The first step into the cave felt like crossing a threshold into another world.
The air changed. It wasn't just colder—it was heavier, like it had weight. Mana clung to the skin like damp ash, thick and unclean. The light from the surface barely reached a few feet past the mouth of the cave before the gloom swallowed it whole.
Torches were handed out. Dim, rune-etched rods that sputtered with pale-blue fire. Even their flames seemed nervous to be here.
The guards led the line forward, deeper and deeper into the stone throat of the earth. The path sloped down sharply, wide enough for two carriages side by side. Ancient carvings marked the walls—sigils from a long-dead civilization, half-erased by time and rot.
He walked near the center of the line, silent, torch in hand. Every few steps, he tilted his head—listening.
Not for sounds.
For something else.
A feeling.
A whisper.
A pull.
Behind him, the other slaves trudged with lifeless eyes, chains rattling like dry bones. A few wept quietly. One stumbled and was beaten until he crawled. No one helped him.
Above them, the noble's voice echoed faintly from the surface. "Make sure they're inside before sealing the ward. We don't want the mana escaping while it's still unstable."
The magic in the air was old. Angry. The deeper they went, the more it burned in the lungs, like breathing in wet smoke and crushed stone. The torches began to flicker strangely, casting long, twitching shadows.
Then the stairway ended.
They had reached floor 50 finally.
A vast chamber opened before them. The ceiling arched high, riddled with glowing veins of mana stone—blue, purple, some even crimson. Strange fungal growths clung to the walls, pulsing faintly like hearts. The ground was uneven, split by cracks and pits where light dared not reach.
This was not a mine.
This was a graveyard waiting to happen.
The guards started barking orders, splitting the slaves into groups. Tools were handed out. The sound of picks hitting stone began almost immediately.
But he… he didn't move right away.
He was staring at a spot in the wall—far away, near the edge of the chamber. A fracture in the stone.
Something… called to him from inside it. Not with words. With want.
"You're down here, aren't you?" he muttered under his breath, the words for no one but the dark.
A guard shoved him hard. "Move it, freak."
He did. But his eyes kept drifting to that crack in the wall.
The others were already breaking apart. One group found a thick mana vein—crimson glow humming under their feet. Another group was clearing rocks near an old, rusted gate, half-buried in stone. Some slaves stared at it too long and had to be hit to keep working.
He raised his pick.
The stone resisted.
But something beneath it did not.
With each strike, the whisper returned—stronger now.
Pick.
Pick.
Pick.
The sound became rhythm. A beat in his bones. A whisper in the dark.
While the others groaned, cried, or bled, he kept working—silent, eyes wide, breathing shallow. He wasn't digging for mana stones. He didn't care about glowing veins or orders barked from behind.
He was carving his way toward something.
Every strike of the pick sent a tremor up his arm. The stone here was different—darker, denser, like it didn't want to be disturbed. Like it had been guarding something.
And then, after the hundredth blow… the rock cracked.
A piece broke away, falling to the ground with a dead clink.
Behind it was a cavity no bigger than a fist. Within it… something gleamed.
Not brightly. Not magically. Just enough to be seen.
A ring.
Tarnished gold twisted into dull silver, warped by time, dusted with age. Symbols ran along the outside—half-buried beneath grime, too worn to read. But it pulsed.
Not with light.
With want.
He dropped the pick. His breath hitched. He reached in without hesitation, fingers brushing against the cold metal.
And froze.
A jolt shot through him. Not pain. Not shock.
Recognition.
Like the ring knew him.
Like it had been waiting.
His hand trembled as he slid it onto his finger. The moment it touched his skin, the world seemed to shift. The air warped. The whispers he had heard before? Now they screamed.
His vision blurred.
Something black swirled at the edge of his eyes.
And then—
[You have touched the Seal of Legacy.]
[All requirements have been met. Do you wish to inherit Solomon's Legacy?]
[Yes / No]
The words hovered in the air before me—blood-red letters etched into black flame. They pulsed slowly, like the beat of a living heart. My breath caught.
What… was this?
My body was frozen. Not with fear. With instinct. Like something ancient inside me recognized the call. The ring on my finger pulsed with cold fire. It felt alive.
Then—CRACK!
Pain exploded across my back. I stumbled forward, breath torn from my lungs.
"Who told you to stop, worm?" a voice barked.
The guard's mana-whip hummed with blue light. He yanked me by the collar and slammed me against the stone wall. The jagged rock bit into my skin, and I dropped to my knees.
Laughter echoed behind him. The other guards watching, amused. Hungry.
Even some of the slaves chuckled—mostly the human ones. Their eyes held no empathy. Just smug superiority. Like they were higher than us even while chained in the same dirt.
To them, I wasn't a person. I wasn't even a beast.
I was less.
But I didn't scream.
I didn't beg.
I forced myself back to my feet. Bloody hands curled tight around the pickaxe. My skin burned. My stomach twisted in hunger. My vision swam with exhaustion.
And yet… I lifted the pick again.
Because I refused to die.
The message was still there, flickering faintly at the edge of my vision. Waiting.
Calling.
I looked up, and for a brief moment, across the chamber, I saw her—
A dark elf girl. Slender. Chained. Filthy like the rest of us. But her eyes…
Her eyes weren't dead.
They shimmered with something dangerous.
Not fear. Not pity.
Curiosity.
I didn't know why—but seeing her watching me, as if I were the strange one… it made something ancient stir in my chest. Something wild.
Without thinking, I whispered:
"...Yes."
[Host has accepted Solomon's Legacy. Installation process beginning…]
A low chime echoed in my skull.
[1%... 15%... 40%...]
[Error: Host body not in optimal condition. Initiating Emergency System Gift.]
[Please brace for extreme pain.]
Then came the scream.
It wasn't voluntary. It was ripped out of me as my entire body ignited from the inside out. Fire flooded my veins, bones grinding and shattering under the weight of something colossal. My knees buckled. My vision blackened. I couldn't breathe.
Muscles tore. Then rebuilt themselves. My skin peeled away in patches—raw, red, exposed—before something new replaced it. Stronger. Tougher. Cleaner.
My black hair fell away in clumps, drifting to the ground like ash—only to regrow, longer, darker. It swallowed the light.
Even the glow of the mana crystals dimmed near it.
Light refused to touch me.
CRACK!
Another whip. But this time, my body didn't bend. My spine arched. My tail jerked violently—and then split.
A scream tore from my throat as a second tail forced itself from the base of my spine, bone and sinew snapping and reshaping in an instant.
I collapsed, spasming.
Blood gushed from my mouth as my teeth shattered. Then grew back—sharper. Predatory. Feral.
Then… the voice came.
Not the system.
Not the guards.
Not even my own.
A voice like time cracking. Like galaxies screaming.
"The being Arthur has been recognized. Evolution to Innate Stage: Third Star confirmed. To proceed further, the being must... ∞∆#‰. May %#$?? grant you luck."
What… the hell?
I barely had time to think before the guards noticed.
One shouted.
Another ran for the scarred captain.
He came forward, slow, watching me like I was some diseased dog.
"Hmph. Another freak losing his mind." He turned to the others. "Throw him in solitary. Feed him every two days."
He paused.
"And rough him up a bit. Just to remind the others what happens when you forget your place."
They did.
Fists. Boots. Blades. Blood.
I stopped making noise after the third blow. My ribs cracked. My jaw split. My body hit the stone like meat on a butcher's block.
Eventually, they dragged me off—smiling, laughing.
They threw me into a cold cell carved into the deepest part of the dungeon.
Dark.
Alone.
Bleeding.
But the system didn't stop.
[70%...]
[100% Installation Complete. Welcome, Azriel Morningstar. You are now a Bearer of Solomon's Legacy.]
Darkness.
It clung to me like a second skin, thick and suffocating.
The cold bit deep into my bones—sharp, cruel. Stone pressed against my cheek, wet and rough, slick with the stink of blood, rot, and something older. Something ancient.
I didn't move at first. Couldn't. Every muscle felt torn. My chest ached with each ragged breath, like someone had caved it in and patched it up with broken glass.
But I was alive.
Somehow.
A flicker of red bloomed in the corner of my vision. Faint. Pulsing. Like the last heartbeat of a dying god.
[100% Installation Complete. Welcome, Azriel Morningstar. You are now an Owner of Solomon's Legacy.]
The words hovered above me, etched in bloodlight. I blinked. It didn't vanish.
"…I'm not dead?"
[Your body has survived the integration. Barely.]
The voice wasn't human. It was cold, emotionless—but there was a depth to it, like it echoed through caverns no man had ever seen.
I rolled over with a groan, my ribs grinding together. Chains rattled as I moved. I was still bound, but not tightly. The guards must've figured I wouldn't wake up anytime soon.
My cell was small—no larger than a coffin. A slit in the stone ceiling let in a pale blue glow from a distant mana stone vein. The walls were rough, jagged. I could see old claw marks scratched into the stone. I wasn't the first one thrown in here.
But I'd be the last to come out.
I sat up, spine popping, breath catching in my throat as I saw my hands—scarred, yes, but stronger. The veins glowed faintly under the skin. My nails were sharper. My wrists thicker. Not just healed… changed.
[Status Available. Would you like to review it?]
"…Yeah," I whispered. "Show me."
The red screen bloomed fully now, casting a glow across the cell like molten glass.
[STATUS]
Name: Azriel Morningstar
Age: 19
Race: Beastborn
Bloodline: Kitsune / werewolf
Titles: Solomon's Successor, Brightest Light
HP: 100/100
MP: 50/50
Strength: 10
Intelligence: 40
Agility: 10
Stamina: 30/30
Skill Points: 2
Stat Points: 2
[Quests] [Skills] [Inventory] [Shop - Locked] [Soulmates] [Clan]
I stared. My breath fogged in the cold.
"…What the hell are you?"
[I am the Legacy System created by Solomon. I will guide your growth, until your will eclipses even the gods and the other inheritors]
I swallowed thickly. "Solomon… you said he could command demons and angels. Control time. He was a monster."
[He was a king.]
"…Why me?"
[You like many others carry his blood. His hatred. His hunger.]
I fell silent, heart pounding.
Then my eyes fell on [Clan].
"…What's this?"
[The Clan function reflects Solomon's bond with his chosen. You may create your own. Their growth will mirror yours. Their loyalty is absolute.]
"And the soulmates?"
[Individuals with deep resonance. You will know them when the time is right.]
I leaned my head back against the wall, breathing slow. The cell was quiet, but my mind wasn't.
Everything I had lost… everything they had taken from me—
Family. Freedom.
I had it all back now. Or at least… the power to take it.