[Status Update][Name: Solomon (?)][Age: 4 years old (physical), 847 years old (mental)][Level: 1][Race: Human (?) / Contract Entity (Primary)][Location: Saint Ophelia's Orphanage, Alexandria Capital][Current Situation: Complicated]
Solomon sat on the small bed, tiny hands gripping rough linen sheets, and took inventory.
His body was four years old. Small. Weak. His mana pool was virtually nonexistent—maybe 10 MP total, when he'd once commanded 10,000. His muscles couldn't lift anything heavier than a wooden toy. His bones were fragile enough that a fall from this bed might actually hurt him.
But his mind...
His mind remembered 847 years of knowledge. Every contract he'd ever studied. Every magical theorem he'd ever proven. Every battle strategy, every negotiation tactic, every secret of the universe he'd painstakingly uncovered.
And he could still see them.
Contracts. Everywhere.
The bed had a contract with the wood it was made from—an implicit agreement to remain solid and supportive. The blanket had contracts with its threads—binding them to stay woven. The air had contracts with the molecules composing it—agreements about pressure and temperature and how fast to move.
[Contract Vision: ACTIVE][Analysis Lost: TRUE][Contract Perception: ENHANCED][Current Observations: 2,847 distinct contracts visible in this room alone]
He'd lost his [Absolute Analysis] skill in the transformation. The Seal's modification had granted him that ability, and now the Seal was gone—dissolved into his very being.
But he was a Contract Entity now. He didn't need a skill to analyze things. He could see the agreements that held reality together. And if he could see the contracts, he could understand them. Build analysis the classical way—through observation, documentation, and rigorous study.
It would take time. Years, probably. But Solomon had always been patient when it came to knowledge.
I was so focused on my curiosities that I shirked my duty to grow my strength, he thought, flexing his tiny fingers experimentally. For 847 years, I accumulated knowledge. Made contracts. Built networks. But actual combat power? I relied on artifacts and allies.
The fight with Wrath had proven that brutally. Level 542 against Level 789, and he'd barely scratched the Demon Emperor. All his contracts, all his clever tactics, all his preparation—they'd bought him four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
That wasn't enough.
I will become as strong as possible, he decided, the thought crystallizing into something like an oath. And I will make that Wrath bend to my contracts. Not as a slave—that's not who I am. But as an equal. As someone who respects my power.
But first, he had more immediate concerns.
[Priority List - Reconstructed]
Speed up mana pool growth (currently pathetic) Rebuild analysis capabilities (lost with Seal) Reclaim the Manor (it's wandering without me) Find the Thirteen (can sense them—they're VERY far away) Survive childhood (surprisingly challenging) Figure out why the King of Alexandria looks at me like he knows me
That last one was bothering him.
Three hours ago, he'd woken up in this orphanage with no memory of how he'd gotten here. The Phoenix had delivered him, presumably. Left him in a safe location with a plausible cover story.
But then the King had visited.
[Three Hours Earlier]
Solomon's consciousness had slammed into a four-year-old body with all the grace of a meteor hitting a pond. One moment: cosmic void. Next moment: tiny lungs gasping, tiny heart racing, tiny everything.
The sensory overload had been intense. He'd forgotten what it was like to be small. To have limited reach. To need to look up at furniture.
A woman's face had appeared above him—kind, worried, human. "Oh thank the heavens, you're awake! You've been sleeping for three days straight. We were so worried!"
[Woman Identified: Matron Elise][Role: Orphanage Director][Level: 23 (civilian)][Threat: None][Emotional State: Genuine concern][Contract Status: No active contracts detected]
"Where..." Solomon had tried to say, but his voice came out wrong. High-pitched. Childish. He'd had to physically stop himself from speaking in his natural cadence—an 847-year-old man's speech pattern would raise uncomfortable questions.
"You're at Saint Ophelia's Orphanage, dear," Matron Elise had said, helping him sit up. "Do you remember your name?"
Solomon had opened his mouth, then paused. Did he remember his name? Obviously. But what name had the Phoenix given him? What identity was he supposed to have?
He'd looked down at his small hands, searching for clues, and found them: tiny scars on his palms, arranged in a specific pattern. Contract marks. The Phoenix had been clever—it had left him markers only someone who understood contract magic would recognize.
The scars spelled out, in the Language of Oaths: New name, old soul. You are Sol now. Four years old, found on temple steps.
Sol. A truncation of Solomon. Simple. Easy for a child to remember. Hard to connect to the legendary master of the Moving Manor.
"Sol," he'd said quietly. "My name is Sol."
"Sol! What a lovely name." Matron Elise had smiled. "Well, Sol, you have a very important visitor today. The King himself is coming to the orphanage!"
Solomon—Sol—had felt his tiny heart skip a beat. "The King?"
"Yes! He visits once a year, you see. Checks on the children, makes sure we're well-funded. He's very kind." She'd bustled about, straightening his simple clothes—a rough tunic and trousers that marked him as a commoner's child. "Now, you'll be on your best behavior, won't you?"
Sol had nodded, his mind racing. Why would the King visit today, of all days? The Phoenix had placed him here three days ago. The King's annual visit just happened to coincide?
That wasn't coincidence. That was contract.
Someone had made an agreement to ensure Sol ended up here, in this orphanage, on this specific date. But who? And why?
The King had arrived with minimal fanfare—just two guards and an advisor. Unlike most royalty Sol had observed over his centuries, King Aldric of Alexandria seemed to genuinely care about projecting humility.
[King Aldric III of Alexandria][Level: 189][Class: Sage-King / Scholar-Warrior][Age: 54][Reputation: Very High (beloved by his people)][Threat Assessment: Low (unless provoked)][Current Emotional State: ...searching?]
The King had walked through the orphanage, speaking kindly to children, listening to Matron Elise's reports on funding and supplies, examining the facilities with the eye of someone who actually cared about details.
And then he'd reached Sol's room.
Their eyes had met, and Sol had seen something flash across the King's face. Recognition? No—familiarity. Like looking at something that reminded him of someone else.
"And who is this young man?" King Aldric had asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"This is Sol, Your Majesty," Matron Elise had said. "Found on the temple steps three days ago. No family, no history. But such a bright boy! He hasn't cried once."
The King had knelt—actually knelt, bringing himself to Sol's eye level. Up close, Sol could see the intelligence in those eyes. The weight of decades of rule. The curiosity of a true scholar.
"Sol," the King had said softly. "An interesting name. It means 'sun' in the old tongue."
"Does it?" Sol had replied, pitching his voice to sound appropriately childlike. "I didn't know that."
The King's eyes had narrowed fractionally. Just enough that Sol, with his centuries of reading people, caught it. "Your eyes," the King had said slowly. "They're... unusual."
Sol had frozen. His eyes. He hadn't thought about his eyes.
He'd glanced at a polished metal mirror on the wall and seen what the King meant: his eyes were still heterochromatic. One silver, one gold. The exact same eyes he'd had as adult Solomon.
Dammit, Phoenix, Sol had thought. You kept my distinctive features? That's the OPPOSITE of subtle!
But he'd forced himself to stay calm. "Are they bad?" he'd asked, injecting a tremor of uncertainty into his voice—the kind a four-year-old would have when an adult commented on something "unusual."
"No, no," the King had assured him quickly. "Just... rare. Very rare. I once knew someone with eyes like yours."
The way he'd said it—once knew—carried weight.
"Were they nice?" Sol had asked, because that's what a child would ask.
The King had smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. "Very nice. Very wise. Very curious about everything." A pause. "He died recently. Defending his home from something terrible."
Sol's tiny heart had clenched. The King knew about the attack. About Wrath. About Solomon's death.
But how? The Moving Manor had been in neutral territory, not within Alexandria's borders. Unless...
Unless Alexandria's intelligence network was better than Sol had given them credit for. Or unless someone had told them. Someone like the Thirteen, who would have fled here, to the kingdom Solomon had allied with.
"I'm sorry," Sol had said quietly. "Death is sad."
"It is," the King had agreed. Then he'd done something that confirmed Sol's suspicions: he'd extended his hand. "May I?"
Sol had offered his tiny hand, and the King had gently turned it palm-up, examining the scars.
[King's Analysis: ACTIVE][He's examining the contract marks][He KNOWS what they are][He's comparing them to something]
The King's expression had gone carefully blank—the look of someone who'd just realized something significant and was trying very hard not to show it.
"Interesting scars," he'd said neutrally. "From an accident?"
"I don't remember," Sol had replied, which was technically true. He didn't remember getting these specific scars because the Phoenix had placed them there while he was unconscious.
The King had released his hand and stood. "Matron Elise, I'd like to add Sol to the Royal Scholarship Program."
The matron had gasped. "Your Majesty! That's incredibly generous, but he's only four—"
"The program accepts children as young as three," the King had interrupted smoothly. "And I have a feeling Sol will benefit greatly from early education." His eyes had met Sol's again, and there was something in them. A question. A test. "Would you like to learn, Sol? To study reading and numbers and history?"
Every instinct Sol had was screaming that this was important. That his answer mattered. That the King was offering more than just education.
"I like learning," Sol had said carefully. "I want to know... everything."
The King's smile had turned genuine. "Everything? That's an ambitious goal."
"Is it bad to be ambitious?"
"No," the King had said softly. "No, it's not bad at all. In fact, I once knew someone who wanted to know everything too." He'd straightened, addressing the matron. "Sol will start classes next week. I'll send a tutor."
And then he'd left, but not before glancing back one more time at Sol with those knowing, searching eyes.
[Present Time]
Sol sat on his bed, thinking through the implications.
The King suspected. Maybe didn't know for certain, but suspected that the four-year-old orphan with heterochromatic eyes and contract scars and an unusual way of speaking was somehow connected to the recently deceased Master of the Moving Manor.
But why hadn't he said anything? Why pretend not to know?
Because he's testing me, Sol realized. He wants to see what I do. How I act. Whether I'm a threat or an ally.
Smart. Sol could respect that.
But it meant he'd have to be careful. Very careful. He was in the capital city of Alexandria, surrounded by scholars and mages who might recognize contract magic if they saw it used. He had the body of a four-year-old and the knowledge of an 847-year-old master, and he needed to leverage the latter without revealing too much of the former.
He closed his eyes and focused inward, examining his current state.
[Sol - Current Status][Level: 1][HP: 40/40][MP: 10/10][Strength: 4][Agility: 6][Constitution: 8][Intelligence: 12 (unusually high for age)][Wisdom: ∞ (847 years of experience)][Charisma: 7]
[Active Abilities: NONE][Passive Abilities:]
Contract Vision (can see all contracts) Contract Entity Nature (IS a contract) Perfect Memory (retained from previous life) Curiosity Transcendent (literally cannot stop asking questions)
[Skills Available: NONE][Skills Lost:]
Absolute Analysis King's Seal (Conscription) Strategic Dominion All 34 other unique skills
[Current Limitations:]
Child body (weak, slow, fragile) Minimal mana pool (10 MP is pathetic) No active contracts (can't forge new ones without more MP) No weapons No allies nearby No resources beyond orphanage provisions
His situation was dire. But Sol had been in dire situations before. He'd built an empire from nothing. He could do it again.
First priority: mana pool growth.
Normally, mana pools grew naturally with age. A four-year-old having 10 MP was actually above average. Most children this age had 3-5 MP. By age ten, the average was 50 MP. By age sixteen, around 200 MP for those with magical talent.
That timeline was unacceptable.
Sol needed his mana pool to grow faster. Much faster. And there were ways to do that, but they required knowledge most people didn't have.
Fortunately, Sol had 847 years of magical research in his head.
Mana pool growth is accelerated by: repeated mana expenditure to the point of near-depletion, exposure to high-mana environments, meditation techniques that expand capacity, consumption of mana-rich materials, and forming contracts that share mana reserves.
He couldn't do most of those things yet. But meditation? That he could do.
Sol shifted into a cross-legged position on the bed—a meditation pose his tiny body could actually manage—and began the First Breathing Technique, a method he'd learned 600 years ago from a monk who'd lived to be 300.
[Meditation Technique: First Breathing][Effect: Slowly expands mana pool capacity][Rate: +0.1 MP per hour of meditation][Difficulty: Low (suitable for beginners)]
It was slow. Painfully slow. At this rate, it would take 1,000 hours of meditation to gain 100 MP.
But it was a start.
And Sol had learned patience.
He breathed in, feeling the mana in the air—sparse here, nothing like the Manor's saturated atmosphere, but present. He breathed out, letting his tiny mana pool stretch fractionally, making room for growth.
In. Out. In. Out.
His mind, trained by centuries of practice, fell into the rhythm easily.
While I meditate, he thought, I can work on rebuilding analysis.
Without [Absolute Analysis], he'd have to observe things manually, catalog patterns, build understanding through classical scientific method. It would be slower, but more thorough. And unlike the skill, which had been gifted by the Seal, this would be his. Built by his own effort.
He opened his eyes—still meditating, but with visual focus—and looked at the room.
[Manual Analysis: Bed][Material: Oak wood, approximately 15 years old][Contracts visible: Wood-to-wood binding (nails and joints), wood-to-air (moisture exchange), wood-to-gravity (structural support)][Quality: Moderate][Conclusion: Functional but aging, will need replacement in 3-5 years]
Good. His analytical mind still worked; it just wasn't supernatural anymore.
[Manual Analysis: Window][Material: Glass (low quality, contains bubbles and impurities)][Contracts visible: Glass-to-frame, glass-to-light (transparency), glass-to-air (thermal barrier)][Quality: Poor][Conclusion: Inadequate insulation, allows heat loss, probably leaks during rain]
Better. He was building a systematic approach to observation.
[Manual Analysis: Air][Composition: Standard atmosphere, slightly higher carbon dioxide than optimal (many children breathing in enclosed space)][Contracts visible: 2,847 distinct molecular agreements visible within this room alone][Temperature: 16°C (cold for young children)][Humidity: 68% (higher than comfortable)][Conclusion: Poor ventilation, orphanage needs better air circulation system]
His mind cataloged the data automatically, building mental files, creating reference frameworks. Within a year of this, he'd have reconstructed a functional analysis skill. Within five years, it might rival his old [Absolute Analysis].
But that wasn't enough. He needed more.
The Manor, Sol thought, his chest tightening. I must reclaim my manor. She's wandering without me.
He could feel it, distantly. The bond between master and building hadn't broken when he died—it had stretched, thinned to near-invisibility, but persisted. The Manor was alive, and it was looking for him.
But where? How far? In what direction?
Sol focused on the bond, trying to sense its direction—
[Contract Bond: Moving Manor][Status: ACTIVE (barely)][Distance: Approximately 1,200 kilometers][Direction: Northwest][Manor's Emotional State: Confused, Grieving, Searching][Current Activity: Walking randomly, looking for master's signature]
1,200 kilometers. That was... far. Too far for a four-year-old to travel. Even if he could convince someone to take him, he'd never get permission to leave the orphanage.
He'd have to wait. Grow stronger. Build resources. And then reclaim his home.
The thought made his chest hurt, but he forced himself to accept it. Patience. Strategy. Long-term planning.
And the Thirteen, he thought, reaching for those bonds next.
[Contract Bonds: The Thirteen][Status: All ACTIVE][Overall Distance: Varies (300 km to 900 km)][Direction: Scattered (they're not together)][Emotional States: Ranging from "grieving" to "furiously searching"]
Sol's eyes widened. They were scattered? Not together?
He focused on individual bonds:
[Eve: 340 km East][Emotional State: Analytical grief, actively searching][Current Activity: Using sigil network to scan for Solomon's signature]
[Sophia: 320 km East-Northeast][Emotional State: Controlled devastation, reviewing contracts obsessively][Current Activity: Analyzing the terms of Solomon's "death" for loopholes]
[Tiamat: 330 km East][Emotional State: Barely contained rage mixed with grief][Current Activity: Hunting anyone connected to Wrath's attack]
[Morrígan: 890 km North][Emotional State: Determined, sensing something but can't pinpoint it][Current Activity: Following ravens' intuition toward "something important"]
The others were similarly scattered, each one responding to his death in their own way. Some were together in small groups. Others were alone, following their own leads.
None of them were close enough to sense his current location. The bond was there, but he was too weak, too far away, and his nature had changed too much for them to recognize his signature.
I must find the Thirteen, Sol thought. But they're looking for Solomon, the Contract Master. They don't know to look for Sol, the four-year-old orphan. I'll have to reach out somehow. Send a signal they'll recognize.
But how? He had 10 MP. He couldn't send long-range communication spells. He couldn't even make a proper contract yet—the minimum cost for a binding agreement was 50 MP for something simple, and that was with both parties willing.
He'd have to get creative.
Later, he told himself. First, grow stronger. Build foundation. Then reach out.
Sol opened his eyes fully and stood, his tiny legs wobbling slightly. He walked to the window and looked out at Alexandria.
The capital city sprawled below, even from the orphanage's modest height. Buildings of white stone and colored tiles. Streets bustling with people. In the distance, the Great Library rose like a monument to knowledge itself—a structure that rivaled his Manor in size, if not in magic.
And somewhere in the royal palace, visible on the highest hill, King Aldric was probably discussing what to do about the mysterious four-year-old with contract scars and impossible eyes.
The way the King looks at me, Sol thought. Such familiarity. I'm supposed to just be an orphan. Who is this orphan to the King?
The question bothered him because he didn't have enough data. King Aldric had known adult Solomon, that much was clear. They'd exchanged letters about the alliance, about research collaboration, about dimensional magic.
But why did the King look at child Sol with that expression? That searching, almost hopeful look?
Unless...
Sol's eyes widened as a possibility occurred to him.
What if the King is testing whether I'm a reincarnation? What if Alexandria has myths about great souls returning in new bodies? What if he's HOPING I'm Solomon reborn because that would mean his alliance didn't die with me?
That would explain everything. The scholarship offer. The personal attention. The careful examination of his hands.
The King wasn't just suspicious. He was hopeful.
Which meant Sol had an opportunity. If he could prove he was Solomon—carefully, gradually, without revealing too much too fast—he could potentially reclaim his alliance with Alexandria. Gain protection. Access resources.
But he'd have to be smart about it. Four-year-olds didn't make political alliances. They didn't negotiate treaties. They didn't have 847 years of strategic thinking.
He'd have to play the role of a precocious child. Smart, yes. Curious, absolutely. But not impossibly knowledgeable. Not suspiciously competent.
It would be a long game. Years, probably.
But Sol had always excelled at long games.
He turned from the window and sat back on his bed, resuming meditation.
[Goals Established]
Accelerate mana pool growth to 100 MP minimum (current: 10 MP) Rebuild analysis capabilities to functional level Make contact with the Manor (somehow) Signal the Thirteen without revealing location to enemies Prove identity to King Aldric (gradually, carefully) Survive childhood without dying of boredom Eventually: Make Wrath bend to contracts (long-term goal)
[Timeline: Unknown but Long][Difficulty: Extreme][Probability of Success: Insufficient data][Sol's Confidence Level: High anyway]
Because Solomon had died before.
And Solomon—now Sol—would become strong enough that next time, death would have to make an appointment.
He closed his eyes, breathed in mana-rich air, and began the long, patient work of rebuilding everything he'd lost.
One breath at a time.
One day at a time.
One contract at a time.
The universe owed him answers, after all.
And Sol always collected his debts.