Then, slowly, I began to channel my Cursed Energy. The energy moved in accordance with my will—not like a warm current, but more like a restrained, untamed flow that responded to every faint intention within my mind.
The Cursed Energy streamed out from inside my body, through my arm, into the air before me, until at last a faintly glowing purple flame appeared. The flame was not large, but it was real enough to make my breath catch for a moment.
"It worked… It's finally starting!" I whispered reflexively, my voice sounding slightly unsteady amid the silent trees.
My chest rose and fell, caught between relief and nervousness, as though I had just opened a door to an entirely new world—a world I had only ever been able to glimpse from afar. The purple flame quivered gently in the air, like a living creature waiting for its next command.
I then glanced at the items I had brought with me. There were eleven pens, arranged carelessly on the ground; some were still tightly wrapped, while others had already been used.
Beside the pens lay my notebook, its corners beginning to wear down, though the pages themselves were still in decent condition. I knew that in order to use my Innate Technique, I needed an object—something that could serve as a medium for my will.
Indeed, this purple flame possessed the ability to forge, create, and reconstruct objects.
However, based on the brief information that had surfaced in my mind a week ago—when I first succeeded in using my Innate Technique, before my Cursed Energy was sealed and I could no longer activate it—I had yet to find a way to create something from nothing.
That understanding had come to me without warning, like a whisper embedded in my consciousness: clear, yet still incomplete.
Every change I made always required a starting object, a kind of "raw material" that had to exist beforehand. This flame could reshape, repair, and even alter the function of an object, as if reality itself could be bent to match my will.
But at my current stage, this flame was incapable of bringing anything into being from emptiness. Without a foundation, without an object, there was nothing to transform. That realization left me slightly disappointed, but it also gave me a clear direction for what I needed to do next.
That was why I had stolen—well, borrowed—a few pens from the orphanage. I needed simple, cheap, and easily replaceable objects to test my ability.
These pens were the perfect experimental materials: not too valuable, not too fragile, yet real enough to prove just how far I could manipulate the world.
Even so, for some reason, beneath my surging curiosity and excitement, I still felt a faint sense of guilt for taking these pens from the orphanage.
Now, it was time to test my power. I quickly picked up one pen and tossed it into the purple flame before me. My movement was reflexive, yet my heart pounded, as if that small pen were the first wager in something far greater.
The flame did not burn like ordinary fire. It hovered and pulsed faintly, as though it possessed a will of its own. There was no explosive sound, no sparks. The pen was simply swallowed whole, floating within the glowing purple light, like an object dissolving into a flowing current of water.
In my mind, I tried to turn the pen into a marker. Yes, I would start with something simple: transforming one object into another with a similar purpose, differing only in form. If a pen could become a marker, then at the very least, it would mean I understood the fundamentals of this technique.
In theory, if I could accomplish this, then more complex steps should follow. Altering internal structures, redirecting functions, perhaps even creating tools that had never existed before. But all of that would only be possible if I could first conquer the most basic stage.
I focused with all my strength. Sweat began to soak my forehead and cheeks, slowly dripping along the sides of my face. My breathing grew heavier, my chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm.
All of my attention was fixed on a single point within the purple flame, as if the world around me had vanished, leaving only me, the fire, and the object I was forcing to change.
I pictured the form of a marker: a thicker tube, its slightly rough texture, the wider tip, and the ink reservoir inside that should hold colored liquid.
I tried to rearrange the structure of the pen in my mind, breaking it down into small components and then reassembling them according to the image I wanted. But in the end… it failed.
Yes, a complete failure. The pen did not change into anything at all. Instead, it was burned entirely within the purple fire and vanished, as if it had never existed in the first place. No residue, no ash. My chest felt slightly tight—caught between disappointment and disbelief that my first attempt had ended so cleanly.
Alright, it seems I've discovered another use for this ability: getting rid of trash and destroying evidence. Damn it. This is clearly not what I had imagined, and definitely not the goal I wanted to reach.
"Phew… calm down, Kenji, calm down. Alright, Kenji, let's try again." I let out a long breath, closing my eyes for a moment to steady my thoughts as they began to spiral.
I forced my heartbeat to slow, pushed away the frustration gnawing at me from the inside, then opened my eyes again with slightly stronger resolve. I didn't want to stop just because of one failure.
On the second attempt, the pen did begin to change shape. I could feel its structure shifting, as though something inside the flame was rewriting the logic of the object, compelling its composition to submit to my will.
The surface of the pen seemed to soften, its tip starting to thicken, as if it were hesitating—caught between remaining a pen and becoming something else.
But before the transformation could truly stabilize, my concentration wavered. Whether it was my labored breathing or my own thoughts beginning to falter, I couldn't tell.
The purple flame surged, pulsing more violently than before, and in an instant the pen was burned away once more, as though the fire itself rejected an incomplete form.
On the third attempt, the result was slightly better. The pen managed to transform halfway into a marker. Its outer body had already expanded, the tip beginning to resemble the blunt nib of a marker, and the tube was no longer as slim as it had been before.
I could see the change clearly, tangible within the trembling violet light in the air.
But before I could perfect it—before the internal structure could truly lock into its new form—the fire devoured the pen again. The object vanished for the third time.
My hand trembled faintly, not only from exhaustion but from a mixture of frustration and excitement: frustration because it always failed just when it had begun to change, and excitement because, for the first time, I could see that transformation was indeed possible.
On the fourth attempt, the pen finally succeeded in fully transforming into a marker. The shape was complete, its proportions correct, its surface looking solid and real within the purple flame before I carefully drew it out.
For a moment, I simply stared at the marker, as if afraid it would disappear the instant I looked away.
But when I tried to use it, no ink came out. The tip touched my palm, then the page of my notebook, yet it left no trace at all.
The marker was empty, nonfunctional—nothing more than a hollow shell. Even so, this was my first true success that came close to my goal, proof that I wasn't merely destroying things, but also capable of shaping them.
...
...
...
By now, it was already noon. Sunlight fell more directly through the gaps in the trees, warming the ground where I sat.
The air was no longer as cold as it had been in the morning; heat began to creep across my skin. Sweat soaked my back, my arms ached as though I had just lifted something heavy, and my breathing was no longer as calm as it had been several hours earlier.
------------------------------
[Note: This novel is updated on every even-numbered date]
(Note: Every PS support means a great deal to the continuation and development of the story, and it also serves as a way to unlock Bonus Chapters as a form of appreciation.
For every 100 PS collected, 1 Bonus Chapter will be unlocked. At 300 PS, 1 additional Bonus Chapter will be unlocked. At 500 PS, 1 additional Bonus Chapter will be unlocked. At 1000 PS, 1 additional Bonus Chapter will be unlocked. At 2000 PS, 1 additional Bonus Chapter will be unlocked.
In other words, if 100 PS are collected within this week, 1 Bonus Chapter will be released. If the total reaches 300 PS, then 2 Bonus Chapters will be released. If it reaches 500 PS, then 3 Bonus Chapters will be released. If it reaches 1000 PS, then 4 Bonus Chapters will be released. And if it successfully reaches 2000 PS, a total of 5 Bonus Chapters will be released.
Thank you for your support. Every single PS truly helps push this story forward.)
[Note: 30+ latest chapters have been added! For Just $3.50 You Get Access To Chapters Way Ahead,
Now you can access the chapters before Webnovel, Scribblehub and Wattpad by following,
Just become a patron on Patreon:
Pa*treon.com/Andi_Dri]