At the age of three, when August had begun to grow more aware of his surroundings—grasping small details and forming clear memories—he had encountered the existence of the system. At the time, it was completely locked. He couldn't see any messages or access anything; it was merely a strange voice echoing in his mind.
As he grew older and continued to hear the same "locked" message, the voice became a familiar presence. In their clan, children typically began basic schooling at the age of five. From that point on, August had been determined to uncover more about the system.
He'd never had access to games, anime, mobile phones, or even many books. With no distractions to pull him away, he remained focused solely on his goal—regardless of how much time, pain, or loss it demanded of him.
But now, it seemed everything had changed. Who would have thought his soul core could actually be mended through Cold Synthesisation, just as Mask had theorised?
August blinked twice. Everything Mask had said earlier drifted far from his ears as he stared, fixated, at the screen hovering within his mind. This was his first time seeing something like it—it felt… strange.
"Oi, August! Are you listening? Let's go—we've not even had a bath yet."
Young's voice cut through his daze, snapping him out of his thoughts. August turned towards him with a blank gaze before bowing respectfully to Mask and heading towards the door.
In summary, they were to be deployed to Britain in six days' time, where they would engage in battles against Corrupted Souls. Once the task was complete, they'd return home. The agreement with the Lond Clan was for a stay of six months, though if they succeeded in significantly reducing the corruption—with external assistance, of course—they'd be allowed to return earlier than planned.
For now, they had six days to prepare. Since this was day one, the very first step in their preparation was a long, proper bath—followed by intensive training throughout the day, with more to come in the days ahead.
As the three prepared to leave the Clan Head's office, Mask suddenly called out—asking August to remain while the other two proceeded. Without hesitation, they made their way to their quarters, presumably to take a much-needed bath, leaving August behind.
Mask went on to sit behind his desk, gesturing for August to take a seat on the couch. August did so.
"…So, August, looking through your soul now, I can see it's been mended," Mask began in a calm tone, his gaze fixed on August, waiting for a reaction.
But August didn't respond. He simply nodded in acceptance. Mask was well aware of this—August wasn't the type to show unnecessary reactions that wouldn't serve any purpose. He preferred action over words, as he had shown in his time with Young.
Mask was, however, taken aback that August's soul had been repaired, but that was all he could see. There was no hidden power beneath the reborn soul—just a blank slate, different from a regular human, but not much else. As an Awakened Exalted, this was far from what Mask had expected.
He sighed inwardly.
Nothing remarkable was appearing. He'd held onto the theory that if something extraordinary were meant to emerge, it would be met with obstacles, at first.
Yet, Mask didn't lose hope. Instead, he tilted his head back, gazing up at the high ceiling, and allowed a faint smirk to curl beneath his mask.
"Your father was unique. Even now, after his fall due to corruption, he remains a figure of note. He once told me something that I hold close—something I'll share with you."
Mask paused for a moment, as if to collect the right words, before speaking again, his voice taking on a deeper tone.
"Grow in silence, and your results will speak louder than any words, like thunder after a storm. Let your progress make the noise the world can't ignore."
August gave a brief glance at Mask before lowering his gaze to the floor, letting the words settle in his mind. His father wasn't the issue here. The real challenge was the weakness he still carried within himself, a weakness that spurred him to set one unyielding goal: No matter the obstacle, no matter the pain or the trials ahead, he would overcome them all and emerge victorious, reaping the benefits in the end.
To lighten the mood, Mask chuckled softly, covering his mask's nose as though pretending to notice a disgusting scent from August.
"Get a bath, child. You reek."
August stood, bowing slightly once again before leaving the office.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Mask turned his head towards it and murmured softly, almost to himself:
"The child has matured significantly. This emotionally reserved individual has endured far more than I had initially realised. I sincerely hope he reaches the supreme peak. He is, without a doubt, exceptional."
***
After taking a long, frigid bath, August now stood in front of the bathroom mirror, water dripping from the strands of his ginger-coloured hair, styled in a wolf cut. His face was athletic and handsome, showing no signs of stress or hardship, despite all he had endured over the years. His childhood had been anything but beautiful, but it didn't show. He stared at his reflection, looking directly into his amber eyes, then exhaled slowly.
His thoughts then turned to the system, and he began wondering how he could make it appear. Over the years, he had never been able to figure it out—it always seemed to manifest randomly, appearing whenever it felt like it.
Or so he thought...
"...Umm. Are you there? Strange voice? Or floating screen?" he whispered in a cold tone, awaiting its arrival.
And, somehow, it did appear. He stepped back slightly and focused more intently on what was written before him.
[Name]: August Eirson
[Render Level]: 487
[Soul Core Type]: Mended Soul Core - [Hell Core]
Path: [Unchosen]
[Soul Forge State]: Dormant
[Stability]: 78%
[Corruption Index]: 3%
[Soul Heat]: 21°C (Safe)
The strange voice added:
"Your soul remains stable. No anomalies detected. Render flow is optimal."
Even after seeing this for the first time in Mask's office, August still couldn't comprehend how his Render Level had reached 487. It was highly abnormal for someone who had never battled a corrupted soul, and his soul had only recently been mended—so how did he have such a high Render Level?
It was enough to draw a faint smile to his face. At this point, he had surpassed a few, though very few on the Sparks tier.
Exalted individuals were ranked into six stages (refer to Chapter One for the details).
If August were to rank himself, he would still be in the Spark tier—but with only a small distance left to reach the Blade tier.
He grinned lightly and muttered to himself:
"I guess all those years of training and refining myself weren't a waste. Hope might be fragile, but it depends on the one who holds it, and how they work towards what they hope for, rather than just waiting for a miracle. I will reach the Infinite Ascendant stage, no matter what, and I will make sure to avoid corruption. I won't just hope—I will work towards it. If I can take this strange soul core as something 'special', then I'm sure I'm on the right path..."
One detail continued to trouble him amidst the flood of information—it was the matter of [Path]. In all his years, he had never encountered such a term associated with an Exalted. As far as he knew, there was no such concept… unless, perhaps, it was one of the unknown benefits of the Hell Core. He pushed the thought aside for now.
Then, August began drying himself off, though, curiously, his body retained much of the moisture. Under normal circumstances, the chill in the air would have dried him quickly, but here, the water clung to him unnaturally—as if resisting the cold entirely.
Amusing, though hardly a surprise at all.
He reached for his black attire, slipped it on, and stepped out of the bathroom, making his way towards the training hall to join the others.
***
Using the rear exit of the castle wing they occupied—discreetly positioned beneath the staircase—August made his way to the opposite side of the fortress, emerging into a spacious lobby. There, several of the clan's Exalteds were already gathered, hurriedly consuming their breakfast before the food succumbed to the chill and froze within moments.
August, however, felt no particular urge to eat and opted to forgo the meal. A female handmaiden, serving as the chef, called out to him as he passed the array of dishes kept warm in insulated containers.
"Not hungry today, boy?"
He offered a silent nod, continuing forward without pause. With a quiet sigh, she resumed her duties, attending to those who returned for second helpings.
Just then, Young dashed out of the adjacent training hall and into the lobby, hurrying to Madame Li with anticipation in his eyes and a hopeful smile on his face. She chuckled warmly, readying a plate for him—only for Carla to materialise behind him and seize the back of his tunic, pulling him away before a single bite could be taken. Young scowled but did not resist, clearly accustomed to her interruptions.
Phasing across short distances without detection was one of Carla's abilities. The reminder triggered a thought in August's mind—he had noticed similar classifications within the system's interface. He made a mental note to explore them further once training had concluded.
The interface had appeared as follows, just beneath the core status display:
[Stats]
> [Abilities and Skills]
> [Forge Interface]
> [Arsenal]
> [Body Stats: +50% Efficiency]
> [System Log]
Each required expansion to reveal more detailed information—something he simply had no time for at present. Training took precedence.
Upon entering the training hall, he found Sir Lionel in his customary position by the open window, allowing the cold air to envelop him as he stood with his wooden katana in hand.
All of a sudden, the door behind August shut firmly. Without turning to face them, Sir Lionel addressed the room, his voice was calm and resolute:
"A fine morning to begin anew, wouldn't you say, children? Shall we commence?"