Prologue: The Sovereign’s Silence
​The rain in New Seattle had a habit of burying secrets, but it could never wash away the smell of copper—the scent of blood and cheap coins.
​Five years ago, a boy stood in a gutter outside the Lumina Grand Hotel. His ribs were a mosaic of shattered bone, his lungs were filling with fluid, and his heart was breaking in a way that medicine couldn't fix. He had watched the woman he loved—the woman he had starved himself to provide for—laugh as she leaned into the arms of the man who had just robbed him.
​He had been a ghost. A "Ghost-Washer." A nobody whose life was worth exactly ten units of currency.
​"I’m sorry," he had whispered into the rain that night. But he wasn't apologizing to them. He was apologizing to the version of himself that still believed in mercy.
​Present Day. The 99th Floor of the Zenith Spire.
​Carson McCain sat in a chair made of liquid-carbon silk, looking at a city that didn't realize it had a new owner. In his hand was a glass of wine older than the city itself. On the table lay a single, rusted coin—the one he had carried through the fires of the Icelandic volcanoes and the crushing depths of the Mariana Trench.
​A soft beep broke the silence.
​"Sovereign," a voice resonated through the room—Aura, the world’s most advanced AI. "The Solaris Hegemony has entered the atmosphere. They are demanding the 'rat' who interfered with their operations to surrender."
​Carson didn't blink. He didn't even look up. He watched as a drop of condensation slid down his wine glass.
​"Surrender?" Carson’s voice was a low, melodic hum that made the very air in the penthouse vibrate. "Aura, activate the Global ORB. I don't want the commoners to get soot on their laundry when I delete their fleet."
​"Authorization confirmed. Shifting New Seattle to Sub-Space."
​Outside the window, the sky didn't turn dark; it turned violet. A massive, shimmering grid of energy swallowed the horizon, a cage for a fight that the world wasn't ready to see.
​Carson stood up. He wasn't wearing armor. He didn't have glowing cybernetics. He was dressed in a simple, perfectly tailored black suit. He reached into the void, and the air screamed as the Star-Shedder Saber manifested in his grip.
​30 strands of Saber-Qi began to rotate around his wrist, humming a song of absolute destruction.
​"Five years ago, I died in this rain," Carson whispered, stepping off the balcony into the open air, his feet finding invisible steps in the sky. "Today, I think I’ll let the stars die instead."
​High above, a Hegemony Dreadnought fired a shot that could level a continent.
​Carson McCain simply raised his blade.
​"Combine," he commanded.
​The night didn't end. It just met its master.
​[Saber Sovereign: The Low-Key Legend]
​A story of betrayal, ancient alchemy, and a man who returned from the gutter to own the sky.

​Carson didn't go back to his crevice. He went to the 4th Street Bridge, where a local drunk named Hobs lived. Hobs had spent years teaching Carson basic street fighting, but tonight, the old man looked different.


​Hobs stood up, his posture suddenly shifting from a slumped beggar to a mountain of authority. The air around him began to hum, a low-frequency vibration that made Carson's teeth chatter.


​"The heart is finally tempered," Hobs said. His voice was no longer a rasp, but a deep rumble that seemed to shake the bridge's foundation.


​Hobs revealed the truth: he was no drunk. He was the Sovereign of the Emerald Cauldron, a Peak Level 14 Celestial Sovereign and the hidden head of the Aegis Organization—the world power that regulated all high-level combat through the ORB (Orbital Real-time Battlefield). He was the wealthiest man on Earth, living a "secular life" to find an heir.


​"I have no heirs, Carson. If you can survive the next five years, everything I own—my knowledge, my wealth, my power—becomes yours. But you will have to walk through fire."


​Carson looked at his mangled hands, then at the distant lights of the Lumina Grand. "Make me a weapon."


​"I will teach you the Grand Synthesis," Hobs declared. "But for five years, you will not see the sun. You will not be Carson McCain. You will be a soul in a crucible."


Chapter 3 - The Sovereign’s Shadow