*cough cough*
"I've lost too much blood."
Ryu-Hajin muttered the words hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle. His body, once a nimble shadow striking fear into the hearts of martial masters, now lay riddled with wounds. Swords gleaming with Taoist symbols protruded from his torso, their blades still dripping with his lifeblood. Arrows fletched by divine archers had pierced his limbs, their tips embedded deep into muscle and bone. Even the Tang Clan's venomous daggers, coated in toxins that could fell a dragon, had found their mark.
"You've stolen our sect's secret martial arts and slaughtered our disciples!" A furious old man spat, his words laced with hatred. "The heavens will never forgive you!"
"Hell won't be enough for a demon like you!" another snarled, his eyes blazing with righteous fury.
Ryu-Hajin's breaths grew shallower, each exhale a rasp of agony. His mind flashed back to the countless sects he'd infiltrated—the Demon Sect, the Blood Sect, and dozens more. He'd worn countless masks, impersonated disciples and elders, even posed as sect leaders to pilfer their treasures. But now, his own trusted subordinates had turned on him.
'If only I could've integrated those martial arts…' he thought bitterly.
'If only I'd succeeded…'
Jung Hwan stepped forward cautiously, his feet dragging in the mud-strewn battlefield. Only after confirming Ryu-Hajin's inability to fight did he summon the courage to approach. He seized the injured man's throat, his grip tight enough to cut off blood flow.
"Master, your masks fooled everyone," Jung Hwan hissed. "You impersonated so many, yet they all served your greed."
"Jung Hwan… why?" Ryu-Hajin's voice was hoarse because of blood and bile in his mouth.
"Why did you betray me?"
"I can't aid a monster who'd sacrifice the world for power," Jung Hwan replied coldly. With a sharp tug, he ripped off the mask that had concealed Ryu-Hajin's true face for years.
*Crackle. Crunch.*
"The Thousand Faced Demon is dead," Jung Hwan declared.
Ryu-Hajin's final breath hitched. His chin tilted upward, his gaze fixed on the indifferent sky.
***
A black-haired man stared into a fogged mirror, his reflection revealing sharp, angular features and eyes the color of twilight. "How did I get here?" he murmured. Two days ago, he'd woken in this unfamiliar body, its memories a jumble of humiliation and despair. The name Silas Von Thalassiel echoed in his mind—a 31-year-old man born with mana insensitivity, a lifelong failure, a gambler, an alcoholic.
Thalassiel. One of the Three Pillars of the Veythran Kingdom. A family renowned for spawning swordsmen for centuries. Yet Silas was the black sheep, the "greatest trash" the lineage had ever produced. His body was a mockery of the family's legacy—no mana affinity, no physical prowess, a constitution so ruined he'd never even attempted to train.
"And I don't want anything from this body either," he muttered. "I'll just live for myself in this life."
*Knock knock.*
"Open the gate!! Young Master!!"
Silas turned. Kale, the Thalassiel family's ancient butler, stood in the doorway, his weathered face creased with urgency. The elderly man's presence alone carried an air of authority, though his loyalty to Silas's eldest son was a matter of duty, not affection.
"His Grace the Duke demands your presence," Kale growled, his voice rasping like wind through a desert. "Immediately."
Silas nodded, following the butler down the mansion's opulent corridors. The walls gleamed with gold-inlaid marble, chandeliers casting symphonies of light that Silas had never seen in the Murim Alliance. Even the servants here moved with a grace that made him feel like a beggar.
Maids whispered as he passed.
-They say he's the millennium trash
-Tch, not even recyclable. If only i was born in a ducal family
Silas's lips curled. Of course they're not whispering quietly. With this reputation, peace is impossible.
The family hall loomed ahead, its grandeur suffocating.
At its center stood Vyker Von Thalassiel, the current duke. His aura alone was overwhelming—even without channeling mana, his presence was overwhelming.
'Considering how dense the mana in this world is, it's natural.'
To Vyker's right stood Silas's brothers. Each radiated confidence and looked at him with disdain and harboured ill intentions.
To the duke's left clustered outsiders—a count's family, their posture stiff with rising influence. Rumor whispered they'd soon become the Kingdom's fourth pillar.
A lady with crimson lips and diamond-studded hair smirked. "Ho, our son-in-law is looking quite handsome today."
Silas was curiously looking at the left side he spotted a middle aged woman.
She was Countess Zaelium, whose family's star was ascendant.
Beside her stood Alice Zaelium, her fiancée. Alice's beauty was a weapon—her auburn hair cascaded like molten copper, her emerald eyes sharp as elven arrows. Her disdain for Silas was palpable.
The countess leaned forward, her tone falsely sweet. "Silas, we've decided to… reconsider the engagemen-"
"Break it," Silas snapped.
"I don't see any worth in marrying in such a household."
The hall froze. Murmurs rippled like disturbed water.
"How dare you interrupt?" Alice shouted.
"Silence," Vyker commanded, his voice a whip's crack. "This fool's insults reflect on all of us. Knights throw him out of the duchy."
Silas met his father's gaze—a mix of loathing and pity. The duke's next words were slow, deliberate.
"Silas Von Thalassiel. You are hereby stripped of your surname. Exiled from the Thalassiel Duchy. You are no longer a family member."
The knights threw him out of the main gate. They made sure to humiliate Silas as much as possible.
Silas hit the cobblestones outside, his cheek stinging from a guard's boot. The gates slammed shut, their iron clang final. He lay there, tasting dirt and humiliation, as twilight painted the sky in hues of bruise. No money. No surname. Nothing.
A bitter laugh escaped him. "So this is my new life," he muttered, spitting out blood. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolled—a hollow sound, mocking his fate.
(author note: Taler is the empire's currency)