Dream of Primordial Chaos
Five years passed.
Julius Alastor's throne remained unshakable, and none of his nine children dared challenge for it.
His eldest son Kartan had two sons: 18-year-old Cassius, now a squire of Gladiheim, and 15-year-old Bekiuss, training as a knight candidate.
Barkas, the second son, had a son: 15-year-old Bruno, also a knight candidate.
Dante, the fourth son, had a daughter: 12-year-old Vivian, training to become a knight candidate.
His third daughter Erica had turned 18 and become a squire as well.
In the heart of the Sword Garden, a red-haired boy sat with his eyes closed, a wooden sword resting on his knees.
His face still held the softness of youth, but his body was robust. The high-quality elixirs he'd consumed since age five had strengthened his frame, layering it with dense muscle. Thanks to them, he towered over ordinary ten-year-olds, his physique far superior.
To onlookers, he might have seemed asleep amid the weapons, but his mind was in a realm detached from reality.
The consciousness realm he'd entered through resonance with Baal. There, Kyle wasn't sitting with eyes closed.
This realm didn't bend time like reality, but it offered freedom from prying eyes.
Kyle swung the wooden sword.
Not the fifth-grade sword arts he'd learned at the Great Library over five years, but the blade of the Sword Ghost from his past life.
A swing too murderous for the real world, one that would draw stares for its untaught ferocity.
Here, he could unleash it freely. Lingering too long fatigued the mind terribly, but Kyle relished it.
Such mental honing couldn't be achieved through mere physical training. Over five years, he'd resonated with Baal repeatedly, tempering his spirit and refining the Sword Ghost's swordsmanship.
[...]
Baal narrowed his yellow eyes, glaring at Kyle. He'd witnessed this scene countless times over five years, yet it remained incomprehensible.
A mere ten-year-old boy, not even awakened to his Spirit Root—an inferior race's child.
Someone whose only kills were likely bugs, wielding a blade laced with such thick killing intent.
And it was profound. Not mere show; devoid of mana, it was tailored perfectly to the moment.
[Fledgling.]
Baal spoke. Kyle, focused on his swings, turned at the call.
Tomorrow's your tenth birthday, isn't it?
"Yeah."
[Seize this body tomorrow.]
At the whisper, Kyle shot Baal a weary glance before resuming his swings.
[Fledgling. Didn't you hear me?]
"I've said no so many times I lost count."
[Why refuse? This Baal offers you its power.]
"Is that how you ask?"
Baal's pupils twitched at Kyle's sarcasm.
[Ask? This is no request—'tis a command.]
"No."
Over five years, they'd had this exchange endlessly. From the start, Baal had pressured him, growing ever more talkative and desperate.
[Fledgling, I'll forgive your past rejection. Swear to wield me, and this Baal shall lend you its power unbound.]
A sharp, mighty sword? Kyle liked those too. But he didn't desperately need one. Divine or demonic blades were wielded by hands in the end—a truth Baal ignored, prattling about lending power. Its mind was rotten from the start.
"Maybe later, when I feel like it."
He didn't outright refuse. Over five years, he'd dangled just enough hope, like a cat toying with its prey.
Strictly speaking, what intrigued Kyle wasn't Baal's might, but the demon king's sword arts remembered by the goblin spirit within.
[Why wait? Tomorrow—]
"Family drama."
It was true. Five years ago, upon hearing of Kyle's resonance with Baal, Julius had summoned him from his study straight to the Sword Apex Hall.
Kyle explained the goblin spirit in Baal, proving once more he wasn't possessed.
The talk with Julius ended there. But the hassle didn't. News of the demonic sword's goblin and Kyle's communion drew the Sword Tower elders' attention.
Some wanted tales of the Demon King and founder Ruin Alastor from the goblin. In the end, no orders came for Kyle.
The elders deemed the demonic sword's words unreliable.
Kyle hadn't asked Baal either.
Showing curiosity would invite its foolish bargaining.
"Time to go."
Reluctance dripped from Baal's eyes. Feeling the red mist coiling around him and the gazes beyond, Kyle shot it a glare.
"How long you gonna keep this up?"
[Fledgling, what nonsense?]
"The weapons in the Sword Garden. They can't approach me because of you."
[Insolent wretch! Think this Baal stoops to such pettiness?]
Baal bellowed indignantly, but Kyle harbored no doubts.
Other weapons in the Sword Garden housed goblins too, yet none but Baal approached him.
They only watched from afar. He'd tried resonating with them, but red mist always surged, dragging him solely to Baal's realm.
"Stop the low-class tricks."
[Inferior spawn dares insult this Baal...!]
Baal glared murderously, but Kyle ignored it, parting the mist and departing.
"Hm."
Back in reality, Kyle opened his eyes.
"Young master Kyle."
A voice approached. Turning, he saw a silver-haired girl in uniform kneeling on one knee, gazing at him.
Lucia. Rising, Kyle asked,
"Training over?"
"Yes."
Children aspiring to Alastor knighthood took exams at 13 to become candidates. Lucia had achieved her dream and was training as one.
"How was today?"
"Bekiuss and Bruno were scolded by the instructor for chatting during training."
"Same old."
Kyle stretched with a laugh.
At ten, his body had transformed. Elixirs from childhood made him taller and more muscular than peers.
Baby fat lingered on his face, but his physique belied his age.
"I'll escort you to the Sword Tower."
Lucia stood primly before him. Knights watched him in the garden anyway, the tower was nearby, and who in Gladiheim would harm pureblood? Still, Kyle accepted her courtesy.
As a candidate, Lucia lodged in the Hilt district barracks below the tower. Her presence here was purely to spend time with him.
In five years, they'd grown close. They'd sparred endlessly with wooden swords, shared personal talks. Among tower peers, only Lucia and aunt Erica were his friends.
"Tomorrow's already your birthday, young master."
Lucia spoke up.
The path to the tower was short. Her usual taciturnity breaking meant curiosity about his Spirit Root awakening tomorrow.
"Not 'already.' It's about time."
"What Spirit Root do you expect to awaken?"
"Dunno... Grandpa and Mom think lightning. Probably that."
Kyle touched the thunderstone necklace at his throat. The lightning spirit from five years ago still nested there, devouring mana stones he fed it.
He hadn't communed with others. Whispers came from wind, earth, flame sometimes, but deep bonding before awakening was risky.
No wonder ancient spiritists were called possessed lunatics.
"I lack a Spirit Root, so I've no experience, but... they say you dream on awakening day."
"Yeah. You fall asleep unbidden before your birthday. In the dream... you see something tied to your Spirit Root."
Arian and Julius called it spiritual vision.
Manifestation of spirits. Feeling wind in the dream awakens the wind Spirit Root, opening circuits.
"Mom saw a massive windship. Aunt Erica, ice flower fields. Grandpa—"
"Saw thunderbolts raining like downpour, I believe."
Lucia replied.
Not exactly a dreamchild...
Stronger visions meant stronger roots. Developing them was arduous, so martial or magic aspirants hoped for vivid ones.
A single dream setting limits felt unfair.
"Young master."
At the Sword Tower's main gate, Lucia halted. Turning, she bowed to Kyle.
"You'll surely awaken a tremendous Spirit Root."
She said earnestly.
"Thanks."
Kyle grinned.
If awakening anyway, better a good root than a crappy one.
The gate opened. Kyle waved to Lucia and entered.
That night.
The Rose Mansion was quiet. Arian would usually fuss over Kyle's birthday tomorrow, but surprisingly, she was calm.
The table, however, wasn't. Lavish dishes filled it, pre-birthday. Kyle recognized some.
Dishes using lightning qi ingredients. Glancing up, he met Arian's sheepish smile.
"From Grandpa."
"He didn't summon me yesterday or today, but sent these?"
"Probably didn't want to burden you."
"Sending these contradicts that."
"No burden, but high hopes."
Kyle chuckled, picking up utensils.
"Too much to finish. Full stomach means shallow sleep."
"Still, taste one bite each for Grandpa's sake. Okay?"
"Sure."
Five years on, Kyle remained the dutiful son.
After dinner, reading, bathing, he found Arian at his door.
"Son, bedtime already?"
"Nah, digesting first."
"Don't stay up too late. Promise?"
On the eve of ten, the body succumbed to sleep before midnight. Not lying down risked collapsing.
"Sweet dreams, son."
Arian hugged him, kissing his forehead.
"Yeah. Good ones."
In his room, Kyle sat on the bed, tapping the thunderstone.
Crackle!
A purple snake, twice as large as five years ago, emerged.
"Last mana stone feeding today."
Offering a small one, it gaped wide, sinking teeth in. Mana drained; the stone dulled.
Fed, Kyle dimmed the lights and lay down.
He'd waited since five. Time till midnight remained, but he closed his eyes.
Not sleepy, yet drowsiness hit instantly upon trying—like something pulled his mind into dream. Soul detaching, sucked into void.
Darkness.
The world flashed bright.
Vast earth stretched.
Endless wasteland. Dust whirled, jagged rock mountains loomed like screens. Not mere stones—these sky-piercing peaks resembled colossal swords.
Earth screamed, splitting. Crimson lava surged like blood. Raging flames devoured all, painting the world red. Boiling heat forged greedy blades, scorching the air.
Flames didn't stop at burning; they tempered the melting land. Golden lightning struck the heated world. Bolts flashed—thunder as blades. Swift, sharp thunder cleaved flames, carving earth.
Skies blackened with thunderclouds. Icy snow and rain poured. Sudden waves curved softly, filling world's cracks. Endless, unstoppable waters danced sword dances.
World became sea, horizon visible. Infinite sky shed clouds, blazing sun scorching.
Life birthed in waters. Giant forests instantly displaced seas, blanketing the world. Trees thrust skyward like blades.
Fierce winds howled. Wild, slashing gales felled trees. World reverted to wasteland.
It cycled.
Wasteland to flames, molten metal, submerged waters, forests, wasteland—endless loop.
World spun. Cycle exploded, converged to a point.
All witnessed forms condensed. The vortex was chaos—nothing, yet everything.
Kyle stared blankly. He knew it was a dream, sensed its nature. He'd seen the world itself—its genesis and twilight.
The chaos weaving all stood before him. As he beheld it, it beheld him.
Kyle slowly reached toward the chaos.
"..."
Eyes opened.
From dream.
Awake, yet eyelids light, mind clear. Kyle blankly stared at the ceiling, arm absurdly outstretched toward it.
"...?"
Flexing fingers, he sat up.
"What kinda bullshit dream was that?"
Memories vivid, but its meaning eluded. Grandiose nonsense, every phenomenon woven with swords.
"..."
Kyle cautiously questioned his sanity.