Most saw Adonis as a gifted noble child.
Heir to a minor noble house. Son of a once-renowned adventurer. Healthy, handsome, and unusually talented. To anyone looking from the outside, it seemed natural that he wanted to grow stronger — to fulfill ambition, gain prestige, or follow family expectations.
But the truth was far from that.
Adonis didn't train to earn titles.
He trained because of something he could never forget.
It happened when he was eight.
At the time, his health had just begun to stabilize. His mother, hoping to give him a change of air, took him to the town market. It was rare for noble families to walk among the commoners, but Caelis never thought much of such boundaries. She walked without a carriage or escort, simply holding Adonis's hand and letting him see the world.
The smell of baked bread, spice, sweat, and soil filled the air. Voices called out prices, children laughed, wooden carts rattled on stone paths. It felt alive in a way the estate never did.
And then… everything stopped.
One by one, the people along the road fell silent. Heads lowered. Knees bent. Some even pressed their foreheads to the ground.
Adonis looked around, confused.
At the center of the path, a man in luxurious black and red robes walked calmly, surrounded by guards in silver armor. His steps were slow, deliberate — not out of pride, but out of habit. As if the entire world moved at his pace.
Caelis's eyes widened.
She quickly pulled Adonis down with her and whispered harshly, "Do not raise your head. That is the Duke."
The man approached, gaze moving lazily over the kneeling crowd. Cold. Distant. As if none of them were truly people.
He stopped in front of Caelis.
"You're the daughter of Greyrat?" His voice was smooth, detached.
"Yes, Lord Duke," she replied, eyes to the ground.
He gave a small nod, as if verifying a detail from a ledger, and moved on.
Adonis, still kneeling, peeked up slightly.
And that's when it happened.
A young boy, no older than four or five, slipped through the crowd. Dirt-stained, barefoot — a commoner child. He darted forward, reaching for a wooden toy that had rolled across the street.
"Stop—!" his mother cried, already on her knees.
Too late.
The guards moved like machines. One strike. Then another.
The child's body hit the ground.
A second later, his mother joined him.
Adonis didn't blink. Couldn't. The boy's severed head rolled toward him, stopping at his knees.
Time stopped.
Something in his chest tightened. His breath caught.
His mana core, still unstable at the time, flared violently. The golden sword within it shimmered and twisted, restless — as if it too felt the injustice. In that moment, Adonis's eyes flickered gold.
And they weren't calm.
They were sharp. Cold. Focused. Angry.
"Why?""Why are lives so cheap?""Why can someone decide who lives and dies with a glance?"
But before the feeling could grow further—
He heard a quiet sob beside him.
His mother.
Shaking, silent tears running down her face. Not for the boy. But for him. Terrified that he might speak out. That he might get himself killed too.
That sob pulled him back.
He lowered his head again and clenched his fists so tight his nails drew blood.
That night, he didn't sleep.
That night, he made a promise.
"One day… I'll be the one standing.""One day, when that man looks at me—he'll lower his eyes."
It wasn't about revenge.
It was about power.
To protect his family. To make sure no one ever had to kneel and beg just to be ignored — or worse, killed.
Adonis was born between two worlds. His mother a noble, his father a commoner — and he, a child caught in between. Neither side fully accepted him.
But his soul… his soul wasn't from this world.
It came from a world where men weren't born to kneel. Where people weren't called "inferior" because of their blood. Where power didn't justify cruelty.
And so, from that day forward, his training had one goal:
To grow strong enough to stand tall — no matter who was watching.