The following morning, Rainhardt opened his eyes wide, revealing a face etched with mysterious complexity. His silver eyelashes flickered as he swept his gaze from left to right, finally pushing himself up into a sitting position.
"Hmm… ah—"
As he reminisced about the events of the past few dozen hours, he was met with a chilling reality.
He had become the protagonist of this world.
Bright sunlight scattered and refracted, reflecting off the mirrors as well as the countless feelings and memories of the young boy.
His thoughts revolved around the various shallow paths he had laid out the day before; he had yet to give them a concrete, definitive shape.
If left for too long, every plan would likely grow ambiguous. Rainhardt did not forget to grab his notebook, inscribing various data systems followed by his strategic plans.
Should one wonder why Rainhardt did so, the answer was simple.
The foundation of all things stems from sound basics and structure. Thus, planning without considering every element is merely a massive map devoid of text, directional arrows, or symbols to define them.
When put into practice, minor errors would inevitably follow, later fracturing and growing into a great stump that is difficult to sever.
Writing had been Rainhardt's hobby since his previous world. He loved pouring thoughts onto paper and revisiting them repeatedly.
Perhaps this inherent trait was one of the factors that pushed him further away from his dream of growth.
Upon realizing this, he felt a mixture of gratitude and loathing toward such a disposition.
Nevertheless, if it could be utilized, it was deemed valuable.
Rainhardt always maintained that if something learned could not be applied in practice, he would pay it no mind.
This was the primary reason why the Rainhardt of the previous world possessed superficial knowledge in every field but could never reach the pinnacle.
Based on the notion that—if it cannot be used in reality, it is utterly useless.
This motto, coupled with an ever-turbulent and impatient temperament, often caused him to burn out mid-way, or perhaps even before starting.
This habit, too, remained uncured.
With any luck, in this world, he hoped to encounter a psychiatrist who truly understood him.
Skritch—!
Rainhardt suddenly scribbled everything onto the coarse pages. It was a notebook from this world, which he had written without much care at that time.
Okay. What must be understood first are the fundamental basics of this world.
This world is a realm of eternity, also known as "The Eternal Being"—an everlasting existence, an immortal life devoid of extinction.
Although the name of this world reflected his fear of fading or loss, there was one truth he knew better than anyone.
This world was created out of his own infinite self-hatred.
If one could convert the hatred held for oneself into power, Rainhardt might truly be a god.
He did not want the whole world to revolve around him, but unfortunately, he could not even keep pace with the world's speed.
It was a dark irony, yet that was what caused this world to be born by accident.
This world consists of three primary types of power.
The first is Elemental Power, or Nature. These powers are governed by the laws of physics. To summarize simply: physical power, such as magic spells created by humans.
Delving deeper, these are referred to as Elemental Mana, which exists in every atom of the world.
It serves as a medium for creating elemental magic, the primary power of alchemists, explorers, and magical scientists.
These powers can create and control the surrounding environment in the world, such as Water, Earth, Fire, Wind, Light or Shadow, Metal, and so on.
The second power is known as Puremana, which is exceedingly rare in the world and serves as the true foundation of all things.
Similar to the primordial structure of quarks, yet perhaps much smaller, Puremana is the absolute center of the universe.
It is mana that completely transcends the boundaries and dimensions of spacetime. In this world, there is a theory that Puremana is actually the framework that constructed the universe.
And if used as power, it is no different from a superpower. Those qualified to use Puremana are very few, and those who can control it simply through thought and imagination are so scarce they can almost be counted on one hand.
It is not a widespread discipline; it is mostly used to create portals to external domains, the Demon Realm, or the Fairy Forest.
In short: a universal power.
The next part is Holy Power, a power that develops stability and energetic strength by reducing the original efficiency of Puremana, making it easier to use but harder to control.
Much like faith; if you believe in something, the Puremana hidden deep in the roots around you will reveal itself, responding to the user's mind.
The core function of Holy Power is the power of multiplication.
It resembles ultimate healing—restoring even arms or legs—or an attack that splits the sky with a single swing of an arm. It is, in essence, dense Puremana.
It is not something easily controlled, but if mastered, one becomes as strong as a God's Apostle.
These are the primary power settings of the world I created. Not flashy, yet not shallow. Everything exists for a reason, and in some cases, without reason.
However, once this world became a reality from the moment I plunged into this novel, all lack of logic would be eliminated.
There are no "bugs" or plot holes, unlike what I wrote by hand.
I must be cautious about this, because here, I can easily die.
This world has several levels of the strong, from one to ten. If one overlooks the levels reachable by normal humans, there are only three or four levels that far surpass ordinary people.
But thinking too much about it now would be a waste of time.
Rainhardt sketched out a rough plan, then stood up to stretch his slender body.
"Ugh—"
A searing pain in his heart suddenly shot through Rainhardt's nerves, forcing him to clutch his chest tightly, his face contorted in agony.
His pupils, which had gradually dilated, constricted after several seconds had passed.
The Holy Heart—a result of a child being born to parents with high Puremana.
His mother, Aira, the Saint of Destiny, possessed it as well. However, these things usually manifest only when the person's body is fully matured.
Unlike Rainhardt. He had it from birth, forced to live without knowing its exact symptoms until he realized that the Puremana from the Holy Heart was corroding his body. His original mana vanished, and eventually, so would his life.
An unfathomable suffering; every nerve was screaming.
Every time he moved his body rapidly, the Puremana from his heart would disperse into his entire body and organs in an instant.
It acted as a wave; when released, it would destroy his entire physical system.
The only way to cure it was a heart transplant, but with the current technology of this world, it was impossible.
This world was very negligent; simply because there was restorative magic, they ignored medical science.
Because no power in this world consumes itself from within, except for the Holy Heart.
Rainhardt bit his lip hard, hoisting his body up once more, gradually acclimating to the pain.
Doing this would likely lead him to an earlier grave, but if he could pass through this period of death, everything would improve.
"It's fine," Rainhardt swallowed the feeling in his throat, acting as though everything were normal.
No one knew how much pain he was in, because these symptoms had occurred abruptly just the day before.
He did not want to show weakness to anyone, not even his mother. Thus, Rainhardt decided to lie about it.
Creeak— The door was pushed open. Instead of the maid who served Rainhardt daily, it was his mother.
"Rainhardt!?"
Startled, she rushed toward him, clutching his shoulders and hands with wide eyes.
"Why are you up and walking like this… aren't you ill?"
Seeing her reaction, he took a deep gulp, his eyes wavering.
"I'm fine… see?—I'm perfectly okay now."
He gently pulled away from her, moving his shoulders and raising his arm at a right angle, flexing his muscles with a faint smile, hoping she wouldn't notice.
Her expression darkened slightly. "But I don't want you to rush, because I am searching for a way to cure you."
"You don't have to do that… I'm fine."
She opened her mouth, hesitating with a mix of emotions. She was a woman both tender-hearted and strong, knowing the truth that Rainhardt was only doing this to put her at ease.
"Even so—"
She lifted Rainhardt's hand and stroked it.
"I don't want you to endure it anymore. All this time, I never even knew how you felt or what you thought. I am truly sorry."
"But I want you to rest more. When the truth that you are dying because of the Holy Heart spreads, the position of family successor will be temporarily vacant. When that time comes, you won't need to be involved with the malicious schemes of the clansmen anymore."
Rainhardt stroked her hand in return and asked.
"And are you not worried, Mother? Given that Sylvia has already sacrificed her right to succession, and I am about to lose mine soon. Eventually, they will have conflicts on many fronts—whether it's Sylvia having to return to her duty as successor, or having to use someone from the branch line instead. Are you not worried?"
Rainhardt emphasized the word "worried" once or twice. She fell silent for many heartbeats.
"Even if Sylvia chooses not to succeed, I wouldn't mind. Because what matters most to me is your well-being and what you truly want."
"It doesn't matter which path you choose to walk; as a mother, I am always ready to support you."
She smiled, raising both hands to pinch my cheeks until they were round like dumplings.
"I love you most of all… you know that? That is why I must try very hard to save your life."
She added.
"Just wait for me a little longer. That is all I ask."
Rainhardt remained silent for a moment before speaking up.
"If that is the case… could you take me to the Grand Cathedral of the Lucia Kingdom?"
Aira paused involuntarily, letting out a confused sound.
"Is that not possible?"
Three days later.
86 days remain before the assassination of Rainhardt Edenhardt begins.
At the Holy Kingdom.
Rainhardt and Aira had arrived at the Holy Kingdom.
There was a man with pitch-black hair and sky-blue eyes, lying with one leg propped up and the other crossed over it, his arms pillowed behind his head.
He kept his eyes tightly shut before opening them to gaze at the bright sky.
"What a peaceful wind."
Before the world ushers in the storm of ruin upon humanity.