“Your Majesty, are you sure this is a good idea?”

  An old man asked, kneeling on the jade-tiles of a grandiose, pillared, and ornately decorated palace hall. The question was directed towards the only other “person” in the room, the king of Garth: Graum.

  Graum was seated on a throne of blood. Yes, blood. Despite being famously liquid, the blood constituting this great chair was more sturdy than the most solid of Heaven-grade materials.

  “Do you think that talent of his could really allow him to devour Graaryll?” Graum asked in return.

  “I… I don’t know,” the old man hesitated. “I have never heard of a measuring orb being wrong, but it seems too ‘good’ to be true. Not to mention all the other traits; how could one individual, especially in a lower realm, have such talents?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t need to know,” Graum responded. “I need war, he will bring war. No matter what, if we spread the news of his talents around, some will want to control him, others would want him dead. The war would shatter all prior conventions and rules, and it will set the course for the realm’s future developments.”

  “But what if he devours the world before you succeed?” the old man pressed.

  “He won’t.”

  “But what if he does—”

  “Talent is just talent,” Graum interrupted. “Means, ability, and strength are all that matter; even uninterrupted growth would take time, but now…even if he wanted to, he’d be unable to progress in the slightest.”

  “Then what of the boy they threw into his cell?”

  “Oh, him?” the king chuckled. “His talents are so unremarkable there has to be something special about him.”

  “So…”

  “So let him stay with his direct counterpart and see what happens.”

  “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  …

  “Why are you looking at me like that, you little piece of shit,” Fillan questioned the self-hugging young man in his cell. “We are the exact same age, yet you’re acting like I’m some old demon. I mean, technically I am older than I look, but not outrageously so.”

  “Can’t cultivators live for thousands of years?” the young man retorted. “How am I supposed to know if you’re sixteen, twenty, or twenty thousand years old?”

  “Twenty thousand?” Fillan couldn't believe his ears.

  There are parts of Graaryll that are very disconnected from the world of cultivation and magic, but they all have one thing in common: they’re outside of Garth.

  Every single person in Garth, whether they live in a big city or in a remote mountain village, are educated from young on the different cultivation, body tempering, and magic realms, as well as some of their traits. First and foremost of them is lifespan.

  This is done to engrave the hope of immortality in the citizens to ignite an eagerness for power, and for the means not to die.

  So this young man who, despite appearing very delicate, was clearly older than sixteen—due to his measuring orb evaluation—spouting such an outrageous number shocked Fillan silly.

  Anyone at the Qi Gathering realm are only barely different from mortals and live for a hundred years.

  Someone at the Foundation Establishment realm can live for one hundred and fifty years.

  Those at the Golden Core realm can live for three hundred.

  The Golden Specter realm bumps this up drastically to one thousand years.

  The Soul Fusion realm actually reduces a person’s lifespan down to five hundred years.

  The Soul Refinement realm then rekindles the flame of vitality, restoring the individual’s lifespan to a thousand years.

  The Earthly Pillar realm then doubles that to two thousand, which remains the same throughout the Law Palace realm all the way until ascension.

  Even if someone is both a cultivator and body temperor—which have similar lifespans—and reach both the Earthly and Heavenly Law Palace realms, they would at most have four thousand years of lifespan.

  Twenty thousand was something only Immortals could dream of.

  Fillan was also sure the kid was from Garth as he didn’t possess any form of power, nor the stomach to be a mortal spy.

  “What’s wrong with you, hmm?” Fillan inquired. “You end up in a cell with me, a supposed world ending figure—”

  “What!?” the young man shouted.

  “It’s all just hearsay,” Fillan responded, mildly annoyed at being interrupted in his cool-guy-monologue. “You say you don’t have talent, or at least your uncle said so. You also don’t know how long cultivators live, something even these disgusting, repulsive, purity deprived, grace abandoned, walls of putrid filth know. So, what is wrong with you?”

  “I-there's nothing wrong with me; I’m just unlucky!” the young man deflected.

  “Being unlucky shouldn’t get you thrown into—what I can only imagine—is a maximum security prison for the most dangerous of individuals. And beasts. And demons. And plants. And spirits—I don’t know what the fuck they keep here.”

  “Point is, I think you’re a liar,” Fillan concluded. “I think you’re probably very special, or that power hungry evolved human Graum wouldn’t have put you here.”

  “Evolved human? Graum? What the hell are you even talking about,” he erupted. “I-I mean, could you please explain more, great master?”

  If Fillan was suspicious of this guy before, he was certain now. How can anyone, not even just in Garth, on Tella as a whole, not know who Graum is.

  Born to a poor witch—female magician—of no renown, Graum was different from young. His body was more robust, his hair was longer and coarser, his eyes red and fierce, and his personality unyielding and violent.

  He lived a difficult, confrontation ridden life of organized crime, doing whatever he needed to get by. This continued until the day of his sixteenth birthday.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Upon touching a measuring orb, he was revealed to possess the bloodline of a venerated Immortal creature—the Gaolhound, said to guard the entrance to Kakos, a dimension of pure evil.

  What most don’t realize since they don’t possess such talents, is that measuring orbs do more than reveal your prospects; they awaken those still dormant.

  The more powerful the talent or trait—not in terms of raw cultivation or body tempering potential—the more difficult it is to manifest successfully. This applies not only to the lower realms, but is even more prevalent there.

  The Gaolhound bloodline is one of the highest tier, completely impossible to kindle on such a barren planet. So, when he got evaluated, his bloodline surged.

  It is said that he grew from a near two meter tall boy, into a dozen meter tall giant of pure rage. His fury and newfound power colored the skies of what was once Truhan, pure red.

  The overseer tried to restrain Graum, but despite facing an actual mortal, he could not defeat him, nor keep him from running away.

  As time passed Graum would appear intermittently to fight for opportunities and treasures, significantly stronger every time, all the way until he reached the peak of the Earthly Palace realm.

  Upon becoming an apex existence below the realm of immortality, Graum faced off against the immortal Truhan Empire—founded and secured by those from the Immortal Realm—and not only won, but also managed to usurp half of their territory for himself, turning it into the Kingdom of Power, Garth.

  Ever since accomplishing the not-accomplishable, Graum seemed to have disappeared from the world. Some even suspect he’s long ascended, but the fact still remains that his tale is stunning.

  No hot-blooded young man—or whatever this flower boy was—could be ignorant of such a dominant figure.

  Even Fillan, who doesn’t really admire people, found some level of respect for this king. Although he knew for a fact that old beast has not ascended yet; just thinking of it sent chills down his spine. One of his most violent deaths, and the reason Fillan doesn’t like to fight, actually fight like most others do, was that one encounter.

  “Okay, you’re clearly not from Garth,” Fillan acknowledged. “I also have a hunch that you’re not from Tella as a whole. Although there’s no real basis for this, and though it should be impossible, I have a feeling you’ve come from outside of Graaryll, haven’t you?”

  The young man kept quiet, not even daring to look towards Fillan’s figure.

  “Ah, so you’re either a very, very unlucky person who has encountered a once-in-an-eon event where someone from a higher realm is cast into a lower one. Or, you’re some manner of reincarnation, who, despite it not being possible, retains their memories.”

  The Destructive Harmony Universe possesses a greatly intricate system for the birth, destruction, and rebirth of souls.

  It can create souls from scratch after accumulating enough origin, which is something that happens over time—no one knows why. It can destroy them by depriving them of origin, and thus creating more new souls. But what happens most of the time is reincarnation.

  A person within the Destructive Harmony Universe—DHU—is the result of a soul in connection with the body. The soul, while technically being responsible for thought and memories and any form of cognition, can only do so with the assistance of a brain.

  Souls are bizarre creations that exist in two different “dimensional planes”. They have their own dimensions where the “physical” soul is located, and then they half-project half-manifest in the material dimension.

  They do this by tethering to a brain, magic well, mind palace, and blood gate—the two latter being a result of cultivation and body tempering respectively.

  When a person dies, the tethers connecting it to the body disappear, effectively sealing it within the soul dimension.

  Technically, since the soul has been molded, has memories, and is mature, it could just connect to a different fetus, but that would lead to stagnation—apparently.

  So what happens is that every single minute a giant vortex appears in the center of the dimension, and whatever souls don’t have the tethers to “ground” them will be sucked into it.

  This vortex is the result of a lot of different laws working in perfect harmony to seal, suppress, and if necessary, destroy any individuality within these souls. So the souls themselves are not destroyed, but the people they once were, are.

  When they are spat out the other end of the vortex, they’ll be pure and ready to re-experience life.

  It has been known, however, to have failed once or twice before. No one knows why, but a very well known figure in the Immortal Realm who fell in battle, was later discovered to be alive and well, cultivating anew.

  People were shocked to learn of this, especially since his body and every trace of his spirituality had clearly been destroyed. They justified it by claiming he cultivated a powerful cloning technique, but that wasn’t the truth.

  Upon reaching his former peak, the individual revealed the fact that he had in fact died, and came back to life. As the words left his mouth, however, rather than hearing gasps and questions, he heard a tremendous rumble—he was instantly struck dead by origin.

  No one is supposed to be able to retain their memories, and if they are discovered by the universe, they will be dealt with through soul-destruction.

  Fillan naturally was not afraid of invoking any of this; he was just killed by origin a few “hours” ago, after all.

  “Re-reincarnation,” the young man finally uttered. “What even- I don’t even know what that is! Hehe…hehe. He.”

  “I knew it!” Fillan celebrated. “I’m so damn smart. Random ass untalented kid with no prospects and only a suspicious location and I nail it spot on. People should refer to me as Lord of Intelligence—wait a minute. Wait just a fucking minute; I’ve got it!”

  “That piece of shit spell really did mess with my intelligence! This is tremendous, I might even have a whole new prospected divine spell on my hands here. I need to plan this properly, I don’t have the patience, and definitely not the room to mess up.”

  Fillan’s soul’s entire right arm, chest, and back were fully covered in spells; there was no more room left. That left him with only his three remaining limbs, abdomen, and head to engrave on. At least until the “humanization” of his soul progresses further.

  “You little brat, even though the only thing you did was act suspiciously, you allowed me to realize something I was going to realize anyway, but sooner, so thank you,” Fillan was clearly great at acknowledging contributions.

  “What are you talking about, great master?” the young man meeked out. “I’m not a ‘reincarnator’ or whatever you said…”

  “Of course not!” Fillan said as he winked heavily with his right eye. “Admitting to something like that would cause your swift and instant annihilation—trust me.”

  The young man’s eyes widened in fear: “The system never said anything about that!”

  “The what?” It was now Fillan’s turn to be confused.

  “Nothing, I misspoke,” he answered, barely keeping himself from covering his mouth.

  “Right, right, because there’s nothing special about—what the fuck is that!?” Fillan screamed in fright.

  “What? What’s what?”

  “That thing, that damned spider-like thing covering your face.”

  “There’s a spider on my face?” the young man shrieked. “Where? Where!?”

  “On the face of your soul; it’s like you’re wearing it as a mask,” Fillan hissed. “It’s repulsive. Repugnant. Devilish. No good. It’s for sure not good. I have never seen anything like that, ever. To be fair I don’t spend a lot of time soul-gazing, but from my understanding, only qi, mana, and laws can interact with a soul. And that thing is none of the above, I can guarantee it.”

  “On my soul?” he asked with indignation. “Why would you even scare me like that? There’s no way you can see my soul; I thought you were some hotshot devil, but you’re just a charlatan. If this is a high security prison, how could they allow you to use your cultivation?”

  “I’m using magic—”

  “Stop fucking lying,” the kid shouted. “Magic needs like big glowing runic circles or something, yet I don’t see any of them around. Where are they, huh? Where are they?”

  “This is such a shame, but I can see you’re not going to tell me what I want to know, so this has to happen,” Fillan began. “I don’t know if this helps or makes it worse, but just know that this won’t technically happen to you, seeing as you’re not actually a real person. Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt though.”

  “You’re a complete fucking nut—”

  “I have only used this spell once before because it’s too cruel, but whatever: Niytus’ Feast.”

  “ARGH!”

  The young man began screaming incessantly, never once ceasing as tiny creatures of pure evil devoured his memories, and deposited them in Fillan’s Dutiful Student spell.

  This went on for at least a dozen hours, before the young man finally slumped lifeless on the floor, and his soul untethered.

  “This better be worth it,” Fillan mumbled, not feeling great about what he just did.

  The only thing that allows him to get over doing shit like this is the fact that since everything resets upon his death, then the people he interacts with are nothing more than illusions, or at most, parts of a grand dream. At least that’s what he’s decided to think.

  “Dutiful Student,” he uttered, despite there being no requirement to name the spell you’re about to cast.

  Niytus’ Feast Information Deposit, log 2:

  Rather than information displaying itself to him, his vision went black. He was about to watch a long, long movie.