Astrael stared at the blue screen.
It flickered like a dying lantern
Weakness? That was a fucking understatement.
He felt like a cracked vase held together by spit and hope.
"I need strength to survive, System. How?"
[Affirmative.]
The display flickered, shoving numbers in his face:
<<< CRITICAL ALERT >>>
[Soul Collapse: 5 Months, 14 Days]
Beneath it, in blood-red text:
[Root Cause: Heaven's Judgment Seal]
[Effect: Soul Fracture. Vitality Drain. Mana Nullification.]
[Designation: "The Cursed One" - Marked for Erasure.]
Astrael touched his ribs. A phantom chill gnawed deep, like icy fingers squeezing his spine.
"Punishment? For breathing when some cosmic bureaucrat stamped my file 'void'?"
[Affirmative. Soul cannot sustain existence under Judgment Seal.]
"Great. Fix it. Now."
[Solution Pathway:]
1. SOURCE: Phoenix Tears (Legendary Soul-Reconstruction Elixir)
2. LOCATION: Sunscorch Peaks (Dragonfire Wastes Continent)
3. DIFFICULTY: Catastrophic (Mortality Rate: 99.97%)
A map bloomed – continents swimming in oceans, crawling with sketched monstrosities. The target pulsed red. A million miles away. Astrael barked a laugh, sharp and grating.
"Phoenix Tears? Might as well ask me to lick the moon clean. I'm Level fucking Zero. In a ruin. With five months." Despair tasted like copper on his tongue.
[Alternative Method.]
[Action: Locate "Starseed Moss" (Unique tier - Ruins Depths).]
[Effect: Slows Degradation Rate by 50%]
[Priority: Immediate.]
A new marker flashed – deep within the collapsed tunnels below the estate. Hope, thin but sharp.
"Starseed Moss... buys me time. How do I find it?" Astrael pressed.
[Location Acquired.]
[Target: Whisperwood Forest. Southeast Boundary - Ravensastra Estate]
[Coordinates: Locked to Host Navigation Subroutine.]
The map zoomed. The forest loomed right outside the estate's crumbling walls. Close. Too damn close for anything useful. Relief curdled into suspicion.
[Warning: Whisperwood Forest - Tier 1 Hazard Zone.]
[Common Threats: Lesser Shadow Stalkers, Soul-Echo Vines, Territorial Spirits.]
[Survival Probability (Host - Unprepared): 22.7%]
"Twenty-two percent?" Astrael spat.
The number hit like a punch. "Might as well offer me a blindfold." He needed the truth.
Ugly, brutal truth. "System. Show me the damage. All of it."
The interface flickered, resolving into the stark blue panels he'd seen before:
<<< AETHERIC CODEX: STATUS >>>
Name: Astrael Ravenastra (Host)
Age: 12 yrs(19)
Race: Human
Title: The Heir, Young Master, The Cursed One, The One Who Defies Death (Defiance currently failing)
Class: Young Master
Cultivation: Mortal
Level: 0
EXP: 0/100
Bloodline: Ravensastra Bloodline
Physique: Mortal (Frail)
-------------------------------
Attributes:
- Strength: 3 (Weak)
- Agility: 3 (Impaired)
- Intelligence: 3 (Negligible)
- Endurance: 3 (Critical Deficiency)
- Vitality: 3 (Fragile health)
- Mana: 0 (Null)
- Charm: 3 (Often overlooked or dismissed)
- SP: 0
-------------------------------
Skills and Abilities: - (None found - suggest crying?)
-------------------------------
CURRENT TIER: 0 (Restricted)
- Available Functions: Attribute, Basic Threat Analysis, Local Map (Limited)
[TIER 1 UNLOCK COST: 10 Units Soul Essence (Insufficient)]
-------------------------------
Astrael stared. 3. Across the board.
The descriptions weren't just brutal; they were a slap. Weak. Impaired. Negligible. Critical Deficiency. A flush of hot anger surged up his neck. Struggles with stairs? Stumbles over dust? The mockery in the parentheses felt deliberate, a bad joke at his expense.
His fists clenched, knuckles white. He wanted to smash the hovering screen, scream at the indifferent Codex.
But the anger drained as quickly as it came, leaving only a hollow cold.
Because it wasn't mockery. It was truth. He was this pathetic. This frail. A stiff breeze could end him. The forest beyond the wall wasn't sleeping; it was a maw waiting to snap shut on brittle bone.
"I will be dead meat," he said, the bitterness sharp.
He looked towards the estate's southeastern wall, beyond which the dark treeline of the Whisperwood loomed like a sleeping beast. The moss was right there. But going now, like this? Suicide.
He clenched his fists, feeling the lack of power, the softness. "Alright. Not today."
The decision was pragmatic, fueled by the cold stats.
"I need... to get strong. Before I need to gather information about this world, as a great person said, If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles."
Problem was, he barely qualified as 'self'. But the Ravensastras... they had been titans. Their library had to hold something. A loophole. A rusty knife he could jam into Fate's ribs.
"From my memory, I remember that Ravenastra is the richest house on this continent, and they have a huge library. "
"May I find something there?"
"Elara?" Astrael called, his voice softer now, cutting through the hall's silence.
She appeared almost instantly – worn dress, tired eyes widening with fresh worry. "Young Master! You shouldn't be standing! Your fever–"
"Young Master? You shouldn't be out of bed. Your fever only broke yesterday..."
"I know, I know," Astrael interrupted, holding up a placating hand. The haughty 'Young Master' act felt like ash in his mouth. He offered a weak attempt at a reassuring smile. It felt unnatural. "I just... I need to go to the library. Please. Could you show me the way? I promise I'll be careful."
"Now, please."
'If the Ravenastras were truly the wealthiest on this continent, their knowledge is my inheritance.'
Elara hesitated, wringing her hands. "The East Wing? Young Master, it's… " Her voice trailed off, fear for him warring with duty.
Astrael met her gaze, letting some of his desperation show. "Please, Elara. It's important. I need to see it." He kept his voice low, earnest. "I won't touch anything unstable. Just... lead the way?"
The raw need in his voice, so unlike the usual distant heir, tipped the scales. Resignation softened her features into concern.
"Alright, Young Master. But please, stay close. And watch every step." She turned, gesturing for him to follow. "This way."
Astrael trailed Elara out of his chamber into the cavernous hallway.
Dust motes danced in shafts of weak light from high, cracked stained-glass windows. Grandeur lingered like a ghost intricate mosaics underfoot (half missing), faded tapestries of battles hanging on damp-stained walls.
But decay won: chipped marble, the scent of mildew, the hollow echo of their footsteps.
As they walked, servants materialized from shadows.
A young maid in neatly patched grey skirts dipped into a quick, graceful curtsy as she passed, her bucket swinging empty at her side.
"Young Master," she muttered, a warm, respectful smile touching her lips before she hurried on her way, steps light and purposeful.
Nearby, an old steward polishing a piece of tarnished silver carefully set down his cloth. He turned and offered Astrael a deep, genuine bow, his weathered face crinkling into a kind smile.
"Good day, Young Master Astrael. Fine morning for recovery, isn't it?"
Outside the tall windows, two gardeners paused their muddy work. They stood straight, offering respectful nods, their faces breaking into friendly, if slightly shy, grins beneath the dirt.
"Young Master!" one called out, his voice warm. "Good to see you about!" They kept their muddy hands carefully away from their clean-but-worn clothes, their movements showing diligence rather than exhaustion.
Servants of the house, Astrael observed, the bitterness replaced by a flicker of warmth.
Elara stopped before towering, carved double doors, one hanging crookedly. She pushed it open with effort. Dust billowed out like a sigh.
"Here it is, Young Master," she whispered, a flicker of awe breaking through the worry. "The Grand Athenaeum."
Astrael stepped inside. His breath caught. Even in ruin, the scale stole thought.
Astrael stepped into the Grand Athenaeum, and his breath hitched like a blade catching on bone.
The library sprawled before him, a decaying cathedral of knowledge.
Towering shelves loomed like skeletal giants, their wood warped and splintered, sagging under the weight of tomes bound in cracked leather.
Dust hung thick in the air, glinting in the faint moonlight that clawed through shattered skylights. The scent of mildew and ancient ink stung his nose.
This wasn't a library—it was a fucking mausoleum.
"Impressive, right?" Elara's voice was a whisper, tinged with reverence and something like fear. "The Ravenastras collected secrets the way dragons hoard gold."
"Yeah," Astrael muttered
The Codex's panel flickered in his vision, uninvited, its blue glow stark against the gloom.
[Environment Analysis: Grand Athenaeum.]
[Contents: 47,432,392 Texts.]
[Relevant Data: Manuals on Basic Cultivation, Bloodline Histories, Aetheric Herbology.]
[Suggestion: Prioritize the Herbology Section. Starseed Moss Reference Likely.]
"Thanks, Captain Obvious. Point me to it." Astrael snorted.
The System's clinical tone grated, like a professor who knew you were screwed but still expected you to take notes.
He was Level Zero, marked for erasure by some cosmic death stamp, and his only shot was moss in a forest that'd probably eat him alive. Great plan. A+.
Before he could take another step, a creak echoed through the Athenaeum, sharp and deliberate.
Footsteps, slow and measured, scraped against the stone floor. Astrael froze, his frail body tensing. Elara's lantern trembled in her grip, casting jagged shadows that danced like specters.
"Who's there?" Astrael's voice was low, edged with suspicion.
From the gloom between sagging shelves, a figure emerged.
An old woman, her frame swathed in a tattered robe that might've once been regal. Her hair was a wild halo of silver, tangled like spiderwebs, and her eyes sharp, glinting like polished obsidian locked onto Astrael with unnerving precision. She carried a gnarled staff, its tip faintly luminescent, casting a green glow across her wrinkled face.
"Young Master Ravenastra," she rasped, her voice like dry leaves skittering over stone.
"Roaming in the Athenaeum at this hour? Bold, for a boy who looks like a stiff breeze could snap him in half."
Astrael's jaw tightened. The Codex's panel flickered, unprompted.