The memories did not arrive all at once.
They seeped in.
Slow. Reluctant. Like water soaking into old parchment.
Kai stood motionless in the luxurious room, eyes unfocused, as foreign sensations threaded themselves into his mind—emotions that were not his, a life he had never lived.
A name surfaced first.
Karl Valerius Ignisborne.
The Third Prince of the Kingdom of Pride.
One of the Seven Heavenly Kingdoms that ruled the Sin Continent.
The world unfolded piece by piece.
There were two continents beneath the heavens.
The Sin Continent, divided among seven kingdoms—Pride, Wrath, Greed, Sloth, Lust, Envy, and Gluttony—each embodying a vice yet revered as divine in their own way.
And across the seas lay the Grace Continent, ruled not by kings, but by a single, absolute authority.
The Divine Church.
A land that claimed holiness.A land that tolerated no sin.
Even as the knowledge settled, Kai felt something else stir—curiosity sharpened by instinct.
This world was rich in power.
Mana flowed through the air, responding to will and intellect.Qi strengthened flesh and spirit.Chakra circulated through inner pathways, fueling techniques older than history.
And beyond these… there were energies unnamed. Unclassified. Feared.
Karl's body carried one of them.
And that was the problem.
The memory shifted.
A grand hall bathed in golden light.
A newborn's cry echoed as the King of Pride stood tall, crimson cloak draped over broad shoulders, eyes burning with imperial fire.
"This child," the King declared, holding the infant aloft, "shall be named Karl Valerius Ignisborne."
The court applauded.
A prince born of royal blood.A symbol of legacy.
Karl's mother smiled softly from her bed, exhaustion and pride mingling in her eyes. She had been beautiful—calm, warm, and distant from court intrigue.
For a time, Karl had been loved.
Then came the Coming-of-Age Ceremony.
Every royal child underwent it at twelve.
A crystal altar pulsed as Karl placed his hand upon it, heart pounding with hope. The hall was filled with nobles, siblings, and instructors—watching.
Waiting.
The crystal flared.
Then… flickered.
Then went still.
Silence followed.
The elders exchanged looks. Frowns. Confusion.
"No resonance," one murmured.
"No Mana response."
"No Qi circulation."
"No Chakra flow."
Karl's hands trembled.
Then came the final verdict—spoken gently, but heard by all.
"An unabsorbable energy type."
Useless.
The word wasn't said aloud.
It didn't need to be.
From that day onward, Karl's world shrank.
Before that moment, there had been the academy.
That memory came earlier than the ceremony, overlapping strangely—Karl at nine years old, standing atop a high tower, staring at a massive map carved into stone.
The instructor spoke of continents, kingdoms, oceans without end.
Karl remembered the feeling.
Awe.
The world was vast. Endless. Dangerous.
And he had wanted to explore it.
He had wanted to matter.
After the ceremony, his peers stopped calling his name.
His siblings trained harder, growing stronger, brighter, more dangerous. Karl was excluded quietly, efficiently—like an error corrected.
No mockery.
No cruelty.
Just absence.
Then came the news.
Karl was thirteen.
The door to his room opened without ceremony. A servant knelt, head bowed too low.
"Your Highness… the Queen has fallen."
Assassins.
From the Kingdom of Wrath.
Karl remembered the way the words felt unreal, sliding past him like fog. He remembered waiting—for tears, for screams, for something.
Nothing came.
Only a hollow pressure in his chest.
His mother's chambers were sealed. Her presence erased.
And with her death, Karl vanished completely.
From then on, the Third Prince lived like a ghost.
No one watched him.No one guided him.
Which meant no one stopped him either.
He locked himself in his chambers, surrounded by books, fragments, theories. He studied energy systems that others dismissed. He tested his own body endlessly.
His energy did not absorb.
It resisted.
It repelled Mana, Qi, Chakra alike—like a void wrapped in flesh.
Weakness, they said.
Karl thought differently.
If it existed… it had a purpose.
Years passed.
He grew thin. Pale. Obsessed.
And then he found it.
An otherworldly flower, obtained through channels even he didn't fully understand. A bloom said to reshape the soul itself—too dangerous for normal cultivators.
Karl didn't hesitate.
He consumed it quietly, alone in his room.
There was no pain.
No explosion of power.
He simply lay down… and slept.
And while his body continued to breathe, his soul faded—gently, completely—leaving the vessel empty.
That was when Kai arrived.
The memories ended.
Kai exhaled slowly.
He understood now.
Karl hadn't been weak.
He had been incompatible with this world.
And Kai?
Kai smiled faintly.
"Incompatible systems," he murmured within his thoughts.
"This can be interesting."
He looked again at the unfamiliar face in the mirror—not with shock, but appraisal.
A forgotten prince.A body no one wanted.An energy no one could use.
Perfect odds.
And Kai had never lost when the odds were this bad.
Kai reached into the memories once more.
Not searching.
Confirming.
Matthew had not stayed by Karl's side.
After pledging loyalty, they had barely met.
The knight remained outside the prince's life—watching from a distance, answering only when summoned, fulfilling the bare minimum of obligation required to keep his oath intact.
There had been only one exception.
One request.
Karl, standing in this very room, thin and pale from sleepless nights, surrounded by scattered notes and failed experiments.
Stay close, he had said quietly.If something goes wrong… help me.
When this is over, you're free.
Matthew had agreed.
Not because he cared.
But because the bargain was clean.
And then Karl had died—softly, unnoticed—his soul fading while his body slept.
The call had never come.
Until now.
"Matthew" Kai called out.
The door opened almost immediately.
Matthew stepped inside.
He did not bow.
He did not kneel.
He stood tall, armor scarred and worn, Sword Qi restrained but ever-present, like a blade kept sheathed out of courtesy rather than necessity.
His gaze swept the room—books, diagrams, remnants of obsession—before settling on Kai.
Arrogance lingered in his eyes.
Not loud.
Earned.
"You called," Matthew said. No honorific. No respect. "Speak."
Kai turned to face him.
"You're free."
The words landed without weight.
Matthew blinked once.
Then frowned.
"Okay." he said flatly.
Kai moved to the table and picked up a small, sealed vial—unremarkable at first glance, its contents faintly shimmering, refusing to settle.
"I found something," Kai said. "During my research."
Matthew's eyes narrowed.
"Something that doesn't follow the rules of Mana, Qi, or Chakra," Kai continued. "Something that doesn't need to be absorbed."
Matthew took a step forward before he realized it.
Kai noticed.
"It reacts to intent," Kai said. "To motion. To speed."
Silence filled the room.
Matthew stared at the vial now—not at Kai.
"You're offering this," he said slowly, "to me?"
"Yes."
"For what?"
Kai smiled faintly.
"A gamble."
Matthew scoffed. "I don't gamble."
"You do," Kai replied. "Every time you draw your sword."
That earned a thin smile from the knight.
Kai set the vial down.
"A simple contest," he said. "Speed."
Matthew crossed his arms. "Against you?"
"Yes."
A beat.
Matthew laughed—short, dismissive.
"You wouldn't last a breath."
"Probably not," Kai agreed easily. "That's why the odds favor you."
That… gave Matthew pause.
"If you win," Kai said, "you take this. And you leave. Free. Stronger than you've ever been."
"And if I lose?"
Kai met his gaze.
"Then you stay," he said. "Until I release you."
Silence.
Matthew looked at Kai—not the fragile prince he remembered, not the trash the court had ignored.
Something had shifted.
Not power.
Intent.
"…Interesting," Matthew muttered.
His eyes flicked back to the vial.
Then to Kai.
Then back again.
He smiled.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly.
Hungrily.
"When?" he asked.
Kai smiled back.
"Now."
Kai smiled back.
"Now."
For a brief moment, neither of them moved.
The room felt smaller—compressed by intent rather than walls. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching dust motes in the air, turning them into drifting sparks. The table between them suddenly felt like a boundary line rather than furniture.
Kai placed the vial at the center of the table.
Up close, it was stranger than it had seemed in his hand. The liquid inside did not settle. It folded in on itself, rippling as though resisting stillness, reacting faintly to movement nearby.
Matthew's gaze sharpened.
"Rules," he said.
"Simple," Kai replied. "Whoever drinks it first wins."
Matthew snorted softly. "You're serious?"
"Yes."
Matthew looked at the distance between them. At his own body—honed by years of combat, muscles trained for explosive speed. Then at Kai—slender, untrained, standing far too calmly.
"This isn't a gamble," Matthew said. "It's charity."
Kai didn't argue.
Instead, he stepped back.
"Positioning matters," he said. "You start outside the room."
Matthew's brow furrowed. "Outside?"
"The door stays open," Kai continued evenly. "You move when I say start. No sword. No Qi. No killing intent."
Matthew laughed outright now. "Okay, as you wish."
Matthew rolled his shoulders once, loosening muscles out of habit. "Very well," he said. "I'll humor you."
He turned and walked out, boots heavy against the stone floor. He stopped just beyond the threshold, body angled forward, coiled like a drawn bow.
Kai remained by the table.
As he waited, his thoughts drifted—not to fear, but clarity.
Karl had chased strength blindly.
Kai had never done that.
He chased windows.
Moments where certainty cracked.
Where arrogance created openings.
The door stood open.
The vial shimmered.
Kai raised his gaze.
"Start."
And the air itself seemed to tighten, as if the world leaned forward to see who would blink first.