way of will

"Records," Will muttered in a hoarse, rasping voice that sounded as though it had been dragged through ash and smoke.

The moment the word left his cracked lips, a golden screen blinked into existence out of nowhere--hovering silently in the air before him, radiating a soft glow that looked completely alien against the gloom.

Name: William Ironheart

Inner World: --

Realm: Challenger

Mementos: --

Traits: Watcher of the Absolute, Mad Will, Heart Connection

Spirit Arts: --

Borrowed Arts: --

Affinity: --

"Not even one borrowed art… and here I am, starting to think I've finally become rich."

The sarcasm in Will's inner voice was bitter, dry, almost amused--if only it wasn't soaked in the quiet sting of disappointment.

Finding out that his surname was *Ironheart*--a name that, as far as he knew, belonged to one of the most powerful noble families in the Golden Empire--had sparked a faint hope inside him. He had foolishly imagined that his family, whoever they were, might have granted him at least a *First Realm Borrowed Art*--a basic inheritance for a noble-blooded heir.

But the screen remained empty. Stark. Silent.

Upon deeper thought, Will began to realize something troubling: perhaps he had only qualified for the system after killing that voidling--a creature not meant to exist. And if that were the case, then no one could have granted him a borrowed art *before* his awakening. Not without him first unlocking the Akashic Records.

Will let out a weary sigh.

This vessel--this body he had been reborn into--was, without a doubt, weaker than either of his past two bodies. He could feel the limitations in his bones, in the sluggish beat of his heart, in every shallow breath he took. Worse still, this world he had awakened into was no place for a healthy human being, let alone someone in his condition.

Yharnam.

A city drowned in mist. Even hours after the supposed rise of the sun, its light could barely pierce the suffocating wall of fog and the ever-present, brooding clouds above. The architecture of this place seemed torn from the seams of sanity--like a collage of gothic nightmares and broken dreams. No one could say whether it belonged more to a dark fantasy setting or a twisted Victorian nightmare. It was both. And neither.

Will slipped out of the alley wall he had been hiding against, careful not to draw attention. He didn't need a degree in urban management to understand the state of this city--it was descending into rot. Trash lined every street. The stench of decay was inescapable. Homeless figures shivered in the corners of buildings, their limbs too many or too few, their bodies twisted by some unknown blight.

Will wasn't sure, but he had a sinking feeling he was one of them now.

As he wandered through the dead, echoing streets, even the bizarre began to feel ordinary. But one thing struck him as deeply wrong: the silence.

No one spoke.

Not even those living within their homes uttered a single word. The windows were shut, curtains drawn, doors bolted. He saw no animals, no birds, not even insects. The people he passed--the ones still moving--had hollow eyes that looked through him. Eyes that seemed to belong to corpses still pretending to be alive.

He tried to speak to a few. He reached out, made noise,--anything to confirm he existed. But each one ignored him completely, like he was just another whisper in the wind.

It became clear to him that no answers would come from them.

So, without knowing what else to do, he moved toward the only thing that stood out--a long wall, at least twenty-five meters high, stretching toward the horizon like a fortress.

Weaving his way through twisted alleyways and uneven cobblestones, Will finally found himself in a secluded space behind part of the fortress wall. It was, for now, a safe place.

Here, away from prying eyes and deaf ears, he summoned the golden screen once more.

In the novel he had once read--the one this world seemed to echo--characters' primary source of power came from their Spirit Arts. Unlike borrowed arts, which could be given or taken from external sources, spirit arts had to be earned. They were the reward of surviving trials, of pushing past human limits and attaining something akin to enlightenment.

The system also mentioned Traits--deep aspects of one's personality or talent that manifested as special abilities.

Will had three.

And though they offered him no direct offensive power, he needed to understand them.

Trait: Watcher of the Absolute

"You have seen the Absolute, and survived long enough to tell the tale. Only a hypocrite like you could manage such a thing. And so, you may now see, hear, and feel things that were never meant to be perceived."

 "Is this... a cursed that is disguised as a blessing?" Will thought, a chill sliding down his spine.

The writing style of the Records was bizarre, poetic, and unnerving--as if it was aware of itself. Will's first reaction upon seeing this trait had been confusion. He'd assumed it had something to do with his transmigration--perhaps some side effect of waking in another world.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall what exactly he had seen. Whatever the Absolute was… his mind had locked it away. And maybe that was a mercy.

In this world, corruption was like a virus. It spread through knowledge, like a dark thought infecting the soul. The only reason life still existed in the Nine Realms was because the great gods had ensured corruption never spread unchecked.

To possess a trait that allowed one to perceive what should remain unseen… was like wielding a blade with no handle. One that cut the wielder more than the enemy.

Will prayed the side effects of this trait would never reach him. But deep down, he knew that was a vain hope.

Trait: Mad Will

"Some are born mad. Others are born sane. But the rarest of all are those who are mad, and still remain sane. You do not notice this yet, but it is true you are a madman disguise as sane. Faith is Absolute, and only those with the Will of Madness dare to challenge it."

Unlike the first trait, Will couldn't tell what Mad Will even did.

The description felt like riddle wrapped in madness, dipped in philosophy. But as he concentrated, he could feel it--an expansion of something within himself. Like his willpower had become a furnace, burning brighter the more desperate his situation became.

"But a fire that burns brightest… also dies the fastest."

Trait: Heart Connection

"No heart can be fully understood. One can only connect it to another. Whoever you have given your heart to, and forged a bond with--they will always be with you."

This one was… an enigma.

It granted him no direct power. No strength, no skill, no transformation.

But when he focused on it… Will could feel it. The warmth in his chest--the lingering presence of those he had lost.

His mother's kindness.

His father's strength.

His sister's laughter.

They were gone… yet not gone.

Tears welled in his eyes without his permission. His throat tightened. And then, for the first time since awakening in this nightmare…

He cried.

Cried for the ones he had loved.

Cried for the life he had lost.

Cried for the strange, cruel world he had been thrown into--alone, confused, and broken.

But not hollow.

Never hollow.