Baby El woke up expecting pain, but instead he felt something his soul had never experienced—pure warmth and ecstasy.
He was floating on the surface of a small lake. No matter how much he moved, he didn't sink. The water wasn't cold or hot; it was perfectly warm, soothing his tiny body in a way that felt unnatural. Curious, he splashed his hands and laughed softly. But when a bit of water slipped into his mouth, he immediately coughed and choked.
A branch shot out from a nearby tree, gently wrapping around him and lifting him out of the lake. From the roots beside the shore, a tree-like woman emerged—the dryad.
"The lake is rich with mana," she said calmly. "You won't drown, little prince… but don't let it enter your body."
The branch flipped him lightly, forcing the water out. El blinked, not understanding a word she said. Instead, he looked toward the lake's surface at his reflection. Black hair, dark pupils, a soft round face, and the fragile body of a newborn. Nothing extraordinary—at least not visibly.
"You cannot understand me yet," the dryad murmured gently. "But don't worry. I will take care of you until the day you can take care of yourself… little saviour."
Her gaze suddenly shifted.
A group of fifteen elves approached through the trees.
El's eyes widened with curiosity. Their pale skin, white garments, long ears, and markings around their eyes fascinated him. He instinctively touched his own ears—they were round, different from theirs.
"We greet the Guardian of the Sanctuary," the elves said in unison, bowing respectfully.
The dryad nodded with displeasure looking at the lead Elf. "Why are you here?"
One younger elf stepped forward. Though El couldn't understand the language, the hostility in his behaviour was clear.
"Why have you brought a human here?"
The tension was obvious. After the massacre of the elves in the Clover Kingdom, news had spread even to those elves living within the Heart Kingdom. Some had secretly gone to confirm it, rescuing a few survivors in the process—and the child of their king, Licht was among them.
The grief still lingered.
The dryad, however, remained indifferent to their past tragedies. As long as they did not disturb her sanctuary, their vendettas meant little to her.
And truthfully, this tribe of elves was not built for revenge. They were peaceful, nature-loving… and weak. Perhaps even weaker than senior Magic Knights. After years of cursing the Clover Kingdom in frustration, they had eventually abandoned the thought of retaliation altogether.
"Oh, you mean this cute little thing?" the dryad said casually, gently swaying the hanging baby until he burst into soft laughter.
"He is a pitiful orphan I saved, he will live with us from now."
Murmurs spread through the elves.
"After what humans did to our—" the lead elf, Mato, began sharply, but the dryad cut him off.
"Listen, Mato. He is from the Spade Kingdom not the clover kingdom who have wronged you and until he can take care of himself, he will remain here." She turned her head slightly, clearly displeased with Mato's attitude.
An older elf stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Forgive us," he said. "It was not our intent to offend you. We understand the tragedy the child has endured… and we will respect your decision." His name was Pablo, one of the elders.
Mato clicked his tongue in disagreement and walked away, a few others following him. The rest remained, especially those of royal lineage, approaching the newborn with cautious sympathy and curiosity.
Time passed.
El quickly proved the dryad's words were no exaggeration. Raised in mana-rich Elysia and nourished on its pure resources, his growth was abnormal. At two months, he could already stand and walk steadily.
By six months, he spoke the elven language fluently, while the dryad patiently taught him the human tongue—which he mastered with unnatural ease.
He did not behave like a normal child. He barely cried, rarely showed confusion, and skipped the usual slow learning stages. His progress unsettled many of the elves.
Life in Elysia was peaceful, almost too peaceful. The fragmented memories of his reincarnation slowly began to make sense to him.
But one thing never faded.
The memory of being hunted.
Of being crushed by gravity magic.
He could not remember how he ended up in the arms of the royal knights before his death… but he would never forget the faces of the three mages who killed him.
Their shadows still appeared in his nightmares.
El spoke to the dryad about his nightmares, hoping she could fill the gaps in his memory since she had been there that night. But she told him the truth—she had only arrived after the mage named Dante Zogratis had caught him.
He explained how everything before that moment felt foggy, like a broken dream he couldn't piece together. The dryad simply advised him to let those memories remain buried. "Some things are better forgotten," she said gently.
What she didn't know was that another set of memories slept within his soul—memories of a previous life. They were sealed but one purpose echoed clearly in his mind: gather the seven Dragon Balls and conquer this world. He never shared that with anyone.
Though he often showed intelligence far beyond his age, El still played with the elf children. Some accepted him, others treated him coldly. The dryad explained it without sugarcoating. "Not all humans are greedy and cruel… but most are. You will understand when you see the outside world." After saying that, she would retreat into her ancient tree—a place El was forbidden to enter.
By the age of three, El had already begun studying runes and mana, under the elves and dryad herself. Unlike humans who relied heavily on grimoires, the elves understood mana naturally, shaping it through knowledge and harmony. El absorbed it all eagerly.
He experimented constantly—creating small rune spells, crude traps, and simple enchanted tools. Robes that floated for a few seconds before crashing. Traps that failed at the worst time. Small successes mixed with embarrassing failures. Still, he improved steadily.
Unlike the other elf children, who showed early signs of elemental affinity, El displayed none. That worried the dryad. But she reminded herself that human mages did not receive their grimoires until fifteen.
Most elves possessed wind or nature-based abilities. None, however, could rival the dryad, an ancient being older than the Heart Kingdom itself, which she claimed had stood for over 1200 years.
By five, El had mastered rune formations that even adult elves admired—though some resented him for "disturbing the natural order" with his experiments. He ignored them. For him, it was simply a way to pass time and sharpen his mind.
He spent long hours reading old scrolls about the continent's history, their wars, and the races that lived within them—humans, elves, demons, spirits, even the long-extinct dwarves. Yet nowhere did he find even a single mention of the Dragon Balls. It was as if that part of history had been intentionally erased.
Frustrated, he finally approached the dryad.
"I had a dream," he lied calmly. "Seven orange spheres gathered together… and from them emerged a godlike being granting one wish. Does it mean anything?"
"Hush… never speak of that to anyone again," the dryad whispered sharply. For the first time, El saw true vigilance in her eyes. "Come with me."
She led him into her ancient tree. The bark parted, revealing a spatial gateway. When El stepped through, the forest vanished. He found himself inside a sealed chamber—an old, hidden archive untouched by time.
"You are the first human to enter this place, at least to my knowledge," the dryad said quietly. "But if you have seen that in a dream… then you deserve to know."
The chamber stretched like a corridor, lined with relics—ancient grimoires, broken weapons, strange artifacts, and murals carved into the walls. The paintings told a continuous story.
"Long ago," she began, "elves, dwarves, humans, spirits, and angels lived on this planet. Not perfectly united, but under angels and elven guidance, there was peace… until demons emerged from the underworld."
El's eyes followed the murals as she spoke.
"The elves and angels were the strongest races. Dwarves forged unmatched artifacts. Spirits embodied pure mana. Humans… were the weakest. They imitated elven magic but were not loved by mana."
He stayed silent.
"All races united to fight the demons. But it was not enough. The demon's united strength was overwhelming."
The murals shifted to scenes of devastation and El felt a chill run down his spine.
"In the final stand, every race pooled its strength and resources. Legendary artifacts were created to defeat the enemy."
She paused before the final mural.
"The orange spheres you saw in your dream… were among them."
The carving showed an elven king wielding three swords, a six-winged angel, and a dwarf king holding a legendary crystal sword facing three towering demons. Seven glowing orbs circled before them. Behind them lay countless fallen bodies—friend and foe alike.
"The orange orbs are called Wishing Orbs. When all seven were gathered, they could grant one wish. But their power had limits. The first generation kings used them to seal the demons… sacrificing their life to do so."
El swallowed. "How long ago was this war?"
"Three thousand years. Perhaps more. I stopped counting long ago."
He looked at the relics around him, mind racing. "And the artifacts from that era… where are they now?"
"I keep a few of them here," the dryad said, her voice echoing softly in the chamber. "But most were destroyed or sealed across the world because of how dangerous they were. The Wishing Orbs still maintain the seal on the demons. That is why we live in peace even now."
El nodded slowly. "And the other races?"
"Most dwarves and angels perished in that war. The few survivors went into hiding. I doubt their kind remains in any real number." She paused. "As for spirits… There are barely any of us left. You could count the active ones on your fingers."
Her gaze shifted to the mural of the broken continent. "That war reshaped the world itself. The continent fractured and drifted away into the vast black ocean. Nothing was ever the same again."
El felt the weight of it. The scale of those demons was far beyond what he had imagined.
He clenched his small fists. I just hope the Dragon Balls aren't the ones maintaining the seal… If gathering them meant freeing the demons, things would become complicated. But if he didn't act, someone else eventually would—people like the Dark Triad.
The dryad continued, her tone darker now. "After the war, the final human king confessed something. It was his ancestors who summoned the demons in the first place—driven by greed and inferiority toward the other races. They wanted power… and lost control."
El's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Though that king tried to atone, many humans later sought the Wishing Orbs for themselves. They were stopped—by other humans and elves. Eventually, it was decided that all records of the orbs would be erased. After a few generations, humans forgot."
She looked at him carefully. "I would never have told you this… had you not spoken of them yourself. The fact that they appeared in your dream must mean something."
El exhaled. "Your stories are a lot better than grandpa Pedro's bedtime stories."
The dryad chuckled softly.
He looked around again at the dusty relics, grimoires, rusted blades, and strange artifacts sealed in glass. "So what is this place exactly?"
"My little hobby," she replied with unexpected excitement. "Treasures I've collected over my lifetime." She floated toward a rack of ancient weapons. "These were forged by dwarves during the great war. Don't touch them—they'll crumble at the slightest contact."
"These," the dryad said, pointing toward a separate pile sealed behind layered barriers, "are remnants of demons. Bones, feathers, cursed blades… fragments left behind. With one of these, a person can attempt to summon the demon and form a contract—if they can defeat it." Her tone hardened. "Too dangerous. So I gathered them and sealed them here. To demon worshippers, this would be priceless treasure. To us… it is trash."
El studied the pile briefly but decided not to linger. They moved on.
Glass cases lined the corridor, each containing weapons and artifacts—armor, swords, spears, crowns—each radiating faint mana.
"These are the legendary weapons forged by the dwarves during the great war," she explained. "They possess will of their own and choose their masters. If one resonates with you, you will feel it."
There were at least fifteen displayed. The craftsmanship alone left El speechless.
But as he walked past them, none reacted. No pull. No acknowledgment.
The silence disappointed both him and the dryad.
"You may return in the future," she reassured. "These relics recognize strength. You are still growing. If you truly are the saviour, one day they will answer you."
They reached the final section.
"These," she said quietly, "are the most dangerous forbidden grimoires still in existence. After the war, the council sealed such unorthodox and overpowered grimoires to preserve balance."
El stepped closer. Complex inscriptions glowed across the glass cases, layers of sealing runes preventing the grimoires from escaping and choosing owners freely. Most of them carried emblems he did not recognize—marks belonging to kingdoms long erased from history.
As he leaned closer—
Crack.
The final glass case began to tremble, emitting a sharp, crackling sound.
El instinctively stepped back. The dryad moved in front of him protectively.
Then the glass shattered outward in a burst of mana.
Instead of a book, a single palm-sized card floated forward, hovering before El as if calling him.
"…A forbidden grimoire has chosen you," the dryad whispered in shock.
The card drifted closer.
El reached out and touched it.
The single card split into multiple cards and text materialized before his eyes, visible only to him.
[Ascendent has successfully activated his ability - Multiverse Record]
[Withdrawing the Omni-King's Blessing ~ Try not to die anymore.]
— Regards, World Memory.