There had been rumors spreading like a malignant frost that I was dying, that I would never again leave my room.
The world firmly believed I would simply perish before my marriage. Fools, every single one of them.
In my kingdom, monsters exist, not born from the Darkness, but from the primordial Depths, a place of profound immersion beneath reality's surface, a sunken realm where existence itself grows twisted and obscure.
Any creature from that abyss is inherently vile, tainted by the Darkness yet distinct from it, an echo of corruption rather than its origin.
My fingers gripped my sword tightly as the trees around me began to thin.
We are a northern nation of trees and snow, where monsters dwell within ancient forests and frozen lands, lurking in roots older than dynasties.
[Nicholas was going hunting. For obvious reasons, this was a bad idea.]
I lifted my blade and smiled brightly, the light glinting faintly across its edge. "Do you think I will die?"
[Nicholas spoke to himself in a mocking tone. It is important to note he was not talking to his weapon.]
So it would never acknowledge itself, almost as if it were not real. I see now that this voice may be more than a narrator whispering within the corridors of my mind.
While mana governs reality itself, I can manipulate infons sparingly, the fundamental essence of memory, theory, and the invisible ledger of existence.
They coexist with spiritrons, the fundamental energy of the soul, tied to the very idea of being.
Mana, which forms reality, stands above both of these concepts like a sovereign above vassals.
I realized all of this only after being cursed.
[Nicholas spoke as if informed, though he was merely thinking aloud.]
Saying it like that makes it sound as if I were wrong. I was not.
With the manipulation of infons, I can erase any information about my existence from reality itself. It is how I managed to escape.
Any given person could manipulate this information matter, It really all depends on the walls which bind you, and the methods you face.
Without infons, there is no information, no thought, no memory, it is the very threads that all beings rely upon to define their identity.
Regalia that triumph over all three, mana, infons, and spiritrons, can manipulate each at will, ascending beyond the normal constraints of existence.
My father taught me the rudiments of this truth.
Manipulating mana is magic.
Manipulating infons is defining.
And spiritrons are the essence of life itself, the force that grants soul and consciousness.
[A man, who was ultimately a fool.]
I chuckled as the woods finally cleared before me, the snow glinting faintly and the cold air biting at my skin.
The sky was a clear blue, dotted with clouds drifting lazily across the horizon. The grass beneath me was dark and tainted, yet stubbornly flourishing with life.
My sword, forged in a ritual of self-loathing, began to cry out softly, a faint whimper of its name, etched deep into my being like a scar.
One might assume I would unwrap it fully, but doing so would be unbearable. I am far too weak to wield such a weapon.
My strength, when using it, is more akin to a sapling trying to stand beside a colossal ancient tree.
In that regard, the monster before me trembled faintly at its presence.
It resembled a bear, a great mane surrounding its head, jagged teeth peeking from its maw, mana swirling like storm clouds around its form.
Its red eyes seemed to weep, fur beneath them growing paler with each silent tear.
This was a Red Crying, one of the rare monsters worthy of being called dangerous.
Protected by the forest and blessed by the first king, monsters unfit for battle are barred from entering these sanctums.
It was clear this would not be the last monster on my path. Not that I wished to avoid them. In truth, I welcomed them all, ready for any who came to slay me.
The beast lunged, claws raking at my chest, and I flipped backward, sliding across the blood-dampened grass.
Blood dripped from its lips as it leapt again, sinking its teeth into my shoulder. I clenched my jaw and pushed against its back, my muscles straining.
Then I shifted, standing atop its spine as my sword plunged deep into its flesh.
Blood splattered from my mouth as I stumbled off. The beast swung with brutal force and knocked me into the dirt.
I tumbled until its claws tore into my torso, pinning me firmly to the ground. The Red Crying roared with such ferocity that my bones rattled.
[Nicholas was surprised by what unfolded before him, almost as if he had forgotten how weak he truly was.]
I blinked. Once more, I stumbled past the monster, this time with no wounds.
I leaned against my blade, taking a breath, and turned to see the beast staring at me, confused.
It was the one downside to my ability. Sadly, I do not change the timeline. What I do is shift the shape of what occurred, altering only what time permits.
Even if I wished to ascend above time and erase their memory of the event, it would be useless. The soul remembers what the flesh forgets.
Because of that, it is better to strike at the being itself rather than what it recalls.
To that end, any creature bound by the shadow of the world is subject to my power.
I lifted my blade and sighed, feeling the weight of inevitability on my shoulders. "Alright, well, I cannot do that anymore. So we have to fight for real this time."
It charged, blood congealing around its form. Small orbs hovered through the air, pulsing faintly like drifting hearts.
I chuckled, weaving to the right and dodging its attempt to devour me, then ducked beneath a shrieking orb. I spun, narrowly avoiding another as the monster lunged with jaws wide open.
I shoved my hand between its teeth and ripped one out, mana wrapping around my fist to shield it as I braced for the bite. A beam of blood pierced my leg. I gasped and coughed as pain surged through my body.
I slammed the creature into the earth, raising my sword in a single, sharp arc, splitting the monster in two.
The orbs fell with it, scattering across the clearing. Instantly, my body began to cultivate passively, taking in the massive load of mana that ground against my insides like shards of glass.
I dropped back, staring up at the sky, then chuckled. "Well, it seems my blade is strong."
[Nicholas is arrogant.]
Looking back at the monster and its pitiful state, I shook my head. I stood, brushed myself off, and poured the last of my mana into closing my wounds. Wiping the blood from my mouth, I turned, only to see a tree sentinel walking toward me.
It carried a spear forged from twisted roots, its eyes dripping golden sap. Its humanoid shape might fool some into believing it was kind. But those bastards were anything but.
A chilling scream tore from its melted teeth, and many more figures emerged from the darkened trees.
I looked down at my trembling arm as the mark began to emerge once again. Holding it back, I glanced up with a smile. "Hey. It's my first time. Go slow."
[Nicholas was coping with his current position. He was about to die.]
I took a single step, and they all vanished, leaving behind only pools of golden sap where they once stood.
Die? It seemed this voice was not all-knowing, more like a passive observer of the events unfolding before me.
Mirabel appeared on the horizon, a silver sword in hand, clad in white light armor, an expression of annoyance etched across her face.
"You wanted to come out alone and almost died within the hour," she said, stepping forward and pressing a finger into my chest.
I shrugged and smiled, not missing a beat. "I knew my beloved would save me from any fate that tried to seal itself upon me."
"Do not test my patience, Nick," she warned, gaze sharp.
I grinned. "I might crumble from your touch. Please, hold yourself back."
Sheathing her blade, she glanced at the battlefield. "Why did you not use magic?"
I covered my mouth, coughing begrudgingly. "My mana reserves are not very high, my love."
She gave me a disappointed look. "You have may have even more mana than I do. It is that illness of yours that fails you."
I coughed again and let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, how the sick may scream."