The long-anticipated day arrived with thunderous excitement.
The Blessing Ceremony—a rite of passage for all children of noble lineage upon reaching the age of twelve—was the grandest of occasions in House Wynthorne. It was the day a child would step into their destiny, their true abilities revealed under the gaze of the gods themselves. For House Wynthorne, whose fire magic was among the most feared and respected in the entire kingdom, this was not just tradition; it was legacy.
My father made sure of that.
Our estate bustled with activity as the ceremonial carriage was prepared. Decorated in gold filigree and draped with our house's crimson banners, it stood waiting under the marble archway of the manor's entrance. Courtiers and nobles filled the grounds, whispering and smiling in anticipation. They all expected another powerful fire mage to rise—another torchbearer of the Wynthorne name.
I, however, sat in silence inside the carriage, my hands resting on my lap, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
Was today the day?
Would the gift the gods promised finally awaken?
The journey to the central cathedral of the capital felt like an eternity. People lined the roads, waving as we passed. Children cheered. Bards sang praises of House Wynthorne's glory. I felt the weight of every expectation in the air pressing against my chest.
When we arrived, the cathedral's towering white spires glistened in the morning sun. Banners of every noble house fluttered in the breeze, and holy bells rang overhead. I stepped out to a sea of applause. My family stood proudly—my father in his formal military uniform, my mother in a flowing white gown, my siblings dressed as nobility demanded.
I took my place at the center of the dais as the priest raised his arms. The crowd quieted.
"Let the heavens bear witness!" he proclaimed. "Today, the twelfth birthday of young Master Nathaniel Carter Wynthorne, heir to the flame of House Wynthorne, shall reveal his divine calling!"
I knelt. The priest placed a hand on my head.
"Appraisal," he murmured, invoking the spell.
And the world vanished.
Darkness. Again.
But this time, I wasn't alone.
Golden lights flickered around me. Celestial figures emerged—tall, radiant, divine. The same beings who had spoken to me once before.
"You have done well, Nathaniel," they said in gentle chorus.
"You said I would receive a gift," I said, surprised at how calm my voice sounded.
"And you shall. As promised. In compensation for your untimely death in the other world, we bestow upon you not one, but all our blessings."
Light swirled around me, faster and faster until it pierced into my body.
"The Gift of Infinite Mana," they intoned. "The Blessing of Every Element. The Craft of Every Trade. The Sword of Every Class. The Eyes of Truth. The Soul of Invention."
I could feel it—the surge of knowledge, power, connection—rushing through every nerve.
"You are our apology and our legacy. Live well, Nathaniel Carter."
I came to with a gasp.
The priest staggered, blinking. "Appraisal!" he tried again, and this time, a golden panel appeared before him, visible to the crowd.
[Appraisal Result: Production Skill - Level MAX, Craft Skill - Level MAX]
Murmurs rippled through the cathedral. The priest squinted, confused. "That can't be right… he's… a craftsman?"
My father's face contorted in fury.
"No fire magic?" he demanded. "No flame? No Wynthorne bloodline inheritance?"
The priest shook his head, stammering. "Th-These were the only skills I could see… I-I must apologize. My appraisal skill is not of high tier…"
But it was too late.
My father's face twisted with rage. In a single motion, he marched forward and punched me across the face.
The world spun as I hit the cathedral floor, blood trickling from my lip.
"You disgrace this family!" he roared. "You are banished!"
"Father!" my younger brother cried out. "Don't! He's still a child!"
My sister—the second daughter, Everia—stepped forward, defiance in her eyes. "If you must cast him out, then at least let him be useful! Send him to that village—Silvershade. It has no lord. Let him manage it. You say he's a craftsman? Then make him build something out of nothing!"
My father stared at her, lips curled. "Fine. But he is no Wynthorne. He will not carry our name. He is a stain. An embarrassment. Remove him from my sight."
No farewell.
No escort.
I was thrown into a carriage—alone, without even a servant—and sent off like a package.
The path veered away from the capital, through wild, ungoverned lands. By nightfall, we neared a thick forest. A knight opened the carriage door.
"Out," he barked.
"But this isn't the village," I said. "This is a monster-infested forest."
"Yeah," he sneered. "We figured it'd suit a freak like you. Good luck, 'Lord of the Sticks.'"
They laughed and rode off, leaving me there in the dark.
Abandoned.
Anger. Shame. Rage.
It boiled over.
"AAAHHHHH!" I screamed into the sky.
And the sky answered.
A vortex of energy erupted from within me. Light spiraled into the heavens. Trees bent under the weight of raw power. The air crackled.
[System Notice: Awakening Complete. Jack-of-All-Trades Skill Activated.]
[Host now possesses every Class and every Element at Demi-God Level.]
[Mana Pool: Infinite.]
I could feel it. The flow of magic. The weight of the earth. The clarity of wind. The burn of flame. The embrace of shadow. I wasn't just a craftsman—I was everything.
"I'll show them," I growled. "That damn father of mine... You'll regret everything!"
I raised my hand, and a beam of pure light exploded from my palm. It streaked into the forest, hitting a dragon that had just emerged from the trees.
BOOM!
It collapsed.
More monsters surged forward. I moved without thinking.
Light. Fire. Ice. Shadow. Steel. Wind. Earth. Thunder.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
All of them fell in one strike each. My body moved like a seasoned warrior, spells crafting themselves as if I'd trained in them for decades.
In the nearby village of Silvershade, the people looked toward the forest in horror. A beam of energy like divine wrath lit the sky.
"What in the gods' name was that?!" someone cried.
Back in the woods, the ground shook. A monstrous roar echoed—and then, it stopped.
A great, ancient dragon hovered in the air. Its scales shimmered like silver obsidian. Its eyes locked on mine.
"Y-You…" it muttered. "You're not ordinary… you're a monster... No—a being above us all."
It descended slowly.
"Please… Please tame me!" the dragon king said, bowing its head.
I stood in silence, still panting, bloodied, clothes torn.
A child.
Alone.
And yet, a storm of power raged inside me.
To be continued...