Ciel sat frozen in the darkness of his room, his heart still hammering from everything that had just transpired. The voice, this System, had gone silent after its last proclamation. Generating Status Information. What did that even mean?
"Hello?" he whispered into the empty room, feeling foolish even as the word left his lips. "Are you... still there?"
No response came. Just the oppressive silence of his tomb like chamber and the persistent warmth in his chest that refused to fade.
Minutes crawled past. Or maybe hours. Time felt distorted, meaningless. Ciel's hands trembled where they gripped the sheets. His mind raced through explanations, each more improbable than the last. Some kind of magical artifact his father had left behind? A spell triggered by specific conditions? A hallucination brought on by years of isolation and malnutrition?
None of it felt right.
Then, cutting through his spiraling thoughts, the voice returned.
"Status generation complete."
Ciel jumped, his body jerking at the sudden sound in his head. His breathing quickened.
"To access your Status, think the word Status. The information will be displayed in your visual field."
"Think it?" Ciel's voice came out hoarse. "Just... think the word?"
The System offered no clarification. It simply waited.
Ciel swallowed hard. His throat felt dry. This was insane. All of it. But what choice did he have? Whatever this thing was, it had embedded itself inside him. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away.
He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. And thought, with as much focus as he could muster: Status.
His eyes flew open as something materialized before him.
Not physically. Nothing appeared in the actual space of his room. But in his vision, overlaying his perception of reality like words written on glass, information bloomed into existence.
Lines of text. Numbers. Categories. All of it glowing with a faint blue light that shouldn't exist but did, visible only to him, hovering in the air before his face.
Ciel's breath caught. His golden eyes went wide, darting across the display, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
Personal Status
Name: Ciel Lee Silver
Aether Well: 0%
Aether Absorption: 0.9 A/s (High Zone), 0.5 A/s (Normal Zone)
Aether Core: —
Rank: 0 (Mortal)
Titles: [The Champion's Deadbeat Scion]
Base Attributes
Strength: [9]
Dexterity: [9]
Vitality: [9]
Perception: [9]
Willpower: [10]
Channeling: [—]
Traits
[Genius] [Blessed Physique]
Skills and Abilities
[—]
"What..." The word barely escaped his lips. "What is all this?"
The System responded immediately, its mechanical tone somehow managing to convey patience.
"This Host appears unfamiliar with System functions. Tutorial mode activated. Explanation will proceed point by point for optimal comprehension."
Ciel blinked. Tutorial mode? This thing was designed to teach? To guide?
"Beginning with designation: Name. This identifies the current Host. Ciel Lee Silver. Son of Dale Silver and Maria Crowcrest. Heir to the Silver Faction. Current age: fourteen years."
The information was stated flatly, without emotion, but hearing his own life summarized so clinically sent a chill down Ciel's spine.
"Next: Aether Well. This represents the total capacity of Aether the Host's body can currently store. Current capacity: zero percent. The Host has not yet formed an Aether Core and therefore cannot retain Aether within their system."
Ciel's eyes fixed on that number. Zero. It made sense. He hadn't trained in nine years. Hadn't meditated. Hadn't attempted to cultivate Aether or progress his development. He was, by every measurable standard, powerless.
"Aether Absorption rate indicates the speed at which ambient Aether can be drawn into the Host's body under specific conditions. High Zone refers to areas with concentrated Aether density, such as cultivation chambers or natural Aether springs. Current rate: zero point nine Aether units per second. Normal Zone refers to standard environmental Aether levels. Current rate: zero point five Aether units per second."
The System paused, as if giving Ciel time to process.
"These absorption rates are calculated based on the Host's natural physiology and specific Traits. They represent potential, not current function. Without an Aether Core, absorbed Aether cannot be retained and simply disperses."
Ciel's mind struggled to keep up. Numbers and rates and zones. It was like learning a new language, one that quantified aspects of existence he'd only ever understood intuitively.
"Next: Aether Core. This represents the fundamental structure required for Aether cultivation. The Aether Core is formed through specific meditation techniques and marks the transition from mortal to Rank One status. Current status: nonexistent. The Host has not yet formed an Aether Core."
Another dash. Another emptiness. More confirmation of what Ciel already knew. He was nothing. Had nothing. Was capable of nothing.
"Next: Rank. This indicates the Host's current level of power according to the world's standardized ranking system."
The System's tone shifted slightly, taking on an almost educational quality.
"The ranking system consists of ten distinct levels. Ranks One through Nine are attainable through dedicated cultivation and training. Rank Ten exists as a theoretical pinnacle, achieved by only one individual in recorded history."
Images seemed to flash in Ciel's mind, not quite visual but somehow conveyed directly to his understanding. The structure of power. The hierarchy that governed this world.
"The ranks and their corresponding titles are as follows:"
The information appeared before him, listed with precise clarity.
Rank 1: Novice
Rank 2: Intermediate
Rank 3: Adept
Rank 4: Expert
Rank 5: Master
Rank 6: Grandmaster
Rank 7: Monarch
Rank 8: Paragon
Rank 9: Primordial
Rank 10: Transcendent
"Current Host Rank: Zero. Mortal. Below the first threshold. Incapable of retaining or manipulating Aether. This is the baseline state of all humans prior to forming an Aether Core."
Ciel stared at that designation. Mortal. Not even Rank One. Not even at the starting line. Belle was Rank Four. Liam was Rank Four. His father had been Rank Ten. And he was nothing.
"Next: Titles. These are designations earned through specific achievements, circumstances, or recognition. Titles provide various effects and bonuses depending on their nature."
The single title under his name seemed to glow with particular intensity.
[The Champion's Deadbeat Scion]
Even before the System explained, Ciel felt his chest tighten. The words cut deeper than any blade.
"This title has been automatically generated based on the Host's current circumstances and reputation. As the son of Dale Silver, humanity's Champion's, the Host carries the legacy of greatness. However, current performance and public perception have resulted in the designation of deadbeat. One who fails to meet expectations. One who squanders potential."
Silence followed. Heavy. Damning.
Ciel's hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened. He wanted to rage against it, to deny it, but he couldn't. Because it was true. Every word of it was true.
"Title effects: This title provides no beneficial bonuses. However, it serves as a reminder and potential motivation for future growth."
A reminder. How generous. A permanent mark of his failure, quantified and displayed for him to see every time he accessed this Status.
"Next: Base Attributes. These represent the Host's physical and mental capabilities expressed in numerical values. The average adult human possesses attribute values ranging from five to seven in each category. Values of eight or higher indicate above average potential or capability."
The numbers appeared again before him.
Strength: [9]
Dexterity: [9]
Vitality: [9]
Perception: [9]
Willpower: [10]
Channeling: [—]
"Strength measures physical power, the ability to exert force and perform feats requiring muscular capability. Current value: nine. This indicates the Host possesses strength notably above human average despite years of physical inactivity. This is attributable to genetic inheritance and specific Traits."
Nine. Despite nine years of lying in bed. Despite atrophied muscles and neglected training. He was still stronger than most adults. The realization felt surreal.
"Dexterity measures coordination, agility, and fine motor control. Current value: nine. The Host demonstrates exceptional physical coordination and reflexive capability."
"Vitality measures overall health, stamina, and resistance to physical harm. Current value: nine. The Host possesses remarkable constitution and recovery ability."
"Perception measures sensory acuity and awareness of surroundings. Current value: nine. The Host demonstrates heightened senses beyond normal human ranges."
Each attribute felt like a revelation. He'd thought himself weak, broken, diminished. But these numbers told a different story. His body had retained capability despite his neglect. How was that possible?
"Willpower measures mental fortitude, determination, and resistance to external influence. Current value: ten. This represents exceptional mental strength. The Host has endured significant psychological trauma and isolation while maintaining core identity integrity. This is a rare attribute value."
Ten. His highest stat. The irony wasn't lost on Ciel. He'd spent nine years wishing he didn't exist, and his Willpower was measured at ten. What did that even mean? That he was exceptionally good at suffering?
"Channeling measures efficiency in controlling and manipulating Aether. Current value: nonexistent. Without an Aether Core, Channeling cannot be properly measured or utilized."
Another dash. Another reminder of his powerlessness.
"These attribute values serve as the foundation for the Host's potential. They can be improved through training, cultivation, and specific circumstances. However, they also represent inherent capability that exceeds normal human limits."
The System paused again, longer this time.
"The Host's current attribute distribution is highly unusual. Despite complete cessation of training and physical activity for nine years, all measurable attributes remain at or above nine. This is not natural deterioration. This indicates influence from genetic factors and active Traits."
Ciel's eyes moved to the next section. Traits. Two of them listed.
[Genius] [Blessed Physique]
"Next: Traits. These are innate characteristics or abilities that provide permanent passive effects. Traits differ from Titles in that they represent fundamental aspects of the Host's nature rather than earned designations."
The first Trait seemed to pulse slightly in his vision.
"Trait: Genius. This indicates exceptional cognitive ability and learning capacity. The Host demonstrates enhanced pattern recognition, memory retention, and skill acquisition. Effects include: fifty percent reduction in time required to learn new skills, enhanced comprehension of complex concepts, increased attribute gain from training."
Fifty percent reduction. Ciel tried to wrap his mind around that. He could learn things twice as fast as normal people? Was that why he'd shown such promise as a child? Why he'd replicated his father's techniques so easily?
"This Trait is considered extremely rare. Approximately one in ten thousand individuals possess natural Genius level capability."
One in ten thousand. And he'd been wasting it. Squandering it. Letting it rot in a dark room for nine years.
"Trait: Blessed Physique. This indicates a body structure optimized for Aether cultivation and physical development. Effects include: enhanced attribute retention despite inactivity, increased Aether absorption rates, reduced risk of cultivation deviation, accelerated physical recovery."
The System's tone somehow managed to convey significance.
"This Trait explains the Host's maintained physical attributes despite prolonged inactivity. A Blessed Physique prevents normal deterioration and preserves capability even under suboptimal conditions. This Trait is considered exceptionally rare. Fewer than one in one hundred thousand individuals possess this characteristic."
One in one hundred thousand. Rarer than Genius. His body had been protecting him, preserving him, even as he'd tried to waste away.
"Combined, these Traits indicate the Host possesses extraordinary inherent potential. The designation of prodigy or natural talent would be appropriate. This aligns with historical observations made during the Host's childhood."
Ciel felt something twist in his chest. All that potential. All that capability. And he'd thrown it away. Everyone who'd called him talented, who'd said he could surpass his father, they'd been right. The System confirmed it with cold numerical precision.
And he'd wasted it all.
"Additional Traits can be acquired through specific circumstances and experiences. Examples include: surviving exposure to lethal poison grants Poison Resistance. Enduring extreme temperatures grants Environmental Adaptation. Overcoming death experiences grants traits related to survival and resilience. Traits represent permanent growth and cannot be lost once obtained."
So the System could track growth. Could recognize achievement and translate it into tangible benefits. The implications were staggering.
"Next: Skills and Abilities. This category tracks learned techniques, combat abilities, and applied uses of Aether."
The section was completely empty. Just a dash.
"The Host currently possesses zero recorded skills or abilities. This is expected given the lack of an Aether Core and cessation of training."
The System continued, its explanation growing more detailed.
"Skills are categorized into four distinct types based on their nature and rarity."
Four categories appeared in Ciel's vision, listed with clinical precision.
"Common Skills: Techniques and abilities that can be learned by any individual with sufficient practice and instruction. Examples include: basic sword techniques, elemental manipulation, enhancement magic, defensive barriers. These skills form the foundation of combat and cultivation."
"Extra Skills: Advanced applications of Common Skills, requiring exceptional mastery or specific conditions to develop. These represent refinement and specialization beyond normal capability. Extra Skills are individually named and often unique in their specific expression, though multiple individuals may develop similar Extra Skills through parallel development."
"Unique Skills: Abilities tied directly to an individual's soul and essence. Only one instance of each Unique Skill exists in the world at any given time. These skills cannot be taught or replicated. They emerge from the core nature of their wielder and represent power beyond conventional understanding. Upon the death of a Unique Skill holder, the skill itself ceases to exist unless specific conditions allow for inheritance."
"Ultimate Skills: The pinnacle of ability. Powers that transcend normal laws and limitations. Ultimate Skills represent authority over fundamental concepts and forces. They are exceptionally rare, with fewer than ten confirmed to exist in recorded history. Ultimate Skills grant their wielders capabilities that approach or exceed the boundaries of what should be possible."
The hierarchy was clear. Common to Extra to Unique to Ultimate. Each level representing a massive leap in power and rarity.
"Skills define how Aether is applied and utilized. They transform raw energy into specific effects and techniques. Skill acquisition and mastery are fundamental to progression and combat capability."
"The Host currently possesses no skills due to lack of cultivation and training. However, the Genius Trait will significantly accelerate skill acquisition once training resumes."
Once training resumes. The System stated it as fact, as inevitability, as if it simply assumed Ciel would begin again.
"Status explanation complete. The Host should now possess basic understanding of displayed information."
The glowing text hung in Ciel's vision, waiting. All that information. All those numbers and categories and potential.
Ciel sat in stunned silence, his mind reeling. The Status display remained before him, each line a stark revelation that challenged everything he'd believed about himself.
He'd thought himself broken. Worthless. A failure who'd squandered every opportunity.
But the numbers told a different story.
Nine in nearly every physical attribute. Ten in Willpower. Two incredibly rare Traits that marked him as exceptional by any measure. Absorption rates that indicated natural talent for cultivation. A body that had preserved itself despite nine years of neglect.
And zero in everything that actually mattered.
No Aether Core. No Rank. No Skills. No power. Just potential gathering dust.
The Champion's Deadbeat Scion.
The title burned in his vision, mocking him with its accuracy.
Ciel's hands trembled. His breathing came faster. Something was building in his chest, pressure that had been accumulating for nine years finally finding a release valve.
He had potential. Real, measurable, exceptional potential. The System proved it. His father had apparently known it. Everyone who'd called him talented as a child had seen it.
And he'd wasted all of it.
Nine years. Nine years lying in darkness. Nine years listening to servants mock him. Nine years proving them right by refusing to even try.
His father had been Rank Ten. Transcendent. A level achieved by only one person in history. And Dale Silver had chosen him, had marked him, had passed on this System with its wealth of knowledge and capability.
Because he'd believed Ciel could surpass him.
The thought was simultaneously terrifying and infuriating.
Ciel looked at the Status display again. Really looked at it. Not at what was missing, but at what was there. The foundation. The raw materials. Everything he'd need to actually become something.
"I'm an idiot," he whispered to the empty room.
The System offered no response. It simply waited, patient and eternal, for its Host to make a decision.
Ciel Lee Silver sat in his dark room, golden eyes fixed on glowing text only he could see, and felt the weight of nine wasted years pressing down on him like a physical force.
But beneath that weight, kindled by a father's final gift and fanned by cold numerical truth, something else began to stir.
Something that might have been hope.
Or might have been rage.
Or might have been the fire his father had asked about.