes, but also proof. Proof that mana here was the purest in the world. The White Sea was a paradise of power.
Drake didn't waste time. He settled on one of the hills, the wind brushing against him, the soft hum of mana wrapping around his small body. He crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and began to meditate.
For three weeks, that was all he did.
Breathing. Drawing in essence. Letting the pure mana sink into his bones, his blood, his soul.
And slowly—progress came.
Not at the speed a Primordia child should have had, of course. Compared to them, his growth was pitiful. His veins refused to drink as greedily as his cousins', his body resisted the flow. His rate of absorption was crippled compared to the standard of his family.
But he kept going.
Because while his progress was small by the standards of a Peak family, the mana he was absorbing wasn't normal. It wasn't just scraps. It wasn't the polluted essence of training halls. It was the raw, divine mana of the White Sea.
By the end of those weeks, the Dragon System pulsed again.
[Mana reserves equivalent to a 9th Rank Archmage obtained.]
Drake opened his crimson eyes slowly, staring at the horizon. His lips twisted into a faint grin.
A four-year-old with mana equal to an archmage of the 9th rank. Any ordinary family, any noble in the world, would have dropped to their knees in worship.
But this was the Primordia. For them, it wasn't enough.
So Drake kept going.
Two years passed.
The island became his cage and his temple. He lived in its forests, dodging beasts, hiding when he had to, fighting when there was no choice. He bled, he starved, he endured.
He meditated day after day, drowning himself in the sea of mana. He no longer felt like a child. His body toughened, his will sharpened. His eyes, once crimson only in rage, now glowed faintly in the dark.
At the end of those two years, when he rose from his meditation and looked at his reflection in the waters of a spring, the Dragon System pulsed with its mechanical voice.
[Mana capacity equivalent to a 2nd Rank Primordia child.]
[Mana purity equivalent to a 10th Rank Godmage.]
Drake chuckled, staring at himself in the water.
A Godmage.
Mages who had surpassed the limits of archmages, who had stepped into the divine ranks of magic. The kind of existence that legends were written about. And here he was—a six-year-old, not even officially awakened, holding mana so pure it belonged to that realm.
He tightened his fists. "Finally…"
But there was also bitterness in his smile.
He had missed the Second Awakening at five. He had even missed the Third Awakening at six. By the standards of the family, he had failed once more. He had no attributes. He had missed his chance.
Or so they thought.
Because as he sat there, staring into his reflection, he felt it. The hum inside his body. The readiness of his veins. The pulsing dragon essence that coiled in his soul.
He wasn't empty anymore.
He had gathered enough mana to rival the standards of his bloodline. He wasn't trash anymore.
And he would show them.
The White Sea had been his forge. Now it was time to return.
Drake wrapped the worn cloak around his shoulders, gripped his longsword, and began the trek back. His body carried him with ease—stronger, faster, more enduring than the boy who had first stumbled here two years ago.
When he finally reached the gates of the main Primordia mansion, he stood taller, his crimson eyes sharper. He was six years old, just shy of seven.
And this time, he would not walk in as trash.
The mansion loomed above him, vast and terrible. The flags of the family rippled in the wind. The courtyard was filled with nobles, guests from allied families, all gathered to witness the ceremonies of Awakening.
Drake stepped forward, his small form casting a shadow longer than it should have.
Whispers erupted immediately.
"Isn't that—?"
"The failed child?"
"The one who vanished two years ago?"
Shock painted their faces. But none were as shocked as the one woman whose eyes widened, her lips trembling, disbelief frozen on her face.
His mother.
And beside her—his…