Episode 4. This Was Unexpected (4)
'Kidnapping? These bastards are doing things even I wouldn't do!'
The Skeleton King's eyes flashed with anger. The faint glow of the magic core forming within his body remained subdued.
Of course, it wouldn’t do for humans to witness the creation of a magic core.
'Magic and divine power are natural enemies, after all.'
Even without that reason, there were plenty of motives to conceal it.
'If they discover a suckling infant can wield magic, they’ll lose their damned minds.'
Humans couldn’t typically use magic before the age of five.
But a nursing baby casting spells in this situation? The mages would erupt into chaos, declaring him a miracle child!
Other nations would clamor to claim him!
And he absolutely needed to become a saint of the Holy Empire to corrupt those god-serving priests—what if he instead drew the attention of other nations or the Magic Empire?
That would spawn an entirely new headache.
An utterly troublesome scenario.
'Well, as long as they don’t interfere.'
The current commotion, with servants bickering over kidnapping plans, presented the perfect opportunity.
Yet the Skeleton King, eyes closed, was more tense than ever.
This was the most critical moment in forging a magic core. If the flow broke now, his body might never form one again.
The elite magical families hadn’t arbitrarily set five as the minimum age for successor training, even knowing unique abilities could only manifest at that stage.
Not that the Skeleton King wouldn’t prefer a calmer location for this...
'There’s no other chance.'
Only nursemaids surrounded him now, but the Holy Empire would soon swarm with high-ranking priests.
Creating a magic core in that damned den of holy men?
Madness.
It’d be like announcing the feared Skeleton Demon King’s presence here!
Thus, this moment—while the fake nursemaids were distracted—was optimal.
'The first step is simple.'
The Skeleton King’s vision darkened as he shut his eyes.
This was merely the "eyelid world" from closing one’s eyes. But he pressed further.
The true site for core creation lay deeper, in the realm of self:
[The Consciousness World]
In an instant, his perception shifted. Sound and light vanished as if sinking into dark waters.
'Perfect.'
A void of absolute nothingness—the ideal space to forge a magic core.
The reason was simple: cores hidden too shallowly risked exposure and destruction.
The existence of professional core-hunting monster slayers proved that.
But this depth was safe enough. Even dragons, magic’s pinnacle beings, formed their cores here.
Yet the Skeleton King differed.
Beyond his unmatched magical prowess, he was the demon lord who’d subjugated legions barehanded, leaving even gods awestruck.
'I’ll go twenty layers deeper!'
Beyond the consciousness world, into the distant unconscious—to the primordial origin itself!
He severed all ties to external awareness.
Whoosh!
For a moment, his breath seemed to stop.
'Must hurry. This is dangerous.'
Though his current form could endure risks, this was a place where even a master of multi-casting might lose their mind—a realm so deeply unconscious that gods themselves might perish upon entering.
Yet he’d chosen this peril for a reason:
'The scale here is incomparable.'
Living beings had limited conscious reach, but the unconscious knew no bounds.
Hence his determination. As the saying went: Above creators stand landlords; above landlords, landowners!
What use were seeds without soil? Materials without land?
'Without land, everything becomes worthless.'
But here, limitlessly expanding like the cosmos, was infinite territory—a place to create an "infinite core" beyond even a god’s reach!
He unleashed his full power.
Kugugung!
A brilliant light erupted before him—the magic core.
Yet the Skeleton King frowned.
'Madness—a white core?'
Magic cores came in primary colors: red, blue, green, each with distinct traits. White was unheard of.
Not only was the color shocking, but the pea-sized core radiated overwhelming energy.
His instincts stirred—not with dread, but excitement.
This felt... right. Like hitting the jackpot.
'Good. Now just the finishing touch.'
Only engraving his name remained—the crucial step linking consciousness to core. Simple for him.
The hard part was done. Practically finished—
"Wait—is the Holy Child not breathing?!"
"!!"
A voice pierced the primordial void. The Skeleton King jolted.
"Nonsense! You’re mistaken!"
"No—look! His chest isn’t moving!"
As the servants’ voices neared, he screamed internally: Not now! Disturb me here, and everything crumbles!
"Perform CPR!"
No! Don’t!
Appreciated the concern, but unnecessary!
A male servant’s voice followed: "I’ll do it!"
Goddammit, not a man!
Frantic, he rushed the final engraving. Glowing letters blazed across the core as the servants positioned to "save" him—
Flash!
[Isaac]
His extreme focus paid off. The name sealed as magical veins pulsed through his body like drumbeats—the core had activated.
He yanked his consciousness back from the abyss. Though circulating mana fully would take time, he could now cast spells.
This should suffice temporarily!
Returning to the eyelid world, he snapped his eyes open.
"He opened his eyes!"
The servants recoiled. Relieved, the Skeleton King closed his eyes again, exhausted—such intense focus hadn’t been needed in 200 years.
Already tired…
"Oh no! The baby’s unconscious again!"
"Let me perform CPR!"
I said don’t, goddammit!
His eyes flashed open, glaring at the male servant.
Kids these days, intimidating their elders…
Though crisis had honed his focus to perfection. The engraving was flawless.
"If there’s no issue, move the Holy Child now."
"Yes… Not ideal, but better to kidnap than kill."
Still stuck on kidnapping, huh?
As the Skeleton King smirked—
Thud!
Violent energy surged into him. A gale-force wind startled the servants.
"What’s this?!"
"More holy magic?!"
Holy magic my ass—this is real magic, fools!
While holy magic borrowed divine power, true magic drew from one’s core via . He was draining ambient mana now.
Normally, accumulating mana took time, like cultivating internal energy—especially for a newborn core. Months would pass before his first spell.
But—
Flash!
A familiar burning in his chest made him smile.
Right. This needs engraving too.
Another mark appeared on his core—not a name, but an ability:
⸢Survival⸥
His Origin trait, awakened during his wretched days as a lowly skeleton. It granted unique buffs and skills.
When applied to the basic 1st-tier —
Kuruung!!
"Gahk!"
"Wait—urk!"
Normally, mana absorption was slow, particle by particle. But ⸢Survival⸥ shattered all rules:
Nearby trees withered. A male servant’s cloak disintegrated to ash.
"My cloak!"
In short, his Origin embodied survival at any cost.
[Do whatever it takes to survive]
He drained mana from everything—air, plants, even that shoddy cloak.
Didn’t expect to leech that rag…
It was barely magical, just dipped in mana potion for scent. Grimacing, he watched the panicked servants.
"Unseen technique—holy or dark magic?!"
"The Holy Child can’t use dark magic! Stop him!"
They reached for hidden tools, but he smirked—too late.
'1st-tier spell.'
Blinding light erupted from his body—like vinegar poured into eyes.
"Aghh!!"
The servants crumpled, retching and unconscious.
Wait—unconscious?!
He’d aimed for temporary blindness, not knockout!
What the hell?!
Even accounting for his blessed body, 1st-tier magic shouldn’t pack this punch.
Well… no complaints.
Stronger power meant better protection. The real issue—
Damn it, I don’t know which family I belong to!
He needed someone conscious to ask! Who’d have thought a 1st-tier spell would floor them?
Fine. I’ll search myself.
Crawling over, he rifled through the servants’ pockets. Fake nursemaids should carry house crests—but found nothing.
Problematic.
He could head to a nearby monastery, but the political climate around saint candidates seemed volatile. Trusting no one, he needed to know his lineage to eat safely—
Centuries to regain humanity, only to choke on monastery formula?!
His first meal should be a noble feast!
"Hey! Wake up! Tell me which house I’m from! A duke’s? One of the Five Sacred Families?!"
Of course, his words emerged as:
"Gaa! Gaa gaa!!"
Slapping their cheeks in frustration, he froze as—
"Ugh… Damned bastards. They even hired mages?"
"!"
One woman among the fallen three staggered up—their leader. A faint paladin aura explained her quick recovery.
Ah, a paladin. Explains the sloppy assassination.
Protecting the weak was their creed, unlike assassins.
She glared past him toward distant shouts:
"This way! Find the kidnapped Holy Child!"
"Dammit, where are they hiding?!"
She clicked her tongue. "'Eshua' mobilized forces quickly. Blood ties matter, I suppose."
"!"
The Skeleton King’s eyes widened.
So my diamond-spoon ancestors are the Eshuas. Good—no more mistakes.
He reached out, babbling: "Gaa gaa!"
Mistaking it for a plea to be held, she smirked and lifted him.
"Even with that angelic face, I can’t return you. The mages’ spells must have worn off by now—"
Then his forehead glowed.
"...Baby?"
(1st-tier)
Isaac Eshua grinned before smashing his rock-hard forehead into hers.
CRACK!
Thud!
The deafening impact drew the approaching search party.
