Several months earlier…

 

Heath Ada Levine, Level 95 [Empyrean] and personal advisor of Emperor Nimbus—long may he live—sat on a stool with his face planted into a pool of liquor on the wooden countertop. Cleaning a mug out with a towel with a sombre look on his face was a middle-aged man.

 

It was dead silent in the inn as Heath watched a message count down with every passing second.

 

[0000:00:09:54]

 

[0000:00:09:53]

 

[0000:00:09:52]

 

[...]

 

His beard slobbered and wasted, Heath could barely muster the strength to lift his head. A couple of oafs had poured ale onto his head while they were passing by. Heath couldn't care about two peasants pouring their drinks onto him. If it were any other time, he would have had them executed and forced their families to watch as they died, but for some reason, he didn't want to. All the energy within him had been drained.

 

The middle-aged man behind the counter kept an eye on Heath out of the corner of his eye. After serving a drink to another customer, with a clasp of a metal-cased bottom cup against wood, the bartender strutted over to Heath and leaned against the counter.

 

"My father told me about you."

 

Heath remained motionless.

 

The bartender listened to the rowdy crowd around them as everyone partied into the late evening. Men wrestled one another. Songs were played by a table-dancing [Bard]. Laughter was shared by all around.

 

This was a scene that played out every night at the Dancing Urchin Inn.

 

It was a place that only attracted the worst kind of ruffians, homeless people who had scrounged together whatever coin they could for a single drink. People who had killed. Thieves. Men who knowingly hollered at even married women. 

 

A long time ago, Heath had been a street urchin. Although he lived on the street, whenever he couldn't find food, he knew that Levine, the owner of the Dancing Urchin Inn, would serve him a hot meal—but only if he really needed it. He was like a hawk. He could tell if he was starving or not.

 

Heath had never been able to repay that debt, and in a strange turn of events, found himself back at this place in his final hour, drinking away his life memories and completely hopeless.

 

"You're that one child…from ninety years ago. You awoke to an elite class. My grandfather used to feed you when you were starving. You remember that?"

 

Heath recalled it all. It passed by him in a flash of dull colour within his blacked-out vision.

 

It was the only place that he had ever felt safe back then. It was his sanctuary in a lonely place. Levine, the owner of the Dancing Urchin Inn, had been like a father to him.

 

He elicited a quick chuckle that looked more like a snort. He lifted his head and replied. His face seemed to sag as he spoke, "Why would that dead old man care to tell his descendants about some unimportant urchin? Sure, I awoke to a powerful class. But it doesn't matter.

 

The old man lifted his eyebrows, wrinkling up his forehead, staring at the bartender for an answer to his question that no one would dare to ignore or not answer.

 

The bartender shrugged him off, "You're right, Mister [Empyrean]. Why would he? I mean, look at you. You're a complete wreck. Even the drunkest asshat in this place looks better off than you."

 

The [Empyrean] froze when he heard the [Bartender] insult him like this. He wanted to grab him by the neck and choke him to death, maybe slice his head off with a [Fate Disk] when he turned around and wasn't looking.

 

But for the first time, he could only agree with his judgment. The current him was someone he would execute for being sloppy and weak.

 

Heath shot to his feet and laughed uproariously, his face slowly contorting into a strained, ugly expression.

 

Ignoring the strange looks he received from people, he stormed outside, causing innocent bystanders to faint. He ignored them and stepped outside into the cloudy weather.

 

He stared at the clock as it continued to count down.

 

[0000:00:06:26]

 

[0000:00:06:25]

 

[0000:00:06:24]

 

Death was near.

 

Everything a blur, Heath waded through the crowd as his body gravitated towards a particular location in Greenlodge. Passing north through the Greenlodge Market, turning left after the Blacksmith workshop, past the old bookshop that had now turned into a tailor shop, and into the cemetery.

 

It was quiet in the cemetery. It always was.

 

It smelled like earthy soil, burned candles, of wilting flowers that had been left before the gravestones of the dead. He passed an enormous oak that now towered into the sky, offering shade to hundreds of graves. Its green leaves rustled in the wind.

 

There was a rumbling in the skies above. [Read World] had told him of the incoming storm. He thought it fitting. Dying in the rain. How poetic.

 

Much time had passed since he had been here. So many things had happened. He had killed so many people in the name of the Grecia Empire and its glorious Emperor. He had gotten involved with so many beautiful women. He had travelled to all four realms and met countless powerhouses. He had eaten unfathomable delicacies, flew on islands in the sky, met dragons and lived to tell the tale, and indulged in riches that he wouldn't have been able to imagine.

 

It was a one out of a billion life. He had done things that were unthinkable to an ordinary person. He knew many people who would kill to be him. If he looked at it this way, Heath was an unbelievably lucky person. An unassuming street urchin had turned into someone who could stand side by side with Emperor Nimbus.

 

Nearly everything he had done had been for Emperor Nimbus. He loved him very dearly. He was the man that transformed his life. He gave him a bed to sleep upon, trained and fed him, had raised him into the man that he is today. But he always kept him at a distance…

 

Emperor Nimbus knew of his impending death. So when the mighty Emperor had spent an unthinkable amount of resources in an effort to save him, Heath felt an electric jolt run down his spine. It seemed that Emperor Nimbus did care about him after all.

 

But they never found a single trace of the culprit.

 

In the first place, Heath didn't even know what conditions had to be met for him to "find the culprit". Did he have to see him in the flesh? Did he have to find some conclusive evidence that the person he found was the one responsible? Did he have to capture him and force him to submit first?

 

A month prior, Emperor Nimbus had ceased all efforts related to saving Heath, his treasured [Empyrean]. Heath had attempted to convene one last meeting with the Emperor, but he couldn't help but laugh at himself when the other party shunned him and had the [Royal Knights] kick him out of the palace grounds.

 

Heath was as good as dead now.

 

So in the past month, he found himself wandering across the Grecia Empire aimlessly. But in hindsight, not actually…

 

A week ago, he found himself in Greenlodge, his hometown and a place he loathed more than the chambers he trained in at the Golden Wing Academy.

 

Rain poured down, creating muddy puddles and soaking Heath's already ruined robes. He hadn't washed himself or taken off his robes in the last two months. Water splashed as he walked through the cemetery's dirt path, he scanned his surroundings as he filed through dozens of aisles.

 

Some gravestones were white, engraved in bold writing of a [Master Sculptor]. Some didn't even have gravestones. They were merely marks on the ground.

 

What marked and separated people in death was a single gravestone. All of their life's efforts…just to be remembered by a single, insignificant object of stone.

 

Heath hated every dead person in this graveyard with the entirety of his heart. It offended him to see that this place even existed. None of these people deserve a gravestone. They didn't deserve to be remembered. They should just disappear into the void, never to be thought of again.

 

They were nothing. He was something. Heath was someone worthwhile remembering.

 

They…

 

Heath finally found their grave.

 

It was empty, like some others that couldn't afford a monument to their life.

 

Heath stood in front of it, his hands hanging by his sides as he stared at the spot on the ground. Rain poured down his beard, trickled down the creases of his wrinkled face, along his blue robes. His eyes were empty and black. Simply nothing was there.

 

He had given everything to his life. But why did he feel this way?

 

The spot on the ground was now a small, muddy puddle. Something snapped within him.

 

"Get the fuck away from my dad's grave!" He shouted at the rain as he slung a low-powered [Fate Disk] at the ground, scattering the pooling water and eviscerating the mud.

 

He walked over his father's gravestone and projected a shield over it, completely blocking out the rain and the sound of the rumbling thunder.

 

[0000:00:01:01]

 

[0000:00:01:00]

 

[0000:00:00:59]

 

Heath sank to his knees and began to sob.

 

Turning mad, Heath talked to his father's grave in desperation. His voice was trembling as he yelled, "You traitor! Why did you have to abandon me?!"

 

Heath's face was unrecognisable as it contorted into an ugly expression.

 

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

 

He banged his hand against the ground with all his strength.

 

"Why…"

 

Heath lost all the strength in his body. He watched on hopelessly as the counter ticked down to zero.

 

[0000:00:00:05]

 

[0000:00:00:04]

 

[0000:00:00:03]

 

[0000:00:00:02]

 

[0000:00:00:01]

 

[0000:00:00:00]

 

"Save me, father," Heath Ada Levine whispered, completely expecting him to suddenly meet oblivion without another moment to spare.

 

This did not happen. He instead received another message.

 

[Wait on standby..]

 

Heath blinked his eyes to see if this was a hallucination or reality.

 

It was not.