The Burden of Time and Blood
The night was a vast, cold echo, too hollow for a world that should have been loud with life.
Rolando Academy was not a place of learning; it was a tomb built of stone and cruel ambition. It stood beneath the skeletal moon like a fortress that had forgotten what light felt like.
By the massive, dragon-crested gates, the young man knelt. Leo, Kyle's servant and shadow, did not move, even as the last taillight of the departing car vanished like a dying star.
His body, usually stiff with duty, shook with a violence that came from deep inside.
"Why was I born a slave?"
The thought was a burning cinder in his chest. He clutched the cheap, cracked tablet. The screen's glow was merciless, lighting the tracks of tears already dry on his cheeks. He stared at the unforgiving words: Hospital Bill Unpaid.
It was supposed to be the end of waiting. Kyle, the young master—always arrogant, always promising grand futures he never delivered—had promised this time.
He had sworn on his lineage, a dramatic flair for a simple lie, that he would sign the transfer papers. That he would pay for the last treatment. That he would save Maya, his little sister, the only good thing left in Leo's world.
He didn't.
Leo swallowed a sob that tasted like ash and betrayal. His hands, rough from years of silent, thankless service, squeezed the tablet so hard the plastic groaned.
"Was I not important enough? Did I mean nothing, young master?"
He knew the answer. He was a tool. His life, his loyalty, his sister's fragile health—all were simply commodities to the hunt family. He had spent his existence polishing the armor of a man who wouldn't spend a single copper to save the only person Leo loved.
He pulled himself up, the movement slow, agonizing, as if his bones were made of lead
. The air was thin up here, seven floors above the city. The city lights below, usually a comforting blanket, now seemed like fading, distant stars—millions of lives continuing while one quiet life down the street was ending.
The academy bell tolled a heavy, mournful note: Midnight.
It is over now.
He walked to the edge of the rooftop. The wind, sharp and cold, offered no comfort.
"I'm sorry, Maya. I wasn't able to save you. My hands were too weak, and my trust was a joke."
He closed his eyes. "Maybe… maybe this will buy you peace. Maybe he will finally notice the mess he made. Maybe the debt will be paid in blood, since it wasn't paid in money."
It was a foolish hope, a final, desperate prayer from a broken soul. He didn't think about his master's fate, only his sister's. He leaned forward.
Then, Leo jumped.
-----------------
Arthur woke with a shock that felt less like an awakening and more like a violent, painful birth.
He sat up, his breath ragged, heart pounding a useless rhythm against a chest that was not his own. For a long, terrifying minute, he did not know where he was, or even who he was.
The room was vast, luxurious, and cold. The bed was too soft, too plush. The air itself felt thick with stale, wealthy secrets. And then he saw it—the mirror.
He stared at the reflection of Kyle hunts: the sharp, unearned jawline, the pale, arrogant eyes, the handsome features that screamed 'spoiled royalty.'
"That's not me. That cannot be me."
His memories were shards of glass: fire, the smell of ozone, the deafening scream of battle, a heavy crown rolling across polished marble, and a throne that felt like home.
These were not the memories of a pampered academy student.
"I am standing in the skin of a ghost. I am wearing a dead man's guilt. I am a teen walking damn corpse now!" The urge to scream, to weep until this foreign body rejected him, was immense, but he resisted.
His past self, whoever he truly was, had taught him that weakness was a lethal luxury.
He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to merge the two shattered halves of his mind. "Standing here won't solve the madness. I need to act. But what is the action of a thief wearing a murderer's face?"
Then came the sound. A sweet, electronic chime, horribly out of place in this silent room.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
Arthur blinked. The text glowed faintly above the foot of the bed, a cruel, mocking banner of light.
[Quest: Do 100 push-ups and run 1000 kilometers]
[Penalty for failure: Loss of Strength]
"A system?" He gave a single, bitter laugh. "Again? What is this, some twisted joke from the gods? A dream that will never end?"
He felt a deep, wrenching sadness.
If he truly was a great king or warrior in his past life, this was his punishment: to be reduced to a mechanical puppet, obeying digital commands in the body of a boy who had already thrown his life away.
"Fine. You want a show? You want me to prove I'm worthy of this second life I didn't ask for? Let's play."
He dropped to the floor. The carpet was thick, luxurious. He didn't care.
"Ten… twenty…"
Sweat immediately began to pool beneath him. Kyle hunt's muscles were weak, unused to honest strain.
By seventy, the pain was a screaming, fiery entity in his arms.
"Eighty-nine… ninety… damn it—"
His brain ordered him to quit. The body of the spoiled young master wanted to quit. But something deeper, an ancient, furious instinct, hissed a command: Only the weak stop when it hurts. Pain is the only real thing you have left.
He finished the hundred.
Then came the run. He burst out of the academy, past the gates where Leo had knelt hours before, and began to run through the city's quiet streets. Lungs burned, heart hammered like a frantic prisoner trying to escape. Every footstep was a brutal reminder that he was inhabiting borrowed flesh.
He didn't stop until his watch beeped the completion. The distance was immense, inhuman. When he reached the thousandth kilometer, he didn't collapse—he simply ran out of fuel, standing still and trembling like a leaf.
[Quest Completed. Reward: +1 Vitality.]
[New Quest Available Soon.]
He leaned against a cold metal fence, panting, wiping the grime from his face. "So, I am a lab rat for invisible gods. And I have to keep running, or I will lose the strength to even pretend to be human." The thought filled him with a profound, aching weariness.
When Arthur finally returned to the Rolando gates, the academy did not feel like a school; it felt like a courthouse waiting to deliver a verdict.
The iron dragons along the entrance seemed to glare down at him with genuine malice. A thousand eyes—students, guards, instructors—watched his every step. He was already judged, condemned, before he opened his mouth.
The whispers followed him, thick and heavy, like grave soil.
"There he is."
"He actually came back after he did that?"
"The shame of the hunts family."
Arthur clenched his jaw. He didn't know what "he" (Kyle) had done, but the hatred was palpable, sticking to him like tar.
"Did what?" he muttered internally. He tried a normal greeting, a desperate attempt to reset the reality. "Morning."
No one replied. Only the suffocating silence and the heat of their collective hatred. It was a terrible, lonely feeling—to be hated for sins you didn't commit, while also being incapable of defending yourself because you didn't even know your own name.
He pushed open the classroom door. The noise died instantly, replaced by a wall of hostile stares.
At the back, a tall boy with cropped hair, Benny, the obvious bully, leaned against the wall. The smirk on Benny's face was not just arrogance; it was triumph, the look of someone who knows he has the moral high ground over a confirmed villain.
Arthur's jaw twitched. "That's him. The great pain in this body's memory. The reason this shell of a boy felt such despair."
Benny leaned closer to his friends, making sure his voice carried. "Look who crawled back. The academy's favorite disappointment, fresh from abandoning his duties."
Arthur offered a thin, tired smile, forcing confidence. "Don't let them smell your fear. Don't let them see the ghost inside."
"Keep barking. Maybe one day, you'll grow teeth."
The silence stretched, taut and dangerous. It was a confrontation not between two boys, but between the legacy of Kyle and the sheer stubbornness of Arthur.
The tension finally broke when the door opened again. The teacher entered—tall, composed, utterly controlled. Madam veridia. Her eyes were sharp, capable of cutting through steel, but today they held something softer, something weary.
"Sit," she said, her voice a low command.
Her gaze swept the room, gathering every student into submission, and then it landed on Arthur. It froze.
For one long, agonizing heartbeat, she stared at him as if seeing a ghost that should have stayed buried.
There was no hatred in her eyes, only a profound, heartbreaking pity.
Students exchanged nervous glances. "She's staring at him again. Madam's got a thing for Kyle, huh?"
"Fantastic," Arthur thought, rolling his eyes inwardly. "Day one, and I'm the star of my own miserable scandal. My face is a tragedy."
The teacher finally cleared her throat. "Today, we begin with history—the truth of dragons."
The chalk squeaked against the board, a dry, grating sound that pulled Arthur away from his self-pity.
"In ancient times, dragons were the true rulers. Humans feared them, rightly so.
But then came the tamers—the ones who learned the art of soul binding."
Arthur frowned. Soul binding? The words felt heavy, important, ringing a faint bell deep inside his fragmented memory.
"They cast a spell, and the dragon's physical body vanished, becoming one with the human soul. These people were the Originals.
" She turned, her eyes burning with an academic passion that was chilling. "An Original passes down that power—the dragon's bloodline.
But only the first can tame again. The stronger the Original, the greater the family.
"Dragon's bloodline. Is that what I inherited in this shell? A cursed power?"
"But power breeds defiance," she continued, her voice dropping. "The Slayers, those who once hunted dragons, call tamers sinners.
They claim taming breaks the divine balance. The government hunts them still."
Arthur murmured, the words escaping without his conscious permission, an echo of his past life's philosophy: "Balance is overrated. It's just an excuse for the weak not to try."
The class turned to him, shocked by the boldness. The teacher's eyes flickered, the pity momentarily replaced by intrigue.
"Interesting opinion, Kyle'," she said softly. "Perhaps you've seen that balance up close, then?"
Arthur met her gaze, a familiar smirk pulling at Kyle's lips. "Maybe in a dream."
The whispers resumed, thick and questioning. He ignored them, focusing only on veridia. Her calmness was a perfect shield, hiding a core of pity and, yes, a definite warning.
"Now," she said, clapping her hands once, the sharp sound silencing the room. "Each of you will receive your Academy Watch. It tracks your days here—your currency of survival."
Assistants handed out sleek, silver watches. Arthur slipped his on. The number glowed, stark and unforgiving: 800 Days Remaining.
The teacher's voice took on a new, colder edge. "Every midnight, one day disappears.
You trade these days for food, gear, or comfort. Waste them, and you fall. If your watch reaches zero…"
She paused. The room went silent, every student holding their breath.
"You're sent to the Underside." The word was a chilling curse.
"The Underside," she explained, "is the darkness beneath the academy. It's where the weak fight to reclaim their lost days. But the price is high—you start from negative one hundred. Down there, being weak is a crime, and you are disposable."
Arthur looked at the glowing numbers on his wrist, a chain binding him to this hell.
"So this school doesn't run on merit or mercy. It runs on time. And I only have 800 days to figure out who I am before I'm sent to die for someone else's sins."
"Exactly," veridia replied, as if reading his mind. "Don't waste yours. The cost is too high."
After class, Arthur's watch pulsed, interrupting his frantic thought process.
> Summons: Courtroom, Block A. Immediate.
He sighed, the sound heavy and weary. "Day one, and I'm already summoned. Of course.
Kyle's chickens are coming home to roost, and I'm the one stuck holding the feed bag."
He walked out.
The whispers instantly sharpened, cutting through the air. The stares were no longer just cold; they were furious, fueled by a genuine, agonizing sense of injustice.
Then something hit him. Wet, foul, and sticky. Rotten egg.
He slowly wiped his cheek, the smell turning his stomach. He didn't bother looking for the culprit; he already knew.
A girl stood trembling on the staircase. Her eyes were swollen, raw from crying, and her face was a mask of pure, devastating grief.
Her voice broke as she shouted, her words ringing with justified fury:
"Murderer! You killed my brother, Kyle!"
Arthur froze. The blood drained from his face.
"He was your guard! He trusted you—he loved you! And you let him die! His sister died because of your cruel lies!"
She drew a sword. It wasn't an academy-issued weapon; it was a rough, glowing piece of metal, probably stolen.
Her hands shook, but her focus was absolute. "He died because of your lies, Kyle! You deserve this!"
"Wait—" Arthur began, trying to step back, to create distance, to explain that he was not the man she hated. "I didn't kill anyone!"
But she was beyond listening. Grief had given her a speed born of despair. She teleported—a flash of light and shadow—appearing directly behind him. The glowing blade plunged forward, piercing his back just beneath the shoulder blade.
The pain was a sharp, tearing agony. It was immediate, real, and a terrifying confirmation that this new life, too, could end with a single stab. He fell to one knee, a red, sticky warmth blooming rapidly down his sleeve.
She raised the sword again, sobbing uncontrollably. "My little sister Maya died because your family refused help! You deserve to feel the pain you caused!"
Arthur gasped, struggling to speak past the agony. "Maya. Leo. I know their names now, but I can't tell her I'm sorry. I'm not Kyle. But I'm wearing his hands. His blood is on this face."
He could only choke out, "Your brother… he…"
He didn't finish. The sword stopped—just inches from his neck—caught mid-air.
The teacher,veridia, stood between them. Her calm, bare hand gripped the blade.
Her voice cut through the chaos, low and dangerous. "Enough."
The glowing blade shattered into a thousand useless fragments. The girl collapsed onto the stone floor, silent except for wrenching, heartbroken sobs. Guards rushed in to restrain her.
[Emergency Alert: Automatic Regeneration Commenced]
Arthur's vision blurred. The severe pain was already receding, a cold, unnatural healing flowing through the wound.
He dismissed the system notification. He looked up at veridia, but she had already turned away, masking her expression. There was only that familiar, awful pity in her eyes.
"Come with me, Kyle," she said, her voice soft, weary, and utterly devoid of judgment.
As they walked down the corridor, the girl's screams echoed behind them, a final curse he could not outrun: "You'll pay for what you did! I swear it, Kyle!"
Arthur walked silently, the regenerating wound a strange, inhuman ache in his back.
"I didn't kill him… did I?" The question was useless. He wore the face of the killer. He carried the guilt.
In the headmaster's massive, dark chamber, the heavy door closed, sealing them away from the accusations outside.
veridia looked at him for a long, painful time, her gaze searching his borrowed eyes. "Do you even remember, Kyle?" she asked quietly, the name feeling like a lead weight.
Arthur finally found his voice, the sound flat and hollow. "No. I don't. And that… that terrifies me more than being killed. Because I don't know where the monster ends and I begin."
Outside, the faint sound of the girl's sobs finally faded away down the long corridor, leaving only the oppressive silence of the hunts name.
And deep beneath the academy, where the weak were sent to become disposable, a cold, crimson mist stirred, unseen, waiting for its due.
> [SYSTEM UPDATE: Emotional Instability Detected]
[New Quest Incoming: Find the truth of your body's past.]
Arthur stared at his trembling, bloodless hands. The hands of a king? The hands of a murderer?
"What am I becoming?"
The mirror reflected Kyle, sharp and cruel. But Arthur was still fighting to breathe inside.
"I'll find out who I am. I'll peel away the layers of this boy's sin, or I will die trying. I will not carry his guilt down to the Underside."