"Do you seek power, boy?"
The question momentarily stunned Abaddon. He froze as if the weight of those words had physically struck him. Power-something he had long desired, something he would have sacrificed everything for-was forever out of reach.
It was his lack of power that had led him to this point, a victim of the world's cruelty. He thought bitterly to himself.
'What the hell is that question supposed to mean?.'
Archimedes, noticing Abaddon's expression slowly shifting to anger, smiled knowingly. Then, out of nowhere, he burst into laughter, catching both Abaddon and Orlan off guard.
Archimedes sighed and offered a casual apology.
"Forgive my uncharacteristic behavior. I was only teasing you, young Drakon. Even if I had the means to grant such a miracle, you, of all people, would be the last to attain it."
This declaration placed Abaddon in a state of mixed feelings, he knew the outcome yet he was annoyed about it.
Sensing his frustration, Eleanor gently grabbed his hand, her touch a quiet reassurance. Abaddon exhaled deeply, calming himself. He turned to Eleanor and gave her a warm smile, causing the clumsy girl to blush.
Archimedes observed the scene with mild amusement. Seeing the bond between them, he chuckled softly.
"How charming,"
He remarked.
"A nobleman falling for a commoner. Quite the story."
Then, shifting his focus to Eleanor with a disarming smile, he added,
"Miss Eleanor, would you kindly excuse us? I'd like to have a private conversation with your father and young master. My knights will escort you to get some fresh air."
The sudden shift in tone set Abaddon on edge. His instincts flared with alarm as he glared at Archimedes.
"Why the sudden act of politeness?"
He demanded.
"And what could you possibly need to discuss that she can't stay here to hear?"
Archimedes raised a hand in a gesture meant to calm.
"I mean no harm. It's simply a matter of privacy."
But Abaddon's instincts screamed otherwise. Stepping in front of Eleanor, he protectively placed a hand on her shoulder. Orlan, mirroring Abaddon's wariness, moved closer to shield the children with a serious demeanor.
"She's staying here with us."
Abaddon declared coldly. Orlan gave a firm nod, silently standing in agreement.
The knights standing beside Archimedes began to exude an oppressive aura, a silent warning for them to behave. The air in the room grew heavy as the tension mounted.
Eleanor, sensing the growing hostility, stepped forward. Placing a reassuring hand on Abaddon's arm, she smiled softly and addressed Archimedes.
"It's all right, elder. Please don't get angry. My master is just a bit overprotective of me."
Eleanor said gently, attempting to reassure Abaddon.
Despite her soothing words, Abaddon persistently tried to stop her from leaving, even going so far as to invoke his authority as her master. However, Eleanor, stubborn as ever, refused to be swayed and politely excused herself, following the knights out of the room.
As the door closed behind her, the warm, smiling demeanor of Archimedes vanished in an instant. In its place was a cold, authoritative expression. Both Abaddon and Orlan stared at him in shock, struggling to reconcile the man they'd just spoken to with the one now standing before them.
An intense purple aura radiated from Archimedes as he addressed them in a menacing chilling tone.
"I've held back far too long because of that little girl. From here on out, I advise you to stay in your lane as the slaves I bought. Otherwise, I'll dispose of you without hesitation."
The statement sent a wave of caution through Abaddon and Orlan. The atmosphere in the room fell silent as Archimedes adjusted his monocle and took a deep breath, visibly calming himself.
Then, with a straight face, he continued.
"I'll say this only once: the girl now belongs to me. Don't act surprised. The only reason I saved you two was to gain her trust. Stay out of my way-especially you, Drakon. You're no longer a noble, so it's about time you learned how to survive as the commoner you've become."
Abaddon's fists tightened, but it was Orlan who first voiced his outrage.
"What do you want with Eleanor?"
Archimedes smirked.
"Isn't it obvious? That girl is far more than you realize. Unlike you, I see her potential. Under my guidance, she'll become something far greater than a mere servant."
This declaration confused both Abaddon and Orlan, though Orlan, being a father, stood firm and declared.
"She's not yours to take! We may be slaves now, but that won't last forever. You should think carefully about whom you're threatening."
But his words fell on deaf ears. Archimedes chuckled darkly before replying.
"Her talents surpass anything you could comprehend, old man. Your daughter reminds me of myself back when I was a non-ranker. She's more extraordinary than you'll ever understand. While she is but a normal human, her abilities put her in a class of her own."
Abaddon, unable to contain his curiosity, asked.
"What do you mean by like you? Back when you were a non-ranker?"
Archimedes' smile widened as he stepped closer to them, pulling out a blue magic orb. Without hesitation, he infused it with magic. A few moments later, a holographic projection filled the room, displaying intricate diagrams and streams of information.
"Allow me to enlighten you,"
He said with pride.
"I am not a ranker. I never was."
Both Abaddon and Orlan froze in disbelief.
"That's impossible. You manipulate mantra like any ranker, you just used magic didn't you."
"With far more precision."
Archimedes corrected smugly before continuing.
"You see, as an ordinary human, I spent the last eighty years studying rankers-their soul-ores, their powers, everything. After decades of research, experiments, and the sacrifice of countless resources, I succeeded in creating an artificial soul-ore."
Orlan's eyes widened further.
"Artificial...?"
"Yes."
Archimedes confirmed, clearly satisfied with their shock. The weight of the revelation left both Abaddon and Orlan stunned. Abaddon's thoughts spiraled into disbelief.
'How could a mortal, bound by the limitations of flesh and bone, defy the divine order and accomplish what even the ancestral race could not?'
He stared at the man before him, Archimedes, a figure both extraordinary and terrifying.
Archimedes smirked, clearly amused by Abaddon's disbelief. With a casual wave of his hand, he pulled the young man from his thoughts.
"Surprised?"
He asked with a faint smile.
"You shouldn't be. Though, it would seem impossible to you. But let me educate you, boy."
He stepped even closer, his silver eyes gleaming as he focused on Abaddon.
"Even born as a non-ranker from the Sky Heaven Empire, I devoted my life to the eternal craft, worshiping the god of forge and metallurgy, Kaelthar, the Eternal Smith. From birth, I sought his blessing. And he, in his benevolence, bestowed upon me a gift: the ability to solve any problem, to see the threads of creation and innovation. That was my purpose, my edge."
Still in a daze, Abaddon slowly raised his hand to his chin in a contemplative posture, murmuring words that caught the attention of both Archimedes and Orlan.
"The craftsmanship class... Rankers who worship the divine god Kaelthar often reach heights of unparalleled innovation."
He thought. He recalled his family's devotion to the god of war and valor, Thyronis, who had blessed the Von Drakon bloodline with unmatched strength. But this was different—a mortal achieving what seemed divine. His disbelief wavered, giving way to a chilling realization...Archimedes might actually be telling the truth."
He paused, turning his gaze to Archimedes, though his thoughts were still clouded about Rankers, individuals set apart from ordinary mortals.
"Rankers were those who had transcended the mundane through the awakening of their soul-ores, a core of power fueled by mantra energy, the cosmic life force. Unlike ordinary mortals, whose mantra levels rarely surpassed two, rankers could channel immense power depending on their soul-ore and its refinement.
Ordinary mortals existed in a fragile balance with mantra, their energy barely sustaining life. But rankers—those born with higher mantra or those who refined their soul-ore—stood as paragons, defying natural limits. And now, Archimedes claimed to have created an artificial soul-ore, a feat unheard of in history.
Orlan finally broke the tense silence as he demanded in a worrying tone.
"What does any of this have to do with my daughter?"
Archimedes' expression soured slightly in annoyance, folding his arms, he replied with cold indifference to Orlan.
"Your daughter, Eleanor, is the missing piece to my grand design."
He said flatly.
"While I succeeded in creating an artificial soul-ore that elevated me to a ten-star Common Rank, it is far from perfect because that was the bottleneck. My soul-ore is now fracturing. Its stability falters because it was never meant to bear such power."
"As we know, Mantra energy is the foundation of all existence. A normal mortal's mantra must be at least two or below but should never be zero, since that only happens when one dies. In my case I had a mantra level of [4.2], this meant that I could also wield soul-ore,but not enough to master it. But Eleanor... your precious daughter... she has a mantra energy level of ten."
Abaddon's breath caught.
"Ten? That's unheard of for a normal human!"
Archimedes smirked.
"Her potential is beyond rare. With her, I can perfect my creation, forge a soul-ore equivalent to the fabled Golden Soul-Ore, and make her my most powerful servant. She will surpass even the heroes."
Hearing all of these, Orlan's face twisted with rage, his fists trembling.
"You think you can take my daughter and use her for your experiments?!"
Archimedes ignored him, addressing Abaddon instead.
"I will keep you both alive for now. She must not resent me when I turn her into my masterpiece. I'll tell her that you and her father have been sent for treatment, all for her sake. I'll feed her lies—'Your father loves you and wants you to stay with your uncle until they return.' Simple enough to fool her naive little mind."
Abaddon's fury erupted.
"You bastard!"
Visibly annoyed, he lunged at Archimedes, attempting to punch him but before he could reach him, a crushing force pressed him down. It felt as though he had been transported to another planet, where the crushing intensity of gravity was tearing his body apart.
"Pathetic."
Archimedes said, turning to walk leisurely toward the doorway before continuing.
"Eleanor is mine now. From this moment forward, she has nothing to do with either of you."
Orlan rushed to help Abaddon to his feet, as the Evil scientist left the laboratory room, all they heared was.
"Guards."
Moments later, the knights who had escorted Eleanor out returned, looking at the duo on the floor struggling to get up.
"Knock them out."
One ordered.
The knights moved swiftly, striking the two unconscious. They picked them up and begun to leave the room whiles passing out mocking comments.
"We're supposed to send them to the second base."
One knight muttered angrily.
"What a waste."
Another laughed.
"The mines will crush them long before they see old age."
One of the knights smirked as he sneered at Abaddon's unconscious form.
"A powerless nobleman. I heard he was cast out of his family for his weakness. Being a regular human in this world is a death sentence."
Their laughter echoed as they carried the unconscious pair away onto a flying collosal ship.
In Abaddon's mind, all of this felt temporary. Deep down, he knew the time would come when he would repay them all in blood.
Beneath the dark night sky, a local town came into view. At its center stood the Arcane Citadel, a foreboding structure with four towering pillars that disappeared into the clouds, dominating the horizon.
Abaddon, who had been transported to this place hours earlier, finally stirred awake. He found himself in the suffocating heat of a mining field, the oppressive darkness illuminated only by the faint glow of torches. The harsh clang of metal striking stone echoed relentlessly in his ears.
Around him, dozens of slaves toiled endlessly, their bodies drenched in sweat as they dug for ores with no respite. Confused and disoriented, Abaddon tried to piece together where he was, but his thoughts were interrupted by a searing pain.
A whip cracked across his back, tearing through his flesh and drawing a sharp gasp from his lips. The agony confirmed the grim reality— the world was full of cruelty.
"Get up, worm!"
One of the soldiers barked at the newcomer.
Abaddon staggered to his feet, pain shooting through his body. He turned to glare at the soldier in anger. The soldier not liking the look in Abaddon's gaze, raised his whip once more, but before he could strike, Orlan stepped forward, pleading on his behalf.
"Please, spare him!"
The soldier harshly yelled at them.
"You want mercy? Then work!"
Without a word, Abaddon took a deep breath, calming his mind. His hollow gaze fell on the rusty digging tool beside him, and he picked it up. He silently joined Orlan and the other workers at the back, mining ores under the harsh supervision of the soldiers.
Meanwhile far away, in the heart of Archimedes' S.T.E.E.L laboratory, a different scene unfolded. Scientists monitored glowing crystals, projecting the vitals of G-66, a subject suspended in a liquid-filled containment tube.
Suddenly, alarms blared. The room filled with flashing red lights as the pulse and mantra levels of G-66 spiked erratically.
"What's happening?!"
Shouted one of the researchers.
The liquid within the tube churned violently. Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass, and before anyone could react, the tube shattered.
Water gushed out, and a towering figure emerged, his body glinting with steel. As the figure stood amidst the chaos, his orange, glowing eyes locked onto one of the surveillance crystals.
The scientists froze. The figure tilted his head, as if acknowledging their presence. Then, with a deep, mechanical growl, he spoke a single word.
"Chaos."
The screen went black.