*700 extra words*

—

Suyo glanced over at Tyr in his powerful form. He was near the arena, in the lower stands.

‘He’s grown so much since the first time we became acquaintances,’ he thought to himself, feeling a sense of awe wash over him. He was thinking back to that time when Tyr first apologized to him.

After that day, he never was bullied again by anyone in his section, or even outside in the city or training facility.

That was partly due to his friendship with Tyr, but also due to the fact that in this month or so, Tyr had locked down on his section.

Every day, all members of the section would be forced to attend the morning breakfast where they would bow to Tyr and listen to what he had planned that day for everyone to do–whether it be getting money for him, or buying materials and pills.

Tyr had made a ruthless life for everyone, seemingly not caring. That’s easily the impression such actions could give off.

After all, many tried to rebuke the orders and form alliances to beat Tyr. However, Tyr handled them with an iron fist… almost literally.

Sometimes, Tyr didn’t even do it himself. He used Race, and other stronger members to deal with the delinquents.

By now, everyone was under his complete control in section C.

‘He’s a good person, in reality. I know that,’ Suyo mused, noting the times him and Tyr would talk. He had grown a bit closer to the young dragon tamer.

Not like real friends, but certainly friendly accomplices.

‘I think he tries to be a good person, but he also wants to gain as much power as possible. It seems he’s already chosen that power means more to him than relationships. I wonder what his true answer would be to that question. Still, no matter his answer, something about him makes me want to root for him. It’s like my decision is already encoded within my brain.’

He looked around, noticing excited eyeballs of intrigue and amazement all staring at Tyr, ‘And it seems others feel it too. It’s a sense that makes us think we have no control. The control is in his hands, and whatever he does, we follow. In this sense, we root for him alone.’

Tyr remained steady, his gaze unwavering, ‘I beat him with ease…’ He paused, ‘But, I’m wasting Aura right now because my body is too excited for this Ancestral Ability. I will need to tame it and use only the Aura it needs to exist. I know that in its description, I can form even more palms. I think that is why my Aura is being released. This Ancestral Ability spell wants to create more palms, but due to my low proficiency, I can’t.’

Despite all of this, he was still smiling slightly even while not knowing the fact.

This power was like a new world opened up to him. If he beat someone that was over the power level of 800 so easily, it wouldn’t be long now before he could reach level 850 and unlock his new GG spell and also more memories.

Plus… he felt he was getting closer to that mark of the emperors in Ainsveld. He still had something to accomplish there before moving on.

‘Well… I guess more than just one thing. I was going to crush Rock Saelfine to dust, like a dry leaf under my foot. But… I can’t just leave without looking those bastards back in the eye, who tried to take my life. What kind of conqueror would let others attempt to kill him live happily ever after? That’s pure cowardice…’

He stared at Crimson’s dire state, looking up at Reana, ‘She is meant to call the fight. I don’t know why she is not yet.’

*2 Minutes earlier.*

The moment Crimson was left completely unconscious and fucked up on the ground, he fell into a trance of memories.

He couldn’t help it. It was like he was reliving his entire life before his untimely death.

***

*SWING*

*BANG*

A young kid’s nose was busted open by a punch. The kid was on the ground, now bleeding profusely. Despite that, he had a strong, aggressive look on his face.

He was probably no older than 6, his hair gray and slightly spiky, and his attire old and dirty. Tattered shorts and a cheap white shirt was all that existed on his body.

He was in some alleyway. There were five other kids around him who seemed to be the same age or a couple of years older.

“Ahaha!” One laughed, “What a useless bastard! Keep wailing on him!” he said, his fist bloody.

At that moment, the small gray-haired kid saw the expressions of everyone standing in front of him suddenly change.

They all looked at him at the same time and smiled. Their expressions were horrifying, like demons. Their eyes told a message that was malicious and disgusting.

A message that said they had no regard for his health, or his humanity. A message that said they wanted to use him, and hurt him for their own pleasure.

All of them quickly surrounded him, beginning to smash his face in ruthlessly.

Some kicked him in the groin, stomach, ribs, and neck.

“This is what you get, you poor little punching bag!”

“You are a damn shame to your family! Your father is already a lowly bum working for my dad, and you were born with a completely useless Ancestral Ability!”

“Ahahaha!”

Others took small rocks and sticks, breaking fingers and scratching large gashes all over him.

“Pathetic! You were meant to be the savior of your family, and yet, you were born with the worst Ancestral Ability anyone could think of! You’re just a punching bag!”

The gray-haired kid could barely hear all of this from the excruciating pain he was experiencing, but he still managed to understand every single word.

The kids were beating his face in ruthlessly, punching at swollen parts and pieces of his cheeks that were already cut up with stones and sticks without any care.

He was bleeding profusely and completely battered. This continued for hours until the sun eventually set under the horizon.

Finally, the bullies left Crimson to lay there. Anyone else with these horrid wounds would die of blood loss, some even of shock from the pain at such a young age, and some through suicide.

Despite that, Crimson was still breathing. He slowly stood up, despite both of his ankles being dislocated.

He began to walk, his breath ragged and barely working.

The reason why everyone called him a punching bag was… due to his ‘useless’ Ancestral Ability.

A few seconds after he began walking, a pink flame appeared on his wrists.

As soon as Crimson saw this, his face contorted into one of rage. He grit his teeth, his eyes expanding as his eyebrows crunched inwards to form a grizzly expression.

Before he knew it, all of the injuries on his body had healed.

“ARGH!” he screamed, grabbing a rock and smashing it against the pink fire, wherever he saw it.

He broke his own wrist, exclaiming in pain, “Aackk!” Tears nearly jerked from his face as he went limp from frustration.

His forehead hit the ground, “Why…” he whispered, “Why was I born with you… as my Ancestral Ability? You’re a monster… you have ruined everything.”

He noticed his eyes becoming moist at that moment and bit his top lip hard enough to cut it open in order not to cry.

That was also instantly healed.

Exhausted, he returned home…

He lived in a small shack a few alleyways in from the main road.

It was made of tin, small and rusty, but it seemed to do the job.

When he arrived at the doorway, clean and unscathed, his father turned from a small firepit on the floor and looked at him.

‘Father…’ Crimson mused, beginning to think:

His father was 33 years old. He had a messy light stubble on his face, a few wrinkles on his forehead, and sweat pouring from his brow.

He was a working man with a dead wife, working every day as a Hunter signed to a small guild in the city.

However, he was weak. Extremely weak. He was born with no Ancestral Ability at all and learned martial arts and other techniques to get by.

Despite that, every mission he went on, he was horribly injured whenever he returned back home.

This was because he didn’t make money from completing quests or anything of that manner. He made money through the guild, who paid him to go on these quests.

Although he tried to fake it, Crimson always knew that his father hated the job. Before he was born, his father and his mother used to hunt together.

She had healing powers, which allowed his father to continue hunting safely.

But with her dying while birthing Crimson, he had to continue hunting without her to provide for Crimson. This was also a contract that he couldn’t leave, so he had no choice but to fulfill it no matter how many decades it took.

Despite all of this, Crimson’s father smiled brightly when he saw his child.

“Son! You’re back! Did you have fun with your friends today?” he said before turning, “I cooked some amazing meat and bread soup today!”

Crimson’s lower lip quivered, ‘Don’t say that… stop pretending like you’re happy.’

His dad tasted the soup. “It’s great… mmm! I know you will love it.”

‘Stop being happy… you… hate me for being born, don’t you? I killed my mom to be in this world… and ruined your life by being useless. Why are you smiling? Why!? Why are you smiling!?’ He clenched his fists as tears slowly trickled down his face.

He couldn’t help but sniffle as his nose became runny.

His father continued gazing at the soup, his back turned, as his son was crying. His expression turned into a basic, emotionless frown, his eyes like empty voids as he stirred the pot.

He had large eyebags and a dreary look to him.

“It’s done!” he suddenly smiled.

Crimson quickly wiped his tears and sat down to eat.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep