The morning sun struggled to pierce through the thick layer of grime on the window of the lord's manor. Inside, the air tasted of dust and dirt. In a weary bedroom, Baron Noah von Astora woke not to the sound of trumpets, but to a hesitant tapping on his door.
"Come in, Emma," Noah muttered, his voice raspy from sleep.
The heavy oak door creaked on its rusted hinges. A young girl with long, tangled blonde hair stepped inside, carrying a basin of lukewarm water. Emma was one of the few servants left; the others had long since fled to the capital in search of coin that Astora simply didn't have.
"Good morning, my lord. I've prepared what I could for breakfast," she said, her eyes downturned.
"Thank you, Emma. I'll be down shortly."
Noah stood up, his feet hitting the cold stone floor. He looked at his reflection in a cracked mirror: a young man with sharp features and eyes that seemed too old for his body. He began to button his shirt, his fingers moving with elegance. He pulled on his worn leather boots and stepped out into the corridor.
The hallway was a gallery of faded glory. Dusty portraits of his ancestors—men who once commanded legions—stared down at him with silent judgment. He walked past his private study, a room filled with maps of a territory that was shrinking every year, and finally reached the dining hall.
A single plate sat on the massive mahogany table. Noah sat in quiet solitude, the clink of his silver spoon against the porcelain echoing in the vast, empty room. The food was simple—porridge and a piece of hard bread—but it was enough. As he ate, he mentally calculated the barony's remaining grain reserves. The numbers didn't look good.
Finishing his meal, Noah headed to his office. Waiting for him were Emma and Layton. Layton was a tall, skeletal man with silver hair and glasses that sat precariously on the bridge of his nose. As the family's butler for over forty years, he was the living memory of the House of Astora.
"Good morning, my lord," Layton bowed, his joints popping audibly.
"Good morning, Layton. I assume you have something for me, given the look on your face?"
"Indeed, my lord. A messenger from the capital arrived at dawn." Layton presented a white envelope sealed with expensive red wax.
Noah broke the seal and scanned the contents. It was an invitation to the 8th birthday gala of Lady Rose, the daughter of Viscount Aman. A bitter smile played on Noah's lips.
'A courtesy invitation,' he thought. 'Aman knows I can barely afford the oil for my lamps, yet he invites me to a gala where the wine costs more than my annual taxes. He wants me there as a prop—the "poor Baron" to make his own wealth look more dazzling. I won't go. I won't spend the last of our gold on a gift for a child who has everything.'
"Anything else, Layton? Or is the capital done mocking us for the day?"
"There is... something else, my lord," Layton's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "A strange occurrence in the eastern fields. The farmers, while digging the soil, discovered something. A sphere of dark marble, etched with pulsing red veins. I've ordered them to clear the area and wait for your arrival."
Noah's interest sharpened. "A marble sphere? In the middle of the farmland? Call Captain Lance. I want an escort."
Noah headed to the stables, where the smell of hay and damp earth was strongest. Outside, Lance was already waiting, holding the reins of two horses.
Lance was a man of few words. He had once been a warrior on the battlefield, someone of the second level of the Ascendant Realm. But a cursed blade during the War had shattered his mana core, leaving him unable to circulate even a drop of energy. Noah had kept him on as Captain, not out of utility, but out of a loyalty.
"Lance, we need to move swiftly," Noah said, mounting his horse. "The farmers found something. It could be a remnant of the old wars—a dormant mana bomb or a cursed relic. We can't risk it exploding in the middle of our only fertile land."
As they reached the fields, Noah saw a dozen farmers huddled in a circle, their faces pale with superstitious dread. They moved aside as the Baron approached.
In the center of a freshly plowed furrow lay the object. It was the size of a human heart, pitch black and polished to a mirror finish, with veins of crimson that seemed to throb like a heartbeat.
"Lance," Noah commanded, his voice cold. "Retrieve it. Check for any immediate danger."
Lance hesitated. Without his mana to protect him, he was as vulnerable as any peasant. Still, his loyalty to the House of Astora won out. He dismounted, stepped toward the sphere, and picked it up.
The air seemed to grow heavy, but nothing happened.
"It... it feels like ordinary stone, my lord. Only colder," Lance reported, his breath hitching.
"Let me see." Noah took the sphere.
As his fingers brushed the surface, a jolt of static electricity snapped against his skin. He looked closely at the red veins. 'It's too perfect to be natural. If it's a mana tool, a small pulse should reveal its purpose.'
Noah closed his eyes and summoned a bit of his remaining mana, injecting it into the sphere.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent. The wind stopped. The murmurs of the farmers vanished. Then, a sharp, crystalline sound echoed not in the air, but directly inside the core of his soul.
[DING!]
[MANA CONTACT DETECTED...]
[NOAH VON ASTORA]
[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE FOUND THE ECHOES SYSTEM.]
[INITIALIZING THE ECHOES SYSTEM...][SYNCHRONIZATION: 1%... 15%... 50%...]
Noah's eyes snapped open, but the world had changed. Translucent blue windows hovered in his vision, and the dark sphere in his hand began to melt, turning into a liquid shadow that seeped into his very pores.
[SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE.][WELCOME, HOST. THE DEAD ARE READY TO SPEAK. WILL YOU LISTEN?]
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Power levels:
Ordinary (1-9)
Ascendant (1-9)
Expert (1-9)
Master (1-9)
Grandmaster (1-9)
Earth (1-9)
Sky (1-9)
Saint (1-9)
Sage (1-9)
Supreme (1-9)
Demigod (1-9)
God (1-9)