The morning mist clung to the stones of the courtyard like silent ghosts, the kind that watched, listened, and remembered. Beneath the great hall, far from noble eyes and politics, the training basement hummed with raw power.
Ray stood alone, his back to the stairs, watching the skill board embedded into the obsidian wall. The arcane glyphs shimmered faintly, pulsing like a second heartbeat. His eyes, golden and sharp, reflected the names glowing on the panel.
Red – Initiate of Blood.
Behind him, soft footsteps echoed. Leah, her red cloak trailing like spilled ink, descended the final step.
"You summoned me," she said, still wary. The echo of her disbelief at being chosen had not left her entirely.
Ray didn't turn. "Yes," he replied simply. Then, after a pause: "Do you still wonder why?"
She hesitated. "You said... I'd know when fate arrives."
He finally turned to face her. "And you will. But fate doesn't come like a storm. It waits in corners, hides in shadows. What you become will call it forward."
She frowned. "And what if it doesn't come?"
Ray smiled faintly, not cruelly, but with a quiet kind of weight. "Then make it come."
He tapped the board. "This is yours now. A skill board calibrated to your blood, your mind, your will. Choose carefully. It won't forgive greed."
Leah approached the board, her fingers hovering over the glyphs. It was alive—breathing, responding, judging. The words danced across it:
Flicker Step – short-range movement burst
Vein Piercer – a strike that seeks weakness
Crimson Veil – short-term invisibility after being wounded
Blood Echo – enhances power based on nearby suffering
She hesitated. Then, she pressed on Vein Piercer and Crimson Veil. The board burned her palms in approval. She gasped.
Ray turned away. "The basement is yours for practice. You have seven days."
---
The days passed like lightning and thunder in silent skies. Leah trained furiously, each hour stretching her beyond herself. Her skin bruised. Her muscles screamed. Her soul frayed. Yet she did not stop.
At Ray's side, White watched silently, arms folded, his dragon Ika lazily curled in a far corner.
"Will she make it?" Ray asked.
White shrugged. "If she survives herself, yes."
Ray nodded. "Teach her control. Power without discipline is just noise."
White walked down into the pit. His voice was calm, but cutting. "Red. You're bleeding wrong."
Leah looked up, panting. "Bleeding… wrong?"
"You bleed. That's fine. But bleeding without turning it into fire? That's weakness."
He threw a dagger at her. She caught it. Barely.
"Now learn to bleed like a blade."
---
On the seventh night, Ray summoned her again. She had changed. Her stance had weight. Her eyes burned quieter, deeper. Like coals instead of flames.
"I'm ready," she said.
Ray handed her a scroll. It was sealed in black wax, the emblem of a single crimson cross stamped upon it.
"A mission?" she asked.
Ray nodded. "Your first."
He walked past her, stood by the stairs. "She's a servant. Loyal to the palace, but her eyes have been on me too long. She's Rank Two."
Leah blinked. "That's higher than me."
"Exactly," Ray said. "This is not about rank. This is about silence. Assassins don't fight strength. They end it."
Leah unrolled the scroll. A picture. A name. A schedule.
Ray's voice grew quiet. "You only get one chance. Don't fight her. Don't try to prove anything. Just kill her."
She gripped the scroll tightly.
"And if I fail?"
"Then the 13 Crosses were never meant for you."
She didn't flinch. "Understood."
As she walked up the stairs, White whistled low. "You're really sending her against Rank Two?"
Ray didn't respond at first. Then:
"Every Cross must be baptized. Not in water. Not in fire. But in blood."
As Leah disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, Ray remained still, staring at the torchlit wall in front of him. A faint, amused breath left his lips.
White stepped forward, arms folded, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "You're gambling with a girl's life."
Ray turned, his eyes sharp like polished steel. "And you think I don't gamble with yours?"
White snorted, "Please. I'm not the one sent to die on my first mission."
"No," Ray said calmly, "You're the one I'm sending to build an empire."
White blinked. "What?"
Ray crossed the room to him. "Don't be too arrogant. You've stepped into the Ember Core realm now. One of the sacred stages of cultivation in this world. You're not just a fighter anymore."
He looked him directly in the eye. "You're a core. A pillar."
White narrowed his eyes, "So what do you want from me?"
"I want intelligence. I want information. I want whispers and rumors before they become threats." Ray's tone shifted, the way it always did when plans were unraveling in his mind. "And to control intelligence, you must control the people. The citizens. Their homes. Their drinks. Their stories."
A pause.
"Start with the bars."
White raised an eyebrow. "Bars?"
Ray grinned. "Name it: 13 Brothers. Establish it in the city. Keep it subtle. Let it grow."
"You want me to run a tavern?"
"No. I want you to run the underground."
He tossed a pouch forward. It landed with a thud, spilling slightly open—bright glowing shards shimmered inside, radiating spiritual energy.
"10,000 Mid-grade Spirit Stones," Ray said. "Use it to build, bribe, or burn. Your choice."
White whistled low. "This much? Are you trying to draw attention?"
"No. I'm asking you to start your assessment." Ray's eyes gleamed. "Form a team. Quiet ones. Clever ones. Spies. Shadows. I want to know what moves in this city before it even breathes."
White knelt, picked up the pouch. "And what if I fail?"
Ray looked away, toward the fading hallway where Leah had gone.
"Then I'll replace you with someone better."
White chuckled, tossing the pouch in his hand. "You really are heartless."
"No," Ray whispered. "I just don't have time to be soft."
---
Spirit Stone Hierarchy (as understood by White):
10 Low-grade = 1 Mid-grade
10 Mid-grade = 1 High-grade
10 High-grade = 1 Supreme-grade
10 Supreme-grade = 1 Divine-grade
10 Divine-grade = 1 Chaos-grade
Mid-grade was considered wealth in commoners' hands, power in nobles' circles. But what Ray just handed him… it was enough to build a city cell.
White looked down at the stones again. Ten thousand?
He grinned.
"Fine then, Prince of Crows," he muttered. "Let's raise a nest."
Beneath the twin moons, in the mountains that pierced the sky like the teeth of sleeping gods, Ray trained.
He had vanished from the palace corridors weeks ago, slipping into silence like a shadow shedding its form. No one knew where he went—not White, not even Leah, who was still carrying out silent assassinations and learning to blend into blood and mist.
Here, in the jagged peaks of Mount Serin, Ray sat atop a stone altar cracked by time and lightning. His body radiated a dense, suffocating aura. Ember Core—9th subrealm.
His muscles were tense, veins like black lightning crawling under skin soaked in sweat and resolve. His eyes, golden once, now held a tint of ash and crimson.
Power.
He felt it surging within him like wildfire. But it wasn't enough.
"I want the 3rd realm," he whispered. "And the 4th. I won't be bound by rank."
His fingers clenched into fists. The ground beneath him cracked.
His missions had taken him to Eidu, a ruined land where ancient runes still bled with forgotten power. There, among the ashes of war and old gods, his bloodline awakened.
It was fixed. Ranked. Somewhere between greatness and mediocrity. But it had potential.
Ray stared at his hands. "This bloodline... It's not enough."
Then his voice dropped lower. Cold. Heavy.
"But I will evolve it. If the universe doesn't allow evolution, I will rip the universe open and force it. I will become the most cruel bloodline—The Bloodline of Destruction."
His skin shimmered faintly, energy pulsating around him like a cocoon of madness.
"When I step... there will be ruin.
When I speak... the skies will tremble.
I won't follow fate. I am fate."
He rose.
---
The Four Forbidden Skills
From the system hidden in the sacred hall, four techniques had chosen him. They whispered through his dreams and carved themselves into his bones.
Shadowless – The art of movement beyond perception. A step unseen.
Faceless – The craft of deception. Mask of lies, voice of ghosts.
Darkness – Control over the unknown. The void that devours light.
Blood Dragon – A destructive force tied to rage, pain, and ancestral will.
He had become a master of them. But it wasn't enough to merely know them—he had to ascend them.
To rise to the Infernal Heart Realm, he had to push all four to the 4th realm of mastery.
He practiced from dusk to dawn, breaking himself, shattering the limits of mind and spirit. Only Yin and Yang incantations held his body from collapse—divine balance amid destruction.
He was no longer training.
He was transforming.
---
One night, as he sat atop a mountain peak, watching clouds burn beneath the moonlight, a memory returned.
A whisper of duty. A storm not yet come.
"In ten months… the competition," he said aloud. "The Brothers and Sisters. Royal blood. Arrogant blades in silk."
They would come. All of them. To test their power. To crush the forgotten seventh prince.
Ray smirked.
"I will meet them in the Infernal Heart Realm. Not too high, not too low. Just enough to make them afraid."
He stood, his cloak fluttering in wind and moonfire.
"But I'll do something… something that disturbs all of them."
His eyes burned.
"I will remind them that the 7th Son… was born from destruction."
---
End Of Chapter