A Spirit Core Card slotted neatly into the panel on the side of the cooker, humming with a faint blue glow. Just like electricity back on Earth, it fed the Spirit-Fueled Rice Cooker a steady stream of precious, reliable energy.
"Spirit energy..."
"Spirit power..."
Duke tore his gaze from the distant rooftops, chasing away his tangled thoughts. Right on cue, the cooker dinged—its cycle done. A pot of fluffy, aromatic rice steamed inside, and the sausages in the steamer tray above were perfectly plump and cooked through.
Paired with a small dish of tangy pickled cabbage, that was Duke's breakfast.
It was humble fare, to say the least, but Duke ate like a starving wolf, polishing off three full bowls in quick succession. He couldn't help it. The failed attempt to unlock his Blood Core had drained every last drop of his strength—all that Boiling Blood Elixir he'd bought had burned through his energy reserves like wildfire.
Born to a dirt-poor family, no fancy healing potions for him. Only a full stomach could stitch his strength back together.
"Huff."
With the last grain of rice gone, Duke finally felt a flicker of energy return to his limbs. He didn't even bother stacking the dirty bowls. Grabbing his tattered coat, he locked the door and hurried out onto the street. The neighborhood was a maze of low, ramshackle cottages, and already the early risers were bustling about—bakers hauling flour sacks, vendors setting up fruit stalls, blacksmiths stoking their forges.
As he cut through a narrow alley, a sharp screech echoed from the eaves above.
A moment later, a wooden window creaked open. A tawny owl flapped its wings, landing on the windowsill with a small cloth bundle clamped tight in its talons.
The homeowner leaned out, slipping a silver coin into the tiny pouch tied around the owl's neck.
Only then did the bird release its grip, dropping the bundle onto the sill before soaring off into the crisp morning sky.
"Mail Owl—Zero-Rank Spirit Beast."
Duke's glance lingered for a split second, his borrowed memories supplying the answer instantly. Zero-Rank Spirit Beasts were the lowest tier of the magical creatures—smarter and more attuned to spirit energy than ordinary animals, but not powerful enough to rank as true Spirit Beasts. Perfect for menial jobs, really. These Mail Owls, for example, were tamed to act as couriers across the city.
Dismissing the owl from his mind, Duke trudged onward, his steps still a little unsteady. He wove through a few more alleys until he reached a shop with a weathered wooden sign hanging above the door: Little Sam's Spirit Card Repair Shop.
The door was already propped open, and someone was inside sweeping the sawdust-covered floor.
"Morning, Bob."
"Morning, kid." Bob looked up, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. A burly man in his forties with calloused hands, he was a full-time repairman at the shop. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Duke's face. "You look like death warmed over. Rough night?"
"Ah—nothing," Duke mumbled, forcing a sheepish smile that hit just the right note of embarrassment.
"Oh, wait a minute." Bob snapped his fingers, realization dawning. "Heard from Bobby you splurged on a Boiling Blood Elixir. This is from the Blood Core unlock, huh? Did it... work?"
Duke's shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the scuffed floorboards. "No."
No one would ever guess the truth—that the Duke they'd known was gone, his body emptied by the failed ritual. In his place stood a stranger, a transmigrator from Earth who'd slipped into this shell the moment its original owner breathed his last.
To survive, to stay under the radar, he had to keep playing the part of Duke—the quiet, unlucky apprentice everyone knew.
Bob, completely oblivious to the soul beneath the skin, clucked his tongue in sympathy and gave Duke's shoulder a gentle pat. "Don't beat yourself up over it, kid. Some of us are just born to be ordinary folks. Now get to work—stack of broken cards waiting for you in the back."
"Yeah."
Duke nodded, heading straight for Repair Station No. 3 in the workshop. He was an apprentice here, learning the trade under Master Best, one of the shop's resident Spirit Card Artisans.
"Hey! Duke! Duke!"
A voice piped up from the next station over. Bobby—Bob's scrawny, mischievous son—was wiping down his workbench, leaning over the divider between their stations, his eyes sparkling with glee. "Did you really buy that Boiling Blood Elixir yesterday?"
Before Duke could answer, Bobby snickered, waggling his eyebrows. "Bet you didn't unlock your Blood Core, huh? Look at that ghostly face! If you'd succeeded, you'd be strutting around like a nobleman instead of slaving away here!"
From Station No. 1 further down, another apprentice—Thomas, a lanky kid with a permanent sneer—leaned over, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Told you it was a waste of coin. Save that money for a decent pair of boots someday, why don't you?"
Duke tuned out their jeers, muttering a half-hearted reply. "Had to try."
His mind was elsewhere, churning with a thousand thoughts.
Every human body held three potential power cores—the Qi Core, the Blood Core, and the Spirit Core. Unlock any one of them, and you stepped onto the path of the Ascended, leaving the drudgery of ordinary life behind. The original Duke had spent every last copper he owned on that Boiling Blood Elixir, desperate to unlock his Blood Core before his fifteenth birthday.
Wait past that milestone, and the windows of opportunity slammed shut forever.
And he'd failed.
Not just once, but twice. Three months ago, he'd wasted his savings on a Qi-Boosting Elixir to unlock his Qi Core—and that had flopped too. Two paths to greatness, gone in the blink of an eye.
"Only one way left—the Spirit Core."
Unlocking the Spirit Core required a Spirit Awakening Elixir. A single vial cost twenty-three Silver Sovereigns. And right now, Duke's pockets were emptier than a beggar's bowl. He had no clue how to scrape together that kind of money.
The official currency of the Seven Spires Union was Sovereigns—Gold, Silver, and Copper.
One Gold Sovereign = 100 Silver Sovereigns. One Silver Sovereign = 100 Copper Sovereigns.
A single Copper Sovereign had roughly the same buying power as a dollar back on Earth.
"Two thousand three hundred dollars..." Duke's fingers moved automatically, disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling the tools on his workbench—muscle memory from the original owner. "As an apprentice, I make five and a half Silver Sovereigns a month. That's five hundred and fifty Copper Sovereigns. It'd take me over four months of skipping meals just to afford the elixir."
He grimaced. I need a faster way.
Of the three cores, only the Spirit Core remained untested. But Duke was certain he could unlock it.
It was his cheat code—the edge he held as a transmigrator from another world. All he needed was that one vial of elixir, that twenty-three Silver Sovereign key to unlock his destiny.
At nine fifteen sharp, the shop door swung open with a bang. A middle-aged man strode in, clad in a crisp leather work uniform, a pair of neatly trimmed mustaches perched above his lips. He clapped his hands, booming loud enough to rattle the windows.
"Duke! Where's my coffee?!"
"Ready, Master Best." Duke picked up the chipped ceramic mug and handed it over.
Best took a slow sip, then ran a finger along the surface of Duke's workbench. His eyes narrowed, and he barked a sharp reprimand. "This table's covered in dust! Can't even wipe down a surface properly? Get to it—now!"
The table was spotless.
But Duke didn't argue. He grabbed a rag and started polishing the wood again, his movements silent and obedient.
Master Best was one of three contracted Spirit Card Artisans at Little Sam's. Duke was his apprentice, learning the trade under his harsh, unforgiving tutelage.
Apprentices were the lowest of the low in the workshop hierarchy. Insults and scoldings were daily fare. The original Duke, only fifteen years old and with no other skills to his name, had been grateful just to have a roof over his head and a meager wage to keep him fed.
By the time Duke finished polishing the table and rearranging the tools to perfection, Best had drained his coffee. He tossed the empty mug at Duke, scowling. "Quit standing around like a statue! Plug in the Core Card and fire up the scanner. I've got a mountain of broken cards to fix today!"
"Right away."
Duke ignored the man's rude tone, keeping his expression as blank and unremarkable as always. He picked up a thick, glowing Spirit Core Card and slid it into the slot on the machine's console.
The runes etched onto the card flared to life, casting a soft blue light across the workshop—signaling that spirit energy was now flowing into the device.
Duke flipped the switch. The machine whirred to life instantly, its scanner humming as it warmed up.
It was a semi-new Spirit Card Analyzer, capable of mapping the energy pathways inside damaged cards to help artisans pinpoint the exact faults.
Best rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a crumpled card from a stack of rejects, and slapped it onto the scanner's platform.
Duke stood by silently, watching.
The original Duke had been desperate to learn the art of Spirit Card repair—it was the only perk of the apprenticeship, the only chance to gain a skill that could lift him out of poverty.
But he'd never get the chance to master it. Repairing the delicate energy pathways required an artisan to channel spirit power from their unlocked Spirit Core. Without a Spirit Core, all an apprentice could do was menial tasks—sanding the card casings, gluing broken edges, polishing the surfaces. The boring, brainless grunt work anyone could do.
Master Best had unlocked his Spirit Core. But his talent was mediocre at best. He'd spent his entire life trying to forge a single closed energy pathway in his core—and failed. To this day, he was stuck at the Zero-Rank Spirit Artisan level. A closed pathway equaled a Rank. An unclosed pathway? Just a useless line of energy—hence the "Zero-Rank" label.
The machine whirred louder, and a glowing web of lines projected above the damaged card.
Energy pathways—the microscopic highways that channeled and contained spirit energy. A crack or a break in the pathway, and the card's power would leak away, rendering it worthless.
Repairing them was painstaking, precise work. An artisan had to stitch those broken highways back together using their own spirit power, ensuring every connection was smooth and stable.
Best quickly zeroed in on the damaged spot. He picked up the card, carefully pried open its casing with a tiny silver tool, and dipped a specialized Rune Pen into a vial of glowing blue ink, ready to mend the first break.
Duke watched for a moment, his eyes tracking every movement. Then he quietly stepped away, his mind already racing with plans.
Soon enough, he'd be the one wielding that pen. As soon as he scraped together the money for that elixir, he'd unlock his Spirit Core—and then he'd dive headfirst into those endless, glowing pathways, weaving them into rank after rank of power.