Three years passed like a breath held too long.
William learned very quickly that rebirth did not come with mercy.
His body was small, fragile, and stubbornly slow to obey the vast, frantic mind trapped inside it. For the first year, he could do nothing but listen—listen to the cadence of Fantasia's language as it flowed around him, to the hum of mana in the air, to the distant clang of forges and the muted thunder of blade practice echoing through the Blade Domain.
For the second year, he learned to see.
Runes carved into walls were not decorations but living equations of power. The silver-thread curtains in the manor were woven with defensive enchantments strong enough to repel assassins. Even the stone beneath his feet was infused with latent authority, a remnant of Aurelion Blade's presence, as though the Patriarch's will still pressed down on the land long after he left a room.
And by the third year—
By the third year, William learned to think without screaming.
That, perhaps, was the hardest part.
He was three years old now.
A child in body.
A man haunted by six years of obsession, a lifetime of regret, and three thousand years of impending doom.
He stood in the inner courtyard of the Blade Manor, small hands clasped behind his back in a posture far too composed for a toddler. Morning sunlight poured down from the broken-constellation sigil carved into the open ceiling, bathing the courtyard in pale gold. Mana drifted lazily in the air, visible even to untrained eyes like faint motes of dust suspended in water.
William's gaze was fixed on the training ground ahead.
Steel rang against steel.
His eldest brother moved like lightning.
"Astra—shift your stance!"
The voice was firm, controlled, carrying the natural authority of someone born to lead.
Kael Blade.
First son of Aurelion Blade.
At twelve years old, Kael already embodied everything the Blade Family was praised for—and everything it would later lose.
He was tall for his age, with sharp features and eyes the color of tempered iron. His black hair was tied back neatly, not a strand out of place even as he moved. Mana flowed around him smoothly, obediently, responding to his intent with a clarity that made the watching instructors nod in approval.
Talent.
Pure, terrifying talent.
Kael's blade traced a perfect arc through the air, seven successive slashes overlapping into one seamless motion. The air screamed as the technique compressed, then exploded outward in a crescent shockwave that shattered the wooden training dummy into splinters.
A clean execution.
Beginer manifestation of the Seven Infinite Blade Technique.
The courtyard fell briefly silent.
"Well done," one of the elders said. "Your control has improved again."
Kael lowered his sword and exhaled slowly, sweat glistening on his brow. He bowed—not deeply, but respectfully.
"The power and control is still lacking "," he said. "I can feel it. There's… resistance. As if the blade refuses to go further."
The elder chuckled. "You are too impatient. Even reaching one star at the seven infinite blade technique at your age is monstrous. The Patriarch himself—"
"—created this art alone," Kael interrupted, eyes sharp. "Without predecessors. Without legacy. That's exactly why I can't accept its limits so easily."
William's small fingers curled.
He wanted to laugh.
He wanted to scream.
You have no idea how right you are.
Behind him, a soft presence approached.
"Will, you're watching Kael training yet again."
A gentle hand brushed his hair.
He looked up.
Lyra Blade smiled down at him.
His eldest sister.
She was fifteen, already tall and graceful, her features softer than Kael's but no less striking. Where Kael was steel, Lyra was silk-wrapped steel. Her mana was warm, soothing, carrying an almost healing resonance that made servants unconsciously relax when she passed by.
She knelt beside him, adjusting the collar of his robes with practiced ease.
"You'll hurt your head if you keep frowning like that," she said lightly.
William blinked, then forced his expression to relax.
Lyra laughed softly. "There. Much better."
She was kind.
Too kind for this world.
In Echoes of Ruin, Lyra Blade wasn't even mentioned, the only one mentioned in the first few chapters where kael and Aurelion as echoes of past.
William remembered it clearly.
"Big sister," he said, his childish voice still strange in his ears. "Does… does Father worry?"
Lyra paused.
For just a fraction of a second, her smile faltered.
"…About the future?" she asked gently.
William nodded.
She hesitated, then pulled him into a soft embrace, his face pressed against her shoulder.
"Father worries about everything," she said quietly. "That's why he works so hard. That's why he trains Kael and Orion so strictly. That's why he watches over you so closely."
Orion.
At the far edge of the courtyard, a boy sat beneath the shade of a rune-carved pillar, watching Kael's training with narrowed eyes.
Orion Blade.
Second son.
Ten years old.
Ambitious.
Restless.
Dangerous in a way no one acknowledged yet.
Unlike Kael, Orion's talent was not obvious. His mana flow was uneven, his control sloppy compared to his elder brother. But his eyes—his eyes burned with a hunger William recognized all too well.
The hunger to surpass.
Orion noticed William's gaze and smirked, tapping his own temple with a finger.
I see more than you think, that gesture said.
---------------------------------------------------------
Blade manor, Inner chamber
That night, William lay awake in his chamber.
Moonlight filtered through the silver-thread curtains, casting intricate shadows across the stone walls. The hum of mana was quieter here, subdued by layered formations meant to nurture young heirs.
He stared at the ceiling, mind racing.
Three thousand years.
An absurd length of time.
An eternity.
And yet—
He knew better than anyone how fast destiny moved once it began to roll.
The Blade Family's downfall did not come from a single calamity.
It was erosion.
Generation after generation.
Weakening.
Compromise.
False demigods.
William clenched his fists beneath the blanket.
In Fantasia, demigods were not merely powerful beings.
They were acknowledged.
To be a true demigod meant to have one's existence recognized by the World Laws themselves—to wield world laws bestowed by the World authority.
The other three families had thousands of years of such beings.
Refinement upon refinement.
Their ultimate arts were living legacies, perfected by countless hands.
The Blade Family had one.
Aurelion Blade.
One demigod.
One lifetime.
One incomplete art.
When Aurelion eventually reached the end of his lifespan, he would do what all demigods did—transfer his accumulated authority, mana, and bloodline resonance into his successor.
But inheritance was not ascension.
They will never be true demigods, but demigod nonetheless.
Those who inherited could borrow the laws.
They could not command them.
They would be powerful—
But never acknowledged.
Never true.
Never enough.
And so the Seven Infinite Blade Technique stagnated.
Four stars.
Always four.
The fifth star existed only as theory.
Anything beyond that ___
A myth even within the family.
William closed his eyes.
⟨ Infinite Reincarnation System ⟩
⟨ Memory Retention: Absolute ⟩
A curse.
And an opportunity.
"If I don't change this," he whispered to the darkness, "nothing changes."
He had to do what no Blade ever managed.
Perfect the Seven Infinite Blade Technique to 9 stars , two stars higher than the ultimate arts of Skyfall, Everflame and Crown.
Not as a borrower and false demigod.
But as a true demigod.
To do that, he would need acknowledgment from
World Laws and a law bound unique ability,which only a dozen demigods ever got.
Something even the novel never truly fully showed.
William's heartbeat quickened.
He was early.
Painfully early.
Too early for the protagonist.
Too early for the Dark King.
But—
Early enough to rewrite foundations.
Outside his window, the Blade Domain slept.
Towers stood tall.
Banners fluttered softly in the night wind.
A kingdom still whole.
Still proud.
Still ignorant of the long, slow tragedy awaiting it.
Only he will be the witness
__Eternal witness
William stared into the sky, where broken constellations shimmered faintly—symbols of a fate already fractured.
"I don't need to win tomorrow," he murmured. "Or in a hundred years."
He smiled faintly, eyes cold with resolve far beyond his age.
"I just need to last long enough… to become unavoidable."
Far above Fantasia, the World Laws shifted imperceptibly.
Something watched.
Something curious.
The first crack had appeared—
Not in destiny—
But in inevitability.