Time had no mercy. Five years passed like shadows stretching across cracked walls. In the world, I appeared as a normal orphan, a fragile, small child no one paid much attention to. But inside, I was twenty-one years old, sharper and colder than anyone who crossed my path could imagine.
I had survived in the orphanage by becoming invisible. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I didn't make friends. I observed. I calculated. Every child who screamed, every adult who scolded, every petty rule enforced—none of it touched me. I had no weakness. Vulnerability was a tool, but I refused to wield it for anyone but myself.
And throughout these years, my puppets—Arthur and Lancelot—had grown with me. They were still blocky, still stiff, still ugly to any outside eye. But they obeyed perfectly. That obedience was the only thing that mattered. Every slight tweak of cursed energy, every subtle mental command, made them more responsive, more alive, more dangerous.
The Life of an Orphan
The orphanage was a prison of mediocrity and misery. The children were loud, selfish, and weak. They fought over scraps of food, screamed for attention, and cried when punished. Most adults were indifferent or cruel. I learned quickly that the world would not care for me. It never had, and it never would.
So I adapted.
I avoided trouble, studied the movements of the staff, memorized the habits of the other children, and scavenged scraps to survive. My mind cataloged every opportunity, every weakness, every possible advantage. If someone blocked a path, I noted it. If a child cried, I noted it. If a rat scurried, I considered it for experimentation. Nothing was meaningless. Everything was a lesson.
And yet, despite the monotony of the orphanage, I had power. Small, hidden, but undeniably mine. Puppet Sovereignty pulsed faintly in my chest, a low hum of potential. My puppets followed my every thought, a silent army in embryonic form. Arthur's blocky golden frame and Lancelot's jagged black figure were crude, yes, but they were obedient. That obedience meant they were already weapons—and weapons obeying were already dangerous.
Testing Limits in Secret
Every day, after the staff had gone and the other children had fallen asleep, I trained. My tiny hands pulsed with cursed energy, stretching the limits of my puppets' movements. Arthur could now lift and swing small crates with more precision, Lancelot's shadow pulses were slightly sharper and more directed. They weren't impressive, not yet, but they were evolving.
I experimented with timing and coordination. One puppet would strike to distract while the other executed the actual attack. I forced them to move in patterns, testing their reflexes and obedience. Each failed attempt was logged in my mind. Each success was noted and refined.
Sometimes I let small creatures—rats, stray birds, even the occasional weaker curse—wander into my testing area. They were not threats, only practice. I forced my puppets to strike, absorb, and learn the flow of energy from a real target. Over time, their attacks became sharper, faster, more precise. Obedience alone was no longer enough; they had to begin learning instinctively.
Ruthlessness Refined
I did not cry. I did not wish for friends. I did not imagine a happy childhood. I was Von, and this world was a tool to be used. Other children cried when hurt. I smiled faintly when they stumbled, noting how pain shaped their reactions. I avoided every trap, every emotional snare, every attempt to manipulate me.
I was already two steps ahead of everyone, always calculating. Every action, every observation, every tiny success in manipulating cursed energy, built toward something bigger. My puppets were growing, yes, but I was growing faster. My mind was sharper, my instincts deadlier, my patience infinite.
Foreshadowing the Tenfold Pact
It was during one of these secret training sessions that the idea came to me. If I could create ten puppets… ten obedient soldiers, each capable of following my every command… what if I could make them stronger? Special Grade powerful? What if I could pour everything into ten perfect warriors, no wasted energy, no wasted life?
I didn't need to cry to dream of power. I didn't need to beg to desire it. I simply calculated. Ten puppets. Maximum power. Maximum obedience. A single binding vow. My mind raced with possibilities.
One day… one day, they will be perfect. One day, they will be unstoppable. And one day, the world will fear Von.
The thought wasn't childish. It wasn't naive. It was cold, precise, tactical. I had five years of survival under my belt, and every mistake I had seen, every weakness I had avoided, would shape the soldiers I would one day command.
Arthur and Lancelot stood at my side, blocky, awkward, crude—but alive. And obedient. That obedience was the seed of something far greater. I could feel it.
A Taste of Combat
One evening, a small curse wandered too close to the orphanage. Weak, insignificant, yet alive. Perfect for practice. I directed Arthur to strike, Lancelot to assist. The movements were clumsy but effective. The curse collapsed into fragments.
I didn't feel joy. I didn't feel satisfaction. I simply noted the result. Timing, positioning, energy flow, reaction speed—all logged and analyzed. My puppets had obeyed perfectly. They were learning. They were evolving.
They will consume, they will obey, they will grow.
Even now, I could sense the potential buried within them. The Tenfold Pact, the first Binding Vow, was still a plan, still a concept. But I could see the path clearly. Ten puppets. Maximum obedience. Maximum power. Special Grade soldiers, shaped by cursed energy and bound to me alone.
The World Doesn't Matter
I had no family. I had no friends. I had no hope. I didn't need any of it. The world was irrelevant. Only power mattered. Only control mattered. Only obedience mattered.
I was Von. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I didn't flinch. And no one, no one would ever dictate terms to me again.
The world would learn my name. And they would fear it.
Five years in an orphanage had not made me soft. It had made me precise, cold, and patient. Arthur and Lancelot were still crude, still ugly, still basic—but they obeyed perfectly. And obedience, in my mind, was everything.
The Tenfold Pact was coming. My puppets would evolve. My enemies would learn. And I would not stop.
I had been reborn. Weak in body, but my mind, my cursed energy, my puppets—these were already weapons.
This is only the beginning