Kael stood rigid in his small, dusty room, his hands gripping the edges of the worn wooden dresser. He wasn't thirteen; he was thirty-three. He was the Ninth-Level Master who had fought and failed, yet here he was, trapped in a fragile shell that hadn't seen a real fight.
The sheer, staggering weakness of his body was a physical insult to the warrior soul inside. His core, the seat of his power, contained only a tiny, flickering speck of Aura—Level 0, the very beginning stage. It was the same energy he had learned to draw into his body when he was sixteen.
Twenty years, Kael thought, the immense weight of the future pressing down on his small shoulders. Twenty years until Xylos descends again. I can't afford to waste a day.
His goal was clear: not just Level 9, but Level 10. The transcendent realm that no human had ever reached.
Humans had been stuck at Level 9 for centuries. The path was simple: channel ambient energy into the body, refine it, and use it to enhance physical capabilities. Each level was a stage of refinement, demanding greater control and a stronger core.
But the jump to Level 10 was impossible for the standard methods. Kael, late in his past life, had stumbled upon half-forgotten scrolls in an ancient, monster-occupied library. The text hinted at the truth: Level 10 wasn't about more energy; it was about transforming the Aura Core itself.
He vividly recalled the single, cryptic image from the scroll: a swirling, black vortex instead of the usual stable, white orb that represented a Ninth-Level Core.
The Void Core, he remembered. The key isn't increasing the size; it's changing the shape. It needs to be a stable well, not a fragile balloon.
He closed his eyes. The visualization technique was complex, almost maddening, requiring intense mental focus to shape the infinitesimal energy speck in his chest into something completely foreign. In his past life, he had learned the standard methods for sixteen years. Now, he would skip them. He would build his core the right way, from the ground up, designed to hold Level 10 power.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, ignoring the discomfort, and began the subtle, difficult work. He focused his mind on the tiny energy speck, willing it to twist and compress, not into the solid sphere of conventional training, but toward the endless, swirling form of the Void Core.
A prickling sensation spread through his chest—the sign of nascent Aura moving under mental command. It was pathetically weak, but it was a start. He kept the focus locked in place for ten minutes, sweat beading on his forehead from the sheer mental effort. This was harder than fighting a thousand high-level monsters; this was fighting the very laws of his existence.
A familiar, warm voice interrupted his concentration, snapping him out of the deep focus.
"Kael! Are you up yet? The monsters haven't attacked since last week, so there's no excuse to miss breakfast!"
It was his mother, Elara. Kael's jaw tightened. In twenty years, he would watch her city burn, but today, she was just a tired woman worrying about her son. She knew nothing of Upper Dimensions, Level 9, or galactic doom.
He quickly stood up, stumbling slightly as his unused boy legs protested. He had to be normal. A worried son, not a hardened, vengeful warrior.
He opened the door to the small hallway. The smell of cooking porridge and fried eggs instantly overwhelmed the sterile scent of war and ash that clung to his ghost memories.
His mother, a kind woman whose face already showed faint lines of worry from the ten years of war, was setting the table.
"There you are, sleepyhead," she said, turning with a smile. "Your father is already out at the village council meeting. They're discussing the new defense strategy—apparently, the city is sending more Mages to reinforce our Aura users."
Kael froze, the word 'defense' hitting him like a physical blow. Defense wouldn't matter. Only absolute, overwhelming strength would.
He forced a weak, boyish smile. "Morning, Mom. Is the porridge ready?"
He knew his father, a low-level merchant, believed in the defense efforts. He knew his mother believed in him. He had to live this lie for two decades. Every moment spent pretending was a moment he could have spent training, but he needed a base, a cover story.
He sat down at the table, picking up a spoon.
I am Kael Ashwood, he reminded himself, looking at his small, unremarkable hands. And I have twenty years to become Level 10. I will avenge us all.
He finished the breakfast quickly, his mind already formulating the next problem: where could a thirteen-year-old boy in a defenseless rural village find the resources and, more importantly, the privacy to begin training a secret, world-breaking technique? He needed a safe place, and he needed a lot of high-grade monster cores to speed up his energy intake.