Chapter – 1 – The Birth of a Monster
The moonlight streamed through the vast window on the third floor of Viscount Vale Castle, casting silver tendrils across the cold stone floor. The night was quiet—too quiet—as if the very walls were holding their breath.
Inside the chamber, the young master of the Vale family, Lucien Vale, sat at the center of a massive, intricate sigil. Tonight was the culmination of six months of isolation, six months of silent endurance. He had performed two rituals simultaneously: Soul Resonance and the Lost Atlas. A gamble that bordered on madness, but desperation had long since made a home in his heart.
The Vale family was ancient, once respected, now a shadow of its former glory. Reduced to a viscount's title with little power to back it, all hopes had fallen on Riven Vale, the eldest son. Lucien, the second-born, was known for only one thing: his beauty. And in a world where strength dictated worth, beauty was nothing but a cruel joke.
They mocked him behind his back—whispering that he was weaker than a common foot soldier. Even his own little sister couldn't hide her disdain. His fiancée had broken their engagement without a second thought. Seraphina Thornveil—his childhood friend, the girl he had loved since he could remember—had rejected his proposal in front of half the nobility.
Lucien had believed that time spent together meant something. That loyalty, kindness, and shared memories could build something unbreakable. But he had been naive. In this world, only strength mattered. And Lucien had none.
Until tonight.
The sigil beneath him pulsed with a dull, rhythmic glow. Sweat dripped from his brow, soaking into the collar of his loose white shirt. His breathing was shallow, controlled. He could feel the ritual reaching its climax—two separate threads of power weaving together inside his soul.
Just a little longer…
Then it happened.
Golden light erupted from the center of the sigil, spiraling upward like a captive sun breaking free. It wrapped around him, hot and searing, pressing against his very essence. And then came the pain.
Not the pain of flesh. Not the ache of muscle or the sting of a wound.
This was deeper. Primal.
His soul screamed.
“What is going on?!” he gasped, his voice cracking. “It was never supposed to hurt my soul!”
He tried to move, to crawl, to drag himself out of the sigil's grasp—but the light pulled him back, coiling tighter, forming a semi-hemisphere of molten gold. His vision blurred. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm.
Faces flashed before his eyes. His mother’s distant smile. Riven’s cold nod. Seraphina’s rejection—once warm, now hollow.
Is this… the end?
His body went limp. The light collapsed inward. Silence swallowed the chamber.
Then—pain again.
But different.
Lucien gasped, lungs burning, eyes snapping open. He was lying on the cold stone floor, the sigil beneath him faded, cracked, inert. The golden light was gone. Only the moonlight remained.
And yet, something was wrong.
He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart was beating—but it felt foreign, like a drum being played by someone else's hand. Memories that were not his own poured into his mind like water through a broken dam.
Where am I?
No. That wasn’t right.
He knew where he was. He knew this room. He knew the name Lucien Vale.
But he also knew another name. Another life. Another world.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, breathing through the flood. I died. And yet… I’m here.
Then it came.
From his chest—no, deeper than that, from the core of his being—a golden compass emerged. It hovered before him, glowing with a soft sky-blue light, intricate sigils spinning slowly around its face. The Lost Atlas.
The ritual had succeeded. But at a cost.
Lucien Vale’s soul was gone. What remained was something else entirely.
Someone else.
He stared at the compass for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.
“Analyze the situation first,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind. “The architecture, the candles, the ritual setup… this isn’t my world. Magic exists here—this compass proves it.”
He glanced around the chamber. Dust motes danced in the moonlight. Old books, scattered notes, empty vials. Six months of desperate preparation.
“And these memories… the original Lucien was performing Soul Resonance to strengthen his soul, alongside the Lost Atlas ritual. But the Resonance failed. Cost him everything.” A pause. “Cost me everything? No. Gave me everything.”
He looked down at his hands. Slender. Pale. Elegant. But stronger now. Different.
“Tomorrow, I’ll have to meet the family. I’ll have to act accordingly. If they suspect possession… or madness… that’s the worst-case scenario.”
He turned his attention back to the golden compass. As if responding to his will, a translucent screen flickered into existence before him—clean, cold, systemic.
Status
Name: Lucien Vale
Age: 18
Rank: Mortal
Artifact: The Lost Atlas
Soul Points: 572
Locked Functions
Shop
Summon
Forge
His eyes narrowed. “The original owner never had this. The system is new.”
He focused on the Lost Atlas entry.
[Lost Atlas – Artifact]
Obtained through a harsh and dangerous ritual. Allows the user to detect lost relics, hidden artifacts, concealed inheritances, and forgotten legacies. It is said that one who possesses the Lost Atlas can lead an entire kingdom.
Lucien’s lips curved into a slow, cold smile.
“Now that is power.”
The original Lucien had wanted to strengthen his soul and use the Atlas to find opportunities for his brother and sister, to earn their respect, to lift the Vale family from viscount to count. A noble goal. A foolish one.
This world doesn’t reward nobility. It rewards those who take.
Without hesitation, he merged the Lost Atlas into his soul. The sensation was strange—like cold water spreading through his veins—but then came clarity. A new sense unfolded within him. Hidden things, buried things, forgotten things… he could feel them. Anything within two hundred meters, anything lost or concealed, tugged at his perception like invisible threads.
“Useful,” he whispered.
He returned to the status screen, studying the 572 Soul Points.
“How did I get these?” he mused. “The original owner was in seclusion for six months, but that wouldn’t generate points. Unless…”
His smile returned. Darker this time.
“The Soul Resonance failed because his soul was consumed. These points are the value of his soul.” A pause. “If I can take the souls of others… I can increase this. And when the Shop unlocks, I can buy whatever I need.”
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Not a bad deal at all.”
Then he noticed it. A small, glowing chest icon in the corner of the screen.
Newbie Pack Available
“A welcome gift,” he muttered, clicking it without hesitation. “Let’s see if the universe is feeling generous.”
The chest burst open silently.
Rewards:
- Soul Void
- Astral Marrow Pill ×50
- Primordial Soul Seed ×1
“Soul Void—a method to extract souls and convert them into points. Essential.”
“Astral Marrow Pill—strengthens the body and internal organs. A solid foundation.”
“Primordial Soul Seed—rare. Strengthens the soul itself without the need for rituals.”
His eyes lingered on the last item.
“The original owner died because his body couldn’t handle the soul resonance. But if I strengthen both body and soul together…”
He didn’t finish the thought. Action was better than words.
“Consume Primordial Soul Seed.”
The seed dissolved into his being like a drop of ink in water—silent, invisible, but permanent. His soul, fragile and freshly claimed, began to knit itself tighter. Stronger. Deeper.
“Consume Astral Marrow Pill.”
Fifty pills remained in his inventory. He took them one by one, feeling each one burn through his muscles, his bones, his organs. The pain was sharp but clean—not like the agony of the ritual. This was improvement. This was growth.
By the twentieth pill, his body trembled. Not from weakness. From potential.
[System Notification]
Physical capacity reached for current rank. Remaining Astral Marrow Pills: 30
He flexed his fingers. The strength was undeniable. He looked at the stone wall across the room—five inches thick, rough-hewn, solid.
I could break that with my bare hands now.
A small smile. “Not enough. But a start.”
He rose to his feet, steady for the first time since waking. The chamber felt smaller now, less oppressive. He walked toward a large mirror framed in dark, rusted gold—old but luxurious, a relic of better days for the Vale family.
And then he saw himself.
He stopped.
The face in the mirror was not the face he had worn in his previous life. It was sharper, colder, more refined. High cheekbones. A strong jaw. Lips that seemed perpetually on the verge of a cruel smile. His hair was long enough to brush his neck, a dull, cold gold that caught the moonlight like aged metal. His eyes—pale, piercing—held none of the original Lucien’s softness.
He was 183 centimeters tall. Thin, but no longer frail. Dressed in a loose white shirt and black pants, he looked like a painting of a fallen prince. Or a rising devil.
Handsome, he thought. But not soft. Not kind.
The original Lucien had been beautiful in a gentle way. Approachable. Vulnerable.
This new Lucien—Cedric, the name whispered from somewhere deep in his stolen memories—was beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful. Elegant. Deadly. Waiting.
He tilted his head, studying his reflection. His smile was sinister. His eyes were cold, calculating, as if they already saw ten moves ahead on a board no one else knew existed.
“Handsome devil,” he murmured, and the words felt like a promise.
A sound broke the silence.
Footsteps. Measured. Respectful. A soft knock at the door.
“Master Lucien, shall I prepare your bath?”
Author Note:
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