Five years had passed like fleeting embers on a battlefield—scorching, relentless, and etched in blood. The war raged still, with no victor in sight. The lands south of the Human Empire had long turned into scorched earth and broken strongholds, as Demon Sea abominations clashed with the alliance of nobles, elves, and imperial knights.
Chris Originus was now ten.
No longer a child in any sense, his aura was sharper than blades, and his presence could silence a room. He had ascended through the knight realms at a monstrous pace—Normal, Novice, Soldier, Captain, Spirit, and finally, Soul Knight. Resources, secret techniques, origin stones, advanced spell formations, and more—everything the House of Originus had ever hoarded, Chris consumed. Not recklessly, but with purpose.
He stood now at the peak of Soul Knight Realm, his foundation solid as steel, his control flawless.
But for an entire month, he had stagnated. No progress. No signs. Just stillness.
He had reached a wall—one that talent, wealth, or lineage could not shatter.
That's when the decision was made.
"I'll go to the Southern Front," he had told them.
He wanted to stand in the mud, the blood, the death, and the chaos. He wanted to feel life on the edge of a blade. If he couldn't grow in comfort, then he would find growth in war.
The departure was quiet. Almost too quiet.
His mother, Seraphina, stood beneath the ancient moon tree in the duchy gardens. Her once-glowing soul had dimmed from an injury long ago, one even the Empire's best couldn't heal. A curse from the Nether Race—insidious and eternal.
She smiled through pain. "You're just like him, you know."
Chris paused, confused. "Who?"
"Your father," she whispered, brushing a lock of silver hair from his eyes. "He always ran toward storms."
He hugged her tightly. She flinched from the contact—her soul flaring—but held him anyway.
"I will return stronger," he promised.
"You better," she smiled, though her voice cracked.
Southern Front – Noble Stronghold
The moment Chris arrived at the Southern Stronghold of the noble houses, the air shifted.
A ten-year-old child radiating the aura of a peak Soul Knight—and that wasn't all.
Chris kept his 5 star magic a secret from everyone except his grandfather.
Knights, mages, officers—they all stared.
Whispers.
"That's him?"
"A ten-year-old… at Soul Knight?"
"Monster…"
"Is this the future of House Originus?"
Some bowed. Others watched warily.
Later that evening, Chris entered his grandfather's personal tent under strict privacy. Lionheart Originus, still armored, stared into a battlefield map, his body scarred, his soul fierce. Despite age, he still fought, and his presence screamed danger.
Chris become emotional has he saw an old man doing so much work for the empire , his safety and humanity .
Chris closed the flap. "I can't advance."
Lionheart turned.
"I'm stuck," Chris said. "No matter how I try. I feel… incomplete."
Lionheart studied him long before speaking.
"The reason," he said quietly, "is because you've reached the final bottleneck before the King Realm."
Chris stilled.
"Listen to me carefully. This must never be spoken aloud—not to your peers, not to your friends. The truth is forbidden."
Lionheart poured a glass of red tea. His voice dropped.
"To become a King Knight, one must comprehend at least 30% of any universal law like space , time , death, reincarnation ,chaos."
Chris blinked. "Why is this kept secret?"
"Because," Lionheart growled, "we cannot risk hundreds of unstable madmen rushing toward concepts they can't understand. If someone weak minded becomes a King Knight… he doesn't become a savior. He becomes a catastrophe."
Chris clenched his fist.
"So that's the key…"
Lionheart stared hard into his eyes. "Only one known method exists—real combat. Life and death. Push your spirit, body, and mind to the edge. Let the world show you its truth. If you can grasp even a piece of a Law…"
"You can ascend."
Chris bowed low. "Then I'll fight and by the way which law you comprehended."
Old man replied "One of the most difficult - the space law and your father has learned law of destruction."
Chris was surprised to hear this.
And the next morning, he did.
Armor newly forged, sword engraved with spell runes, cloak marked with the symbol of House Originus—Chris stepped onto the battlefield.
The war did not pause for him.
He dove into it.
Battlefield: South Ravine Border
The ravine was a death zone—corpses, craters, cries, and black smoke that clawed at the lungs.
Chris rushed in.
His sword was a blur. Magic surged behind each step. A Captain-level Demon Sea beast lunged at him—fangs like spears.
Chris didn't dodge.
He raised his hand. "Wind Collapse."
A compressed vortex exploded from his palm. The beast was shredded into mist.
Another came. Then another. A knight screamed. A mage fell.
Chris moved like lightning—dodging, striking, blinking with magic, cutting through the tide. His cloak turned dark with blood—not his, but hundreds of foes.
And then—
Time slowed.
No, the world slowed.
He gasped.
Around him, every detail sharpened. Every drop of blood, every flicker of fire, every scream became clear, real, slow. In that moment of stillness, something cracked in his spirit.
A voice echoed—not from outside, but from within.
"The world resists. Will you let it?"
"No," Chris whispered. "I… give my body freedom."
"Then take it."
A blast of light erupted from his chest. No one saw the internal transformation, but the heavens did.
A celestial pulse burst across the battlefield sky. The clouds parted. Stars shimmered in daylight. Even generals paused.
"What… was that?"
At the stronghold, Lionheart stood, eyes wide.
"That aura…"
From the flames, Chris emerged. His hair danced with mana. His eyes glowed like starlight.
He had begun comprehending the Law of Freedom (nothingness).