Chapter 270: Cold Flesh, Burning Core

The lord was certainly different from any boy his age.

Mio couldn’t help but think that, after everything.

At first, Azriel had reluctantly accepted her proposal to rest here. The first day passed by peacefully, quietly. She was relieved when he eventually told her his name.

Then came the second day.

Then the third.

Then days turned into a week.

And now, a few weeks had gone by.

Azriel’s routine remained the same—three things, over and over again:

Eat.

Absorb the mana in the air.

Sleep.

Despite Mio warning him repeatedly to let his mana core rest, Azriel refused to listen. If one were to say Azriel was a good house guest, it would be a lie. But that didn’t mean he was a bad one either. He didn’t cause trouble, not really. He even created an ice bed—earning another scolding from Mio, so she could have her own bed again.

He just didn’t speak much. Unless it was necessary.

...The boy with only one eye seemed to be holding back a storm of emotions.

Impatience clung to him like a second skin.

And yet, in many ways, he was clueless about the world. Mio had taken it upon herself to teach him what she could. She didn’t mind. In fact, it felt... important.

Still, she couldn’t help but look at him with concern.

The fact that he had even ended up at her doorstep meant one thing, at least to her—

He was kind.

Everything about him seemed to deny that. The way he stared with that cold eye. The aura of violence that trailed after him like a shadow. The silence. The scars.

It made her pity him.

Not because of his injuries.

Not because of how fragile he looked, even now.

Just pity—deep, aching.

And speaking of injuries...

Even after all this time, his recovery was far from complete.

His "blessed veins"—or soul veins, as he called them—were slowly healing. His internal wounds had begun to mend. But his mana core... it was still far too fragile.

And she had made a mistake.

She’d assumed he had somehow overcome the effects of the dark basilisk blood already—a miracle in her eyes, though perhaps not impossible for a child of a god.

But there was one place she hadn’t checked when Azriel was unconscious those long two months ago.

The pocketknife.

It had been coated in the blood of the basilisk. Somehow, it hadn’t dissolved. Somehow, Azriel had survived being stabbed by it—right in the eye.

But that wasn’t what terrified Mio.

What terrified her was the possibility that the blood of the dark basilisk was still inside Azriel’s head.

There was nothing she could do now.

Nothing but hope.

Hope that whatever force had helped purge the blood from the rest of his body... would do the same inside his skull.

Because if Azriel was suffering... if he was in pain...

Then he was an extraordinarily good actor.

As far as she could tell, only three things still kept him from walking out of the forest on his own:

The poison that might still be in his head.

His missing left thumb.

And the right eye he had lost to that blade.

Though, if she was being honest, Mio doubted even a child of a god could regrow something like that.

And so, in all honesty—if she was honest with herself...

Azriel had recovered enough to leave.

If he wanted to.

*****

’It’s cold.’

"Hoo..."

’My body is so cold.’

"Hoo..."

’To think that the blood of a dark basilisk would mess me up this badly.’

Azriel released another deep breath.

...It was his fault.

All of it.

’I should have known. Even though I’ve said it countless times—the book isn’t reliable. Even though I went out of my way to make sure the future wasn’t something anyone could know anymore... even after everything that’s happened... I thought this was the one thing. The one fixed event no one could change. No human, no void creature, no god.’

But Azriel was wrong.

The first appearance of the scenarios... No matter where—Earth or the Void Realm—if you were chosen, you were chosen.

Participation wasn’t optional.

It was a curse.

Naturally, the main cast of the book had been chosen.

Azriel knew that.

He had always known this day would come.

But still... he had hoped.

That maybe—just maybe—this one thing would stay the same. Like in the book.

It was something even the gods hadn’t touched. Something untouched by fate, beyond the reach of humans or void creatures.

But he was wrong.

Royal Revolution.

He had never heard of it before. Not in the book. Not anywhere.

Which, in itself, was fine.

Azriel had made peace with walking blind through the unknown.

It was just—

’

I miscalculated.’

No, that’s wrong. That’s not even what mattered. It shouldn’t have.

He... what was he...

...he...

’Ah, right... I simply miscalculated.’

No...

That didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if the scenario changed.

If something unexpected happened...

...he didn’t hope.

He... he...

What was he...

He...

Right...

A stupid mistake.

No...

He...

’I should’ve known better.’

He hadn’t expected to be hit with the most absurd opponent right from the start.

An immortal.

Split personalities.

A key figure in the Revolutionary Army.

Affinity with space.

And somehow—somehow—they’d found a way to coat their weapons with dark basilisk blood.

Pierre de Corvalin.

"Hoo..."

Azriel wasn’t going to let this go.

He couldn’t.

He wasn’t going to lose again.

’...My mind feels like it’s tearing apart... constantly...’

For all the mental strength [Soul’s Crucible] gave him—

It wasn’t absolute.

It had limits.

And right now, those limits were being tested.

The skill was working overtime, muting the agony he should have been feeling.

To Azriel, his body simply felt heavy. Drained. Numb.

But that numbness came at a cost.

[Soul’s Crucible] was burning itself—

And in the strain, cracks were starting to show.

And through those cracks...

Azriel began to understand its true purpose.

’Did the Goddess of Death give me [Soul’s Crucible] because of this?’

Did she give it to him not as a weapon...

...but as a cage?

Because without [Soul’s Crucible], his mind would have already shattered.

The memories. The knowledge. The sheer pressure.

It was [Soul’s Crucible] keeping him sane. Holding him together all this time.

And now... It was breaking, trying to hold back the pain from the blood of a dark basilisk, trying to keep his thoughts clear, trying to keep him—Azriel—intact.

Thanks to [Eidolon Flesh], Azriel was left with only a few external injuries: the ugly scar, a missing eye, and the absence of his left thumb. It was likely that [Eidolon Flesh] had also repaired internal damage he hadn’t even been aware of—injuries caused by the Dark Basilisk’s blood. Even now, it was still working. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that [Eidolon Flesh] was fighting just as hard as [Soul’s Crucible].

Even though Azriel still had no idea why health potions didn’t work in this world, at the very least, [Eidolon Flesh] could be considered a worthy substitute. In fact, it might be fair to call it a crude imitation of what one would gain upon becoming a Master—slow regeneration of damaged body parts, and... the cosmetic upgrade that came with it.

’My body’s still cold...’

Yet he could feel the heat radiating from his mana core.

It was strange. Familiar and unfamiliar at once.

That spell—

What spell had he used to escape?

’Is this what Xian Feng meant by instinctively starting to remember? Does that include spells too...?’

"Hoo..."

In the end, Azriel let out another breath and opened his eye.

The fireplace crackled in front of him.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, sweat clinging to his bare upper body, breath uneven.

The mana, which had been slowly gravitating toward him—stilled.

’I shouldn’t let my guard down anymore.’

That, Azriel swore.

That woman... Lady Mio.

Even if he wanted to, he simply couldn’t trust her.

She had been kind—far too kind.

She’d saved his life. He owed her for that.

And yet...

Azriel couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to trust her.

Not in this world.

Not when everything around him was unfamiliar.

...At the very least, she had helped him make some sense of it.

The Kingdom of Isymr.

According to her, it was divided into three concentric circles: the Golden Circle, the White Circle, and the Black Circle.

The Golden Circle stood at the heart of Isymr—the capital.

There, the royal family resided, along with having the five duke households and the most prominent nobles—those born with mana cores.

The White Circle surrounded the capital. It housed other nobles, along with the wealthy merchant class.

And then there was the Black Circle—the farthest ring.

They called it the outskirts.

But in truth, it made up most of Isymr’s landmass.

That was where the commoners lived.

The peasants.

The forgotten.

Azriel was currently in the infamous Forest of Eternity, south of Isymr—just beyond the Black Circle’s border.

A place of myth, or nightmare.

The forest stretched endlessly across the southern region like a living wall.

No one dared explore beyond it.

Not unless they had a death wish.

Calling Isymr a kingdom felt like an understatement to Azriel.

To the west lay the ocean.

To the north and east, other kingdoms.

Kingdoms that Isymr had been slowly—and steadily—waging war against.

And winning.

One by one, it was conquering them.

Devouring them.

Soon, it wouldn’t be wrong to call it an empire.

There was another truth Azriel had learned. One he had long suspected.

But hearing it from Lady Mio’s own lips gave it weight.

Not everyone in this world was born with a mana core.

There was only a 50% chance of being born with one—unless the child’s parents both had cores.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

It was that commoners—even if born with a mana core—were strictly forbidden from using mana at all.

Only nobles were allowed to wield mana.

Even then, they were restricted.

Nobles in the Golden Circle could begin training at the age of twelve.

Nobles in the White Circle had to wait until they turned sixteen.

And everyone outside the White Circle?

They were forbidden. Absolutely.

If they disobeyed, they would be killed.

Knowing all this now... having heard it straight from Lady Mio’s own mouth...

It only made Azriel more suspicious of her.

Why would an old woman live beyond the Black Circle?

Why in the Forest of Eternity, of all places?

How had she survived here?

What was her connection to the so-called Guardian of the Forest she’d once mentioned—and never again?

...Who was she?

As these thoughts ran through his mind, her voice called out from behind him.

"My lord, since you’ve recovered enough... shall we take a walk to a nearby village?"