The manor was silent as Adam trudged through its dark, winding halls.
The oil lamps had long since burned out. The servants had long since retired to their quarters. The moonlight that streamed through the long arched windows was the only thing that guided him now. Pale silver on his cheeks. Dust in the air. His footsteps, muffled on the polished stone floor, felt heavier than usual—not from exhaustion, but from everything that had just happened.
He reached his room. The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind him, and the soft click of the lock echoed in the stillness.
Only then did he finally let out a breath.
His body slumped against the door for a long moment before he stumbled toward the mirror at the corner of his room, the one cracked near the bottom, the one that he always avoided looking into before. Tonight was different.
He leaned forward.
His eyes found the thin red line across his neck. Barely noticeable now, but still there—a shallow, razor-sharp mark just beneath his jaw.
He traced it with his finger, almost fondly.
"A small price to pay," he muttered, voice hoarse, "for what might be the start of everything."
Ding!
The chime echoed through his skull like divine music.
A glowing window burst into view before him, bright and triumphant.
[Quest Completed]
➤ Help Your Eldest Sister Achieve a Breakthrough in Her Flame Magic
Reward: Unlock one energy path – [Mana] or [Aura]
Please make your selection.
Adam's heart skipped.
It was real.
The system wasn't some cruel prank from the gods.
It was real.
He stared at the two glowing icons, each hovering beside the prompt like angel and devil.
[Mana]
[Aura]
Two energy systems.
Two worlds.
And only one could be his, for now.
He took a breath and stepped back. His eyes never left the prompt.
This choice wasn't simple.
Because in this world, energy wasn't just power. It was identity. It was the line between relevance and insignificance.
Mana, the energy of the stars, flowed through the world like blood in a god's veins. It was drawn from the atmosphere, from nature, from ley-lines and spirit nexuses. It was structured, elegant, limitless—if you had the affinity for it. Elemental schools governed its forms: fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, light, darkness, and more obscure branches like time and space, gravity, sound, and blood.
And yet, despite its grandeur, mana belonged to women.
It was simply how the laws of Elysium were written.
The magical body channels required to wield mana were naturally open in females. Males? They could store mana. They could refine it—for others. But the flow never responded to them. They were vessels. Conduits. Tools.
Like Adam had been. Like all men were meant to be.
Except for one.
Sodom.
The one name that broke the laws.
The first—and last—male magician in history.
Not just any magician, but the greatest ever recorded. The Grand Sorcerer of the End Times. A man who mastered all schools, who rewrote the equations of magic with his blood. He'd grown so bored with casting spells that he created a new system entirely: Aura.
Aura was the opposite of mana.
If mana was drawn from the world, aura came from within.
A manifestation of soul, spirit, and will. Aura wasn't trained. It was cultivated. A process of deep self-realization, where the body was honed like a blade and the soul tempered like steel. Aura users were fighters. Duelists. Warriors. The color of their aura determined their strength—and their mystery.
A red aura might grant explosive force.
A blue aura could numb pain and extend breath.
A golden aura could cut mountains in half.
Men were allowed in this space. Theoretically.
After all, Sodom had created it for men.
But reality was cruel.
Even aura bent its head to women eventually. They were taller. Stronger. Faster. Their bodies held more durability, their cultivation vessels burned hotter. Once again, men were left behind, admired more for their cute clothes and pillowy thighs than any martial prowess.
Adam chuckled dryly.
"Ironic," he muttered.
He liked the idea of being on the frontlines. Of beating the shit out of people. Of cutting down monsters with a glowing aura blade and stealing the breath from the crowd. But…
His hand gripped the edge of the desk.
Realistically?
He'd never get there.
Because this body—Adam's body—wasn't just lazy. It wasn't just untrained. It was cursed.
The Curse of Lethargy.
A hidden trait, one that hadn't even appeared in the original game until a late patch hinted at it during a rare lore event. It wasn't just responsible for his sluggish growth or his lack of combat potential.
It was why he had no aura.
No trait.
No mana.
It was why he was fat. Why his skin never cleared. Why his limbs felt like sandbags. Why even a walk to the next hall left him breathless.
And worst of all…
It wasn't placed on him by accident.
It was punishment.
A gift of vengeance left by his biological father, the dying lord who cursed his wife's womb as she betrayed him on his deathbed. That curse passed on to the child born of another man—the dark-haired, dark-eyed child in a house of silver and blue.
And yet… even with all that…
Adam smiled.
Because he knew a secret.
A terrible, beautiful, world-shattering secret.
The reason why Sodom was so overpowered.
The reason why, despite being male, he had bent the laws of the world and made them kneel.
And the reason… why men couldn't wield mana at all.
Adam stared at the window.
Then without hesitation, clicked [Mana].
The system chimed.
And then—his heart stopped.
Literally.
His knees buckled. The room spun. His lungs seized.
Air. No air. No breath. No beat. No—
Stay calm. This is normal.
This is normal. This is…
The mirror swam in his vision as he fell forward, hitting the floor hard enough to bruise. His mouth hung open, drool pooling at the corner of his lips. His limbs convulsed once, then again. And then—
He saw it.
In the mirror.
Black, tribal-like markings flickered across his skin—his chest, his arms, his stomach, even across his cheeks. Not ink. Not scars.
Tattoos of mana.
Appearing and disappearing like echoes of a language that the world had long since tried to forget.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
His body arched on the floor in a twisted posture—hands curled, back bent, like a sinner mid-confession.
Please let it work, he thought faintly, eyes half-lidded.
Let my theory be right.
Then everything faded to black.