Eden System - Rise of the Villain Prince

Lucien felt the pain dissolve, replaced by a soothing warmth that washed over him like a healing tide. The strange voice echoed once again, contemplative and curious.

"Your body… houses multiple energy sources. Strangely, they do not conflict—rather, they show signs of merging."

Lucien's eyes narrowed at the words. Instantly, his thoughts turned to Hybrid Core—the cultivation art he practiced. Though it was of low rank, its function was unique.

'Multiple energies… that must include the Hurriclaw's energy I absorbed, the energy from Hybrid Core, and... that other thing,' he thought, lips pressed tightly together.

Of course, he had no intention of revealing everything to the ancient voice.

"Hahaha… don't worry," the voice chuckled knowingly.

"Everyone has their secrets. I won't pry."

At that, Lucien felt his body relax completely, immersed in an almost euphoric warmth, as if bathing in a hot spring.

"Boy, your dominant affinity is Wind Element, Rank E. A low rank... but—ah, enough."

The voice paused, suddenly taking on a tone layered with ancient sorrow and solemnity.

"Perhaps it is fate that brought us together."

"For that reason, I shall offer you an opportunity. But whether you can seize it... depends entirely on your will."

"Agh!"

A wave of excruciating agony tore through Lucien's body, as if his entire being was unraveling. Every cell screamed with pain, each nerve felt like it was being skewered by thousands of invisible needles.

Yet Lucien gritted his teeth. His body trembled violently, but his eyes burned with unrelenting fire.

"I… will not fail," he growled through clenched teeth, voice quivering from the pain but filled with defiance.

"I will defeat him. I will save Selvia."

"I won't fall here!"

BAM!

"AGHH!!"

His veins burst one after another, painting his skin crimson. Blood gushed from his nose, eyes, ears, and mouth, a grotesque spectacle of suffering.

His fingers dug into his palms until they pierced skin. Blood spilled like a spring from his hands.

The agony was beyond anything he had ever imagined—so intense it felt surreal, like a hallucination that would drive anyone mad.

His consciousness began to blur, dissolving like foam in a stormy sea.

Then—suddenly—

A radiant green light enveloped him.

The pain ceased.

His wounds sealed rapidly as if reversed by time. Every trace of blood evaporated into steam. His flesh glowed with health, his skin hardened and shone with vitality. Energy filled the network of veins beneath his skin.

Lucien opened his eyes—calm, sharp, and resolute. A transformation had begun.

Lucien opened his eyes, feeling the surge of power coursing through his body. Inside, he felt both surprised and confused.

"What... is happening to me?"

"Your willpower is truly admirable, kid." The floating glass orb drifted before him, and that strange voice echoed once more.

"This is a gift I offer you. The path ahead—you must keep walking it. Understand?"

Hearing this, Lucien stood up, looked at the glass orb, then down at his own hands.

"Thank you!" he suddenly clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

"Hahaha… no need to thank me. If one day you climb to the top of this world, I only hope you'll remember this old man."

"Of course," Lucien replied with a smile. "I'll never forget what you've done for me. I swear it."

"Hahaha… kid, I don't know what the future holds, but with a character as righteous as yours, I can say this—you'll be a dragon, soaring through the skies."

"Senior, may I know your name?" Lucien quickly asked.

"Hahaha... my name is... Lazarok."

The strange voice responded, full of satisfaction, then faded away.

Lucien could feel his body being pulled into a weightless void, as if a giant invisible hand was lifting him upwards.

Silence returned once more. The glass orb continued to float amidst the darkness.

Other candidates entered after him, but they were only given shallow and mechanical responses—nothing like the experience Lucien had just been through.

Time passed swiftly. The candidates who had come to take the aptitude test had all finished their evaluations.

"Seems like... no one else is coming." The voice from the glass orb sounded relieved. "At last, my duty is complete. I hope they keep their word... and give me a new body."

Crop! Crop! Crop!

Suddenly, footsteps echoed, shattering the quiet of the space.

"Hm?! Another candidate?" Lazarok's voice rose with a note of confusion.

Slowly... the final examinee emerged under the light radiating from the glass orb.

"That's..." Lazarok gasped as he saw the approaching young man.

Golden hair shimmered, his body clad in regal garments embroidered with intricate patterns.

His face was breathtakingly handsome—like a statue carved by the most skilled sculptor in the world.

A warm smile adorned his face, like the first light of dawn on a freezing winter morning.

But despite the warmth of that smile, Lazarok couldn't understand why it sent a chill through him... why it made him feel fear.

Inside him, a creeping unease began to take over.

'Hahaha… I've been hiding here too long. I must be going mad,' Lazarok mocked himself. 'Just a kid. No way someone like that could stir such strange emotions in me.'

'Alright, once I deal with this one, I can finally rest. Most of my energy went into that kid Lucien, and I've handled tests for so many others. If I don't rest soon, my soul may truly be damaged.'

Lathel slowly approached the floating glass orb. His steps were deliberate and slow, and the warm smile on his face—when paired with the surrounding darkness—only made him seem all the more sinister and chilling.

With every step he took, the unease in Lazarok's heart grew heavier and more oppressive.

'Impossible!' Lazarok thought to himself. 'How could a mere boy make me feel afraid?'

'No! I've been here for over 1,700 years. Not once has anyone made me feel fear. It must be because I'm too exhausted—that's why I'm hallucinating.'

Lazarok tried to calm himself, but the anxiety kept swelling like a monstrous beast devouring his very thoughts.

Crop! Crop! Crop!

The sound of shoes hitting the floor echoed sharply. Lathel had finally reached the orb.

He stared at it for a long moment, then suddenly let out a scornful smile. "How much longer are you planning to hide in there, Lazarok?"

'What?!' Lazarok was stunned. He could hardly believe what he'd heard. 'How does this kid know my name? No! That's impossible!'

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Lathel said, hands clasped behind his back, posture calm and composed—almost unnervingly so.

Yet his voice gradually grew colder, so cold... that Lazarok began to truly feel fear.

"Huh!" Lazarok forced himself to stay composed, snorted in disdain, and barked, "Brat! So what if you know of my existence?"

"I don't care who you are—if you come here with ill intentions, then I will—"

"What will you do, when you're nothing more than a pitifully weak soul, Lazarok?" Lathel cut him off with a smile.

"You..." Lazarok clenched his teeth, burning with fury—but he also realized that this situation was far more serious than he'd thought.

'No... This isn't right. Only those people knew the truth about who I really am. How could this young man possibly know that too?' Lazarok pondered, unease tightening its grip on him.

Lathel seemed to read his thoughts and chuckled. "Is it really that hard to figure out? I know plenty more. For example... you've placed all your hopes on someone you just met, believing he'll help you be reborn, isn't that right?"

"You... Who are you, really?" Lazarok could no longer remain composed. He snapped, shouting.

But in his voice now, beyond the anger—there was fear, and worry.

"Me?" Lathel laughed quietly. His expression darkened, and killing intent radiated from his very being. "Does it even matter anymore? Either way... you're going to die."

"Die?" Lazarok let out a wild laugh, enraged. "Hahaha... It's been over 1,700 years since anyone dared to say that word in front of me."

At that very moment, the floating glass orb began to tremble violently. Then, a stream of white smoke surged out from within it.

The smoke started to condense, gradually forming the figure of an old man—around seventy years old—dressed in a flowing robe. On his head sat a wizard's hat, adorned with magical runes that slithered like serpents.

"You little brat!" Lazarok roared, his eyes blazing with fury as he glared at Lathel. "Even as a soul, it'd be child's play for me to kill a rat like you."

"Hahaha… hahahaha…" Lathel suddenly covered his face with one hand, laughing maniacally. "Hahaha…"

"What the hell are you laughing at?!" Lazarok bellowed. A veil of dark magic erupted from him, spreading across the space like a shadowy tide.

"It's just too funny…" Lathel inhaled deeply, then said calmly, "Ah... don't kill him. I want to make use of him. Do you understand, Evelyn?"

"You... What the hell?!" Lazarok was stunned by the scene unfolding before him.

Behind Lathel, space suddenly rippled violently, like a still lake struck by a thrown stone.

Whoong! Whoong! Whoong!

A series of bell-like reverberations rang out, piercing and unbearable to the ears.

Then, countless arms tore through space and extended outward.

These arms resembled those of marionettes—jointed and cracked—numbering so many they couldn't possibly be counted. They flailed about wildly, as if trying to grasp something.

The entire space froze, locking Lazarok in place—he couldn't move.

Despite his centuries of existence, the sight before him was so terrifying that he couldn't help but ask once more, "You… just who… are you?"

Lathel sneered, his eyes turning icy cold. An overwhelming killing intent erupted from him like black smoke, wrapping around his body.

"Me? Like I said... I'm just a useless prince."