Somewhere in the Mortal Realm.
A small, skinny child lay on the ground, his black hair tangled with dirt and the pale skin filthy. Small black eyes stared hopelessly at the stone block ceiling.
All he could hear were the murmurs and groans of the criminals in the other cells and the sound of his stomach. His thin lips were dry from the lack of water and food.
'Those damn wretches, have they finally decided to end my suffering? Or did they simply forget about me?' He complained in his thoughts.
'Well, maybe it's for the best.'
'Honestly, I should have ended this miserable life a long time ago.'
After so much time alone in the prison, with nothing but his thoughts, his mind had already passed the point of breaking.
'Why did I keep living?'
'I just need to die to end all of this.'
All his mind wanted was an end to the situation; his existence had become his greatest torment.
'I haven't seen sunlight in more than two years, and I can't remember any smell other than this filthy cell.'
"It's not like my life could get any worse."
'Uhm, with my luck, I'll probably reincarnate as a slug in the next life.'
Tristan figured it would be better for his current state of mind to think about something else.
'Well, it's been a while since I've seen that.'
'Magush,' was the magic word to activate the gift of the ancient Supremes.
After thinking of that word, a golden hologram appeared in front of the child's face.
The runes formed:
Name: Tristan
Species: Human
Age: 10
Realm: Mortal
Core: Solid Red (Blocked)
Talents:
Abilities:
Artifacts:
'Nothing's changed.'
His face twisted.
'It's not like anything was going to change suddenly.'
The child remembered something.
'Tristan? Oh, right, that's my name now.'
~'Wrong! That's the name of this body,' an old and detestable voice echoed in his mind.
He remembered a time when he wasn't a complete failure.
Although Tristan did not have a powerful bloodline, he had a mature mind, which allowed him to cultivate faster than other children his age.
Thanks to this, he reached Solid Red at only six years old.
His face twisted, and his expression filled with pain.
His mind was full of resentful thoughts.
'Maybe... maybe that's the reason.'
'Maybe it was my fault.'
'Maybe I attracted too much attention.'
Truth be told, even back then, he thought about it. He thought it could be risky to have an abnormally fast cultivation rate, so he limited himself to merely appearing talented but not a genius.
But perhaps that wasn't enough.
'If that damn illness hadn't taken away my cultivation, things could have been different. I could have been different!'
~'Would it really have been different?'
He clenched his fist in anger. His mother and father searched for many doctors and healers in the marquisate.
Unfortunately, an answer was never discovered.
And then, shortly after, that happened...
Tears welled up in Tristan's eyes and fell onto his dry skin.
After he could no longer use cultivation techniques and it seemed there would be no way to resolve it, his father began ignoring his mother, his first wife, and started paying more attention to his second wife.
Valerie, his father's second wife, surpassed the authority of Tristan's mother and practically became the new ruler of the house.
He remembered the day his world was shattered; it was the mansion's servants who informed him of it. They simply said that she died.
~'That's why you're alive!'
Tristan knew nothing, so he wanted answers. All he had at the moment were suspicions.
'Damn witch!'
He knew Valerie hated his mother, and he also knew their families had some sort of old rivalry.
'My mother came from a more powerful family, and with my talent for cultivation, she must have imagined that she and her children would forever live under the shadow of the Count's main family.'
Tristan believed his reasoning was solid.
'Who else would have a reason to get rid of me and my mother besides that bitch?'
He looked at himself, arms, legs, and torso. Every inch of his body was marked with scars or dark spots from poorly healed wounds. He remembered how each injury on his body had been inflicted; it was deeply etched into his heart.
I still clearly remember how my hell began.
Right after his mother died, that witch only tried to hurt him with her words. But then, the day she realized that the bastard who was his father didn't care about him was the same day she discovered she didn't need to hold back.
For two damn years. She could break him whenever she wanted. He lived as something that existed solely to relieve her stress.
He endured all of that until two years ago, when Valerie grew tired of torturing him and threw him out, casting him into the dungeon, where he had lived miserably ever since.
'Why didn't she just kill me?'
The indignation on Tristan's face was evident.
'My father, my stepmother, and their four children dine and sleep comfortably above my head while I'm trapped in this wretched place.'
'Tsk, how perverse is this sick world!'
The death of his mother caused him more pain than any torture or the miserable years he spent in prison. She was the second person he had ever cared about in his entire life, and now she was dead, and Tristan couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't even avenge her.
~'Pathetic.'
He thought that if he were strong enough, he would surely make his father and stepmother beg the heavens for mercy.
'I'll wait for them in hell,' Tristan thought with deadly hatred.
'I'm sorry, mother; forgive me for being useless!'
Tristan grated his teeth and clenched his fist in anger.
He closed his eyes and sighed. It felt like his existence had no meaning or importance; he felt empty.
Then, suddenly, a golden light appeared in his cell, so intense that it almost blinded him. The light entered his body.
A voice spoke in his mind:
[You have acquired an artifact]
[Fragment of the book The Tales of the Creation of the Heavens and the Earth has been acquired]