Exiled To Rule

Lucien sat at the edge of the temple's final chamber, watching the dying flicker of flame in his palm.

It was no longer orange.

Not red.

Not golden.

The ember that once burned warm in his hand had shifted—darkened—until it pulsed a color that didn't quite belong in the world of flame. Pitch black, with the faintest hints of violet at its edges, like it had swallowed the fire whole and left only memory behind.

[Trait Mutation: Ember Affinity → Ashen Ember Affinity]You have absorbed enough corrupted flame to alter your core affinity.Ashen Ember feeds on burnt potential and latent heat.It is colder, sharper, and harder to extinguish.

+15% effectiveness when interacting with faded or ruined fire-based structures+10% resistance to fire magicCan be cloaked to appear inert to magical detection

Lucien stared at the notification for a long time.

His affinity had changed—not evolved, not ascended—mutated.

The word alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

But deep down, he knew it made sense. Nothing about him was ever pure. Not his entry into this world. Not his goals. Not even his flame.

He was born of exile.

His ember was now the same.

With a final look at the glowing central node of the Flame Temple, Lucien turned and walked away. Through the halls he had bled in. Past the murals of a forgotten sovereign who had once risen from ashes.

He descended the crumbled stairs. Passed cracked statues. Avoided the last few traps he'd memorized with cold precision.

And finally, after weeks underground—

Sunlight.

He squinted, nearly blinded.

The Borderlands hadn't changed.

Still empty hills and sharp rocks. Still patches of wildbrush and withered trees. Still the wind carrying dust and hunger across the plains like a warning.

But he had changed.

[Level Up: 4 ]+3 Stat Points Gained+1 Skill Point Gained

Status Update:

Lucien ElvarLevel: 4HP: 120 / 120Mana: 50 / 50Ashen Ember Affinity: ActiveTraits:– Tactician's Instinct (Passive)– Low Nobility's Curse (Passive)– Priest of Ember (Bound – Local)– Ashen Ember Affinity (New)

Lucien sat on a jagged rock near the cave's edge and pulled out the leather pouch he had repurposed as a makeshift journal. Using a sharpened bone dipped in beast ink, he began to write his gains.

[Dungeon Gains Summary]– Killed: 32 Lesser Flame Beasts– Avoided: 12 Traps– Disarmed: 4– Skills Used: Analyze (Lv 2), Trapmaking (Lv 3), Ember Flick (Lv 1)– Traits Gained: Priest of Ember, Ashen Ember Affinity– System Interface Stability: No issues– Supplies Remaining: 1 day's food, 2 rabbit pelts, 1 cracked waterskin

He clicked his tongue.

"If I don't find food soon, I'll be eating moss again."

With a sigh, he stood and began moving westward, into the deeper edge of the Borderlands.

He didn't get far.

A rustle.

A low grunt.

Lucien's eyes narrowed as he ducked behind a dry, split tree.

Across the small ravine, something moved—massive, muscled, and covered in bristling black fur. It pawed the dirt, snorting steam from oversized nostrils. Its tusks curved like scimitars, stained with dried blood.

Wild Ironfang Boar – Level 5

Lucien's heart thudded.

He had read about this in the novel back when he was still Evan, reading the novel for fun.

The Ironfang Boar was supposed to be a minor mid-tier beast. Dangerous not because of elemental power, but because of its sheer tenacity. It didn't stop until you were dead. The novel had described it as "a battering ram with legs and a hatred for anything that breathes."

Lucien crouched lower and watched.

It was sniffing the air.

"I smell you, rat."

Lucien froze.

The boar's mana snorted from its tusks in small bursts. That wasn't just instinct. It had a touch of awareness.

And Lucien was out in the open. No traps. No hiding spots.

But he had something else.

His brain.

Lucien backed away slowly, weaving through trees, keeping low. He didn't run.

The moment he saw a thick, narrow dip between two boulders, he grinned.

"Perfect."

He took out a flask of pungent scent oil he had harvested from a previous kill and smashed it against the nearest trunk. Then sprinted ten meters ahead, grabbed some dried branches, and jammed them together in a jagged trip-layer. He wrapped the base with a thin net made from scavenged beast gut, then tied it to a bone shard laced with venom from a flame snake.

Not powerful.

But just enough to slow.

Finally, he ran toward the narrow dip between the rocks and crouched behind a slab of earth.

"Come on… come on…"

The Ironfang boar burst through the tree line, raging. It snorted, picking up the oil's scent trail, and charged in a straight line.

Its foot struck the trip-layer.

Snap.

A burst of pain. The venomous shard jammed into its knee.

It stumbled—but didn't fall.

Lucien's breath caught.

"Too stubborn…"

The boar crashed forward, tusks gleaming.

Lucien dodged left, narrowly avoiding the charge.

He reached behind his back and grabbed a makeshift javelin—crudely shaped, sharpened obsidian point—and jammed it into the beast's thigh.

The boar screamed, twisted, and bit into his arm with cracked tusks.

"AGH—!"

[HP: 140 → 91]

Blood sprayed.

Lucien's vision blurred.

He shoved the javelin deeper, rolled under the beast's leg, and yanked a flask of fire-oil from his pouch.

"I swear, if this doesn't work—"

He smashed it against the javelin's base, igniting the wound in a burst of crude flame.

The boar shrieked.

It reared back.

Lucien scrambled up the boulder and, with shaking hands, flung a sharpened piece of ember-infused stone at its exposed neck.

Thunk.

The boar stumbled.

Then collapsed.

Lucien dropped to one knee, panting.

Blood dripped from his arm. His ribs ached. His fingers were shaking.

But the beast wasn't moving.

It was dead.

[Wild Ironfang Boar – Defeated]+EXP GainedLevel Up: 5

+3 Stat Points Gained+1 Skill Point Gained

He let out a bitter laugh.

"Level five. Barely worth it."

He lay there for a while, staring at the sky. It was strange how blue it looked after being underground for so long. Too pure. Too calm.

Nothing like his thoughts.

After dressing his wound with boiled bark and wrapping it in rabbit pelt, Lucien sat beside the dead boar and stared at the body.

"Sorry, pig," he muttered.

"I didn't want to kill you either."

But in this world, it was kill or be killed.

No side characters.

No second chances.

No easy routes.

He was a mutated priest of flame with no home, no friends, and now—a reputation with beasts.

He wondered how long it would be before the creatures of the Borderlands started recognizing his scent.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, he stood once more.

There was no temple now.

No one he knew waiting for him.

Just the wind.

And the path ahead.

He didn't know where it led.

But he was ready to walk it.