The morgue gates groaned open as the king arrived in a gilded chariot, its wheels crushing gravel and bone fragments beneath them. Torches flared to life around the compound, casting long, distorted shadows against the cold stone walls. Death already lived here—but tonight, it felt disturbed.
Beside the king stood a man wrapped in layered black robes. A long, crooked hat concealed most of his face, and in his right hand he carried a staff etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with violet light. This was the king's sorcerer—an existence whispered about, never named.
Knights poured into the morgue grounds, spreading out in disciplined formation. Steel scraped softly as swords were drawn. They searched every corner, every chamber, every slab where the dead lay in silence, as if expecting something to rise.
The king's gaze remained fixed ahead.
"So," he said at last, his voice low and sharp, "you are telling me a surge of power originated from this place?"
The sorcerer let out a dry, broken cackle, one that echoed unnaturally through the halls.
"Yes, Your Majesty. That is correct."
The king turned slightly. "It did not feel… divine. Nor royal."
"No," the sorcerer replied. "At first, it appeared ordinary. Crude, even. But beneath it lies something far more dangerous."
The king's eyes turned to the sorcerer. "What kind of power?"
Before the sorcerer could answer, a shout rang out.
"Your Majesty!"
The knights dragged a body forward and threw it onto the stone floor. The impact echoed loudly. The corpse was that of the assassin. His skin had gone pale, drained of warmth, yet the wound in his torso was fresh—too fresh for a dead man. Dark blood still clung to the edges, as if resisting death itself.
The king stepped closer, studying the body in silence.
Then the sorcerer leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for the king.
"The potential of a killer."
The king straightened, a slow, unsettling smile forming on his lips.
"HM," he murmured.
His eyes lingered on the corpse—not with fear, but with interest.
---
I woke up with a sharp gasp and pushed myself off the ground.
The first thing I saw was my reflection—staring back at me from a puddle of blood. I froze. The face was mine… yet not. I looked older. Hardened. My body was broader, my eyes heavier, as if I had lived through years of violence in mere moments.
My heart pounded.
I stepped forward and reached the edge of the land I stood on, then looked out at my surroundings.
Horror seized me. People were everywhere—men and women clashing in brutal combat, each wielding a different ability. Flames tore through flesh. Blades of wind screamed through the air. Lightning cracked the ground open. Blood soaked the earth, pooling at their feet, painting the battlefield crimson. Screams echoed endlessly. It didn't make sense. Not everyone has abilities…
So how did everyone here possess one? And where did they come from?
Before I could think further, the ground beneath them began to tremble.
Cracks spread across the battlefield like veins. Then—without warning—massive spikes made of blood erupted from the earth. They impaled bodies instantly, tearing through warriors mid-fight. Lives were snuffed out in seconds.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.
"No… NOOOOOO!" I cried, my voice breaking.
Then I saw it.
A giant hole tore open in the center of the battlefield, darkness swallowing everything around it. From within, a figure slowly emerged.
My blood ran cold.
It was me.
Same face. Same structure. Same eyes—except emptier. Colder. A version of me stripped of mercy. Before I could react, before I could even speak, he slammed his palm against the ground.
A colossal spike burst upward. It pierced straight through my chest. Pain exploded through my body as I gasped for air, my legs giving out beneath me. I struggled, clawing at nothing, my vision blurring. The figure walked toward me calmly, as if I were already dead.
He leaned close and whispered,
"Goodbye."
Then, with a swift motion of his hand—
Everything went black.
"AHHHHHHH!"
I screamed and jolted upright. I was no longer on the battlefield. I found myself in a small room, dimly lit, the scent of wood and old cloth filling the air. My breathing was ragged as I looked around. The room felt… familiar. Like I had been here before. Like I have been here before.
I quickly checked my chest.
No hole. Only bruises. Cuts. My entire body throbbed with pain. I let out a long breath. "Sigh… it was just a nightmare." But unease still lingered.
"Still… where am I?"
"Oh, you're awake," a calm voice said.
I turned to see the bartender standing by the doorway. "How is your body?"
Realization hit me.
"Oh… I'm at the bartender's house."
Relief washed over me.
"I'm fine," I replied, forcing a weak smile. "Thank you."
"I found you unconscious and badly injured at the mortuary," the bartender said, his voice filled with concern. "So I took you in before the knights could. What exactly happened to you? Were you attacked by those royals again? You look terrible."
"Nothing," I replied.
I stood up and headed for the door.
"Thank you," I said quietly, then left.
---
On my way to work, I passed the royals.They stopped and stared at me in shock. I met their gaze—cold, empty, lifeless.
cough… cough.
I covered my mouth quickly. When I looked down at my palm, my breath hitched. Blood. A chill ran through my body as I stared at it.
"What is going on with me?" I whispered.
I wiped the blood onto my clothes and forced myself to keep moving.
Behind me, one of them muttered,
"Wait… how is he still alive?"
---
At work, my boss remained locked away in his office. No one disturbed him. It seemed no one knew about the assassin who had died the previous night. Everyone worked as if nothing had happened. Then again… this was a mortuary.Death was normal here.
"Hello, child."
The voice sent a sharp chill through my spine. Dark smoke began to seep from my body, curling outward like mist rising from open flames. It twisted and thickened in the air, slowly taking form. The presence felt heavy, suffocating. When it spoke again, its voice echoed unnaturally—high-pitched, distorted, as though multiple voices were layered into one.
"Ahh!" I screamed.
My legs gave out as I stumbled backward, my foot catching on a bucket. It clattered loudly across the floor as I crashed down hard. Panic flooded my chest. I raised my hands and covered my face, bracing myself, my heart pounding violently in my ears.
But nothing happened. No pain. No attack. The air remained still. Slowly, cautiously, I lowered my hands and peered through my fingers. The spirit hovered before me.
Its form wavered like smoke held together by an unseen force. Its eyes—if they could be called that—glowed faintly, watching me with unsettling calm.
"Wha… what are you?" I asked, my voice shaking as I fully removed my palms from my face.
"I am the Phantom of Repercussion," it said.
The name alone made my stomach tighten. I swallowed hard and forced myself to steady my breathing. The fear was still there, crawling under my skin, but it no longer paralyzed me.
"O-Okay," I said, my voice quieter now. "What do you want from me? And where did you come from?"
The phantom drifted slightly closer, its presence pressing against me like a weight.
"My previous host died," it said calmly, without emotion. "And somehow… you have ended up as my new host."
The words lingered in the air, heavy and inescapable.
"Okay… go on," I said, already finding myself convinced by his calm certainty.
The phantom drifted slightly, its smoky form pulsing as it spoke.
"I come from a place known as the Beyond the Abyss," it said. "A place far different from what mortals call hell."
I frowned slightly. "What makes it different from hell?" I asked.
"Hells," it replied, "are believed to exist underground—according to investigations, theories, and countless false explorations. Is that not what your world teaches?"
I nodded slowly.
"Well, that belief is wrong," the phantom continued. "Hell is a realm. The Underworld is a realm. Heaven is a realm. They are not places you simply walk into. Only the supreme beings who rule over those realms may grant entry to mortals such as yourself."
It paused, allowing the weight of its words to settle.
"The Abyss, however, is different. It is a place that exists on this earth. It can be reached through teleportation, easily, without permission."
"Oh…" I murmured. "Okay. So… what can you do?"
The phantom's form dimmed slightly.
"At present, I do not possess much power," it admitted. "When my previous host died, I lost most of my strength. What remains are only my basic abilities."
It raised a smoky limb as if counting them.
"The power of telepathy. The power to support my host. And the power to reduce the force of attacks that strike my host."
I hesitated, then asked, "So… how do you gain more power?"
"That is simple," the phantom replied. "Our relationship—phantom and host—is symbiotic. You give, and I gain power. I help you, and you survive."
"For example," it continued, "whenever I assist you using my abilities, you must provide something in return."
I swallowed. "So… what do you want from me?" I asked.
The phantom's voice lowered.
"How about those dead bodies?" it said. "I can feed on them."
I turned and gestured toward the long tables lining the room—rows upon rows of lifeless bodies laid out beneath pale sheets. The phantom reacted instantly.
Its form expanded, spreading throughout the room like a living cloud. Smoke poured over the tables, wrapping around each corpse as it surrounded them completely. The air grew cold and heavy as the phantom fed, its presence thickening, growing denser with every passing moment.
The dead lay silent. And the phantom consumed.
"Okay… I have an exam next month," I said after a moment. "Can you help me study?"
The phantom did not hesitate. From that day on, my life became a cycle of exhaustion and determination. I began studying relentlessly for the exam. I spent most of the money I earned from work on books, papers, and anything else that could help me prepare. My pockets emptied quickly, but I didn't care. If this was an opportunity—my opportunity—I wasn't going to let it slip away.
Every day followed the same routine.
I worked. I ate.I read.
Again and again.
Morning blurred into night. Pages filled with ink and notes piled up beside my rug. My body grew tired, but my mind sharpened. For an entire month, I lived only for that purpose—until the day of the exam finally arrived.
---
The Examination Day
I stood outside the examination center, staring up at the massive building before me. It loomed high and wide, its walls clean and imposing. Hundreds of participants gathered around, dressed neatly, walking inside with confidence—like they already knew they would pass.
No fear. No hesitation. Maybe it's because they're rich, I thought bitterly.
"I never knew this day would come," I said softly, my chest filled with strange energy—nervousness mixed with excitement.
"I know," the phantom's voice echoed in my mind. "You wish to become educated enough to destroy this corrupt system, don't you?"
I froze.
"Wait… how did you know?" I asked.
"As I told you before," the phantom replied calmly, "the more you give, the more my powers upgrade. With more power comes deeper access—to your thoughts."
Before I could respond—
cough… cough.
I doubled over, coughing violently. Warm liquid filled my mouth.
Blood.
"Ha," the phantom said mockingly. "The child coughs blood."
I wiped my mouth, straightened my posture, and forced myself forward. I entered the examination hall. When the papers were placed before me, my eyes scanned the questions—and I paused. It was… easy.Too easy. Answers flowed naturally, my hand moving without hesitation. The hours passed quickly, and before I knew it, I had written everything. All that remained was waiting for the results.
---
Two Weeks Later
I waited inside the bartender's shop for my result letter to arrive.
"Wow, Ten," the bartender said with a warm smile. "I'm so proud of you for taking that test."
"Thank you… for everything," I replied sincerely.
Just then, a little boy stepped into the bar, a delivery bag hanging over his shoulder. I recognized him immediately—it was the same boy who had posted the scholarship notice months ago. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on me. He walked over and handed me an envelope. My heart raced as I opened it. I began to read. The further my eyes traveled down the page, the heavier my chest became. Each line felt like a blade pressing deeper into me.
"Well?" the bartender asked gently. "What does it say?"
"I… I passed," I said slowly. Then my voice cracked. "But I got rejected."
Before he could respond, I turned and ran out of the bar. I didn't stop until I reached a room at the mortuary. I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, breathing hard.
"I can't believe this," I thought angrily, pacing back and forth across the cold floor. "I didn't get in because of my social class? How does that even matter?"
My hands clenched into fists.
"Hey, kid," the phantom's voice echoed softly. "I'm sorry about what happened. But don't forget your main goal—to become something great and end these cruel leaders."
"There will be no one…" I muttered, my voice hollow, "…to end anything."
I grabbed some ropes from the corner of the room and began tying them together with trembling hands. I secured one end to the ceiling beam and looped the other around my neck. I climbed onto a stool and adjusted the rope carefully.
"As I mentioned earlier," the phantom said calmly, "if you die, I return back to square one."
"Well," I replied coldly, "I wish I could feel sorry for you."
I kicked the stool. My body dangled.
"You foolish child," the phantom said in laughter to my hanging form. "You intend to kill yourself at your very first step. You will never make it in this kind of life. Never!"
My vision blurred. Everything turned white. I saw my life flashing before my eyes. Then—BANG. The door burst open.Two figures rushed inside. Hands grabbed the rope, loosening it carefully, lowering me gently onto the floor. Air rushed back into my lungs as pain and reality returned all at once. The bartender… and another man. The executive ambassador of the school.
"Hey, kid," the man said firmly. "What do you think you're doing? Killing yourself isn't going to solve anything."
I coughed weakly.
"Don't worry," he continued. "The school will take you in under my care. I'm the principal. I'll personally see to it."
His words echoed in my head again and again.
"Thank you, sir," I whispered.
"There, there," he said kindly. "Everything's going to be alright. Get your things ready. You start next month."
---
One Month Later
I stood at the gates of Karnyx Vale, saying my goodbyes.
"It's good I knew where you'd be," the bartender said, shaking my hand before pulling me into a hug. "Otherwise, you'd be a dead man."
"Yeah… thank you," I replied.
My boss stood quietly beside us, his face still weighed down by sorrow. Before I could speak, he hugged me tightly.
"It's good you're going to the same school where my daughters went missing," he said, his voice low and broken. "Please… do your best to find them."
His grief had changed him completely.
"Don't worry, sir," I said. "I'll do my best to find your daughters."
I climbed into the wagon, and it began to move. They watched silently as it disappeared down the road.
"I'm actually surprised a commoner is going to this school," the driver said casually.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Don't worry," he replied. "You'll find out soon enough."
I didn't press further.
cough… cough. Blood stained my hand again.
"You alright, kiddo?" the driver asked.
"Yeah," I lied. "I'm fine."
---
We finally arrived.
The school was located in a quiet town on the far outskirts of Karnyx Vale, called Sontag. The place was peaceful—too peaceful. Smooth roads, well-built houses, clean surroundings. The people looked calm, composed, beautiful. No stress. No fear.
It was truly a perfect place. I stood before the massive school gates and let out a deep sigh before stepping inside. The moment I entered, tension struck me like an arrow. Every student was royalty. Nobles. High-class citizens.
And then there was me. I was still wearing the same brown clothes I wore back in the kingdom. I had no others. Whispers followed me. Quiet laughter. Cold glares. I ignored them and moved forward.
I signed in, received new uniforms, and was escorted to my room. When I entered, I was speechless.
The room was massive—two large windows, a table, a chair, a closet, and a huge bed. I opened the window and breathed in fresh air. I ran my fingers across the wooden desk, feeling its smooth texture. Then I jumped onto the bed.
It was soft.Too soft.I lay there, lost in thought.
The bartender had done so much for me. My boss too. I hoped with everything in me that he would find his daughters.
Then something clicked. Something felt wrong. It couldn't be a coincidence that I became the phantom's host right after killing the assassin.
"Phantom of Repercussion," I called out.
"Yes, child," he replied, flowing out of my body as purple and black smoke gathered and formed his shape.
"What happened to your previous host?" I asked quietly.
"Why did you kill him?"
Silence.
Then—
"What?" I gasped. "How did you see that?"
"I was observing you from my previous host," he said. "You blinded him with something, then dashed toward him. Everything went blank. Then I saw him dead… from another perspective."
Mine.
"And he was strong?" I asked.
"No," the phantom said. "He was useless—until he paid the price with his blood. As I told you, you give me, I grow stronger. And I help you."
Ahahahahahahaha!
I burst into laughter.
"What is so funny?" the phantom asked.
"Do you know what this means?" I said, jumping up. "I just made a discovery."
I grabbed a pen and paper.
"If I killed him and became your new host," I said slowly, "then I can do this to others. Take their phantoms."
The phantom laughed darkly.
"You were close… but not fully correct."
His form expanded violently, swirling like a hurricane. Everything in the room lifted into the air—furniture, books, even me. I was pulled to the center. He surged into my mouth. Agony ripped through me. My body convulsed. My eyes burned black and red as lightning cracked through the room.
And then I saw it—
The history of the Absolutes.
The division.
The betrayal.
The system of repercussion.
The killing.
The claiming of power.
The fall of those who knew the truth.
And the rise of kings.
The storm stopped. Everything returned to its place. I landed gently on the table.
My book flipped open by itself, stopping on a blank page. Flames of black and red ink wrote across it, revealing a ranking system—from weakest to strongest. And my name was there.
1. Base-leveled people
1.5 Kenji
2. A man of great intelligence
3. A man of immense strength
4. S-rank assassin
5. Knight
5.5 The Regional Emperor
6. A Sorcerer
7. Monsters
8. The Monster King
9. Dragon
10. King
11. Gods
12. The Pope
13. Supreme Forms
14. Angels
15. The Supreme One
The page turned again. To a new page, rem and black flames began to write again.
Rule 1: The System of Repercussion can only work through realization.
"The rules unlock as you learn them," the phantom said.
"This," he continued, "is how you will destroy them all."
I laughed.
"With this, I don't even need politics," I said. "This was the opportunity I was waiting for."
"Those corrupt leaders better watch out."
"Because I'm coming."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
End of chapter 4