Aden Vasco sat in the dimly lit prison cell, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He needed a plan. Fast. If the trial followed the course of the novel, he was already a dead man.
There had to be a way to alter his fate—to prove his innocence or, at the very least, delay his execution. But with no connections, no allies, and a cursed tongue that turned every sentence into arrogance, his options were painfully limited.
'I need a plan. Fast. If the trial follows the course of the novel, I'm already a dead man.'
Before he could think any further, a low chuckle echoed through the cell.
"Well, well, look at the little noble," sneered a gruff voice.
Aden looked up to see several inmates eyeing him with interest. They were rough-looking men, their bodies riddled with scars and old wounds. Some of them grinned maliciously, while others merely observed, their eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"What's a brat like you doing in here?" another inmate asked, his teeth yellowed from years of neglect. "You must've done something real nasty if you're getting an audience with the Emperor himself."
Laughter rippled through the cell. Aden could feel their hostility, their unspoken challenge. They were testing him, trying to gauge if he was prey or predator.
He knew he had to de-escalate the situation. Carefully, he parted his lips to respond.
"I don't want any trouble—"
Was what he meant to say.
What actually came out:
"I doubt you imbeciles are worth my time."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Aden's stomach dropped. 'Not again!'
The inmates' expressions twisted with fury. "What the hell did you just say?" one of them growled, stepping forward. His muscles tensed beneath his ragged clothes, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists.
Aden internally screamed. "Wait, I meant—"
"You wouldn't understand even if I explained, you brainless oaf."
'Oh, come on!'
The largest of the prisoners lunged forward, his fists swinging with brutal force. Another followed, aiming for Aden's ribs with a sharp jab. He barely had time to react—
And then, he felt something inside him.
A rush of power coursed through his veins, cold yet electrifying. His muscles moved before his mind could process it, his body instinctively twisting to evade the incoming strikes. He sidestepped the first blow with unnatural ease, ducked under the second, and before the inmates could recover—
His leg shot out in a blur.
A double-crossed kick, each foot connecting squarely with their jaws.
Time seemed to slow as his strikes landed. The force of the impact sent both men hurtling backward, crashing into the stone walls. They slumped to the ground, unconscious.
The moves felt all too familiar to him as if he had been doing this for a long time.
Aden landed gracefully, his breath steady, his hands still raised in a defensive stance.
The cell fell into stunned silence.
The other inmates looked at him in horror.
But something was wrong.
A deep, primal heat spread through Aden's chest, his heart pounding as if urging him forward. The sight of the fallen inmates triggered something within him. More entangled memories and blurs coarsed through him like vultures in his mind.
His vision blurred. He felt his body move on its own, lunging toward one of the fallen men. He pinned the inmate down and—
His fist came down.
Then again.
And again.
Silence fell on the room.
Blood splattered across his knuckles, staining his hands with crimson. A part of him screamed to stop, but his body refused to listen. Each punch sent a fresh surge of satisfaction through his veins, feeding the strange hunger that clawed at his insides.
The other inmates scrambled away in terror. Some shouted for the guards, others tried to pull him off, but the sheer force emanating from him made them hesitate.
Aden felt hands gripping his shoulders, trying to drag him away. His head rose up, and the sheer bloodlust in his eyes sent shivers down the spines of everyone in the room.
The guards stormed in, their weapons drawn. "Get him off!" one of them shouted.
Several knights seized him, restraining him with chains infused with sealing magic. The moment the cuffs locked around his wrists, the violent haze clouding his mind dissipated. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his body trembling from the aftermath of whatever he had just done.
"What in the lord's name…?" one of the guards muttered, eyes wide with disbelief.
Another knight scoffed. "Did you see how he moved?"
The head guard gave Aden a long, searching look before nodding to his subordinates. "Take him to isolation. The trial's tomorrow. If he wants to live, he better learn to stay quiet."
As the guards dragged him toward another cell, one of them leaned in closer and muttered, "Listen, kid. If you don't want to end up executed on the spot, you better keep your head down at that trial."
Aden didn't resist as they locked him away again. He was too exhausted to fight back.
Too disturbed by what had just happened.
As he was thrown into a new cell, this time with enchanted restraints binding his entire body, a single thought dominated his mind.
'What the hell is happening to me?'
Aden sat in the cold, dark chamber, his wrists and ankles bound in restraints. The air was stale, the silence pressing against his ears like an unbearable weight. He had spent the entire night searching for an escape—some loophole, some trick, anything to avoid the fate that awaited him.
But there was nothing.
As he stood up, stretching his body to alleviate the numbness, he couldn't help but marvel at his new physique. Aden Vasco's body was a masterpiece of athleticism, every muscle defined, every limb toned to perfection. It was a far cry from his past body, worn down by illness and weakness.
As he flexed his arms, feeling the power coursing through his veins, a realization dawned on him. All those countless hours of training, all the martial arts and fighting styles he had learned, were still etched in his mind. The techniques, the movements, the strategies – everything was still there.
Taekwondo, Boxing, Judo, Kyokushin, Systema – the names echoed in his mind, each one triggering a flood of memories. He had spent years training, pushing his worn-out body to its limits, driven by a desire to be stronger, to overcome his weaknesses, just to be a little more stronger.
And now, in this new body, he had the physical prowess to match his mental prowess. His mind was a treasure trove of combat knowledge, and his body was capable of executing every technique with precision and deadly accuracy.
But as he gazed around the isolation room, the harsh reality of his situation hit him like a ton of bricks. He was a prisoner, awaiting execution for a crime he didn't commit. All his martial arts skills, all his training, were futile against the might of the Imperial Castle.
Aden's eyes dropped, his shoulders slumping in defeat. What was the point of having a strong body and a skilled mind if he was just going to be executed? The thought echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of his powerlessness.
In the darkness of the isolation room, Aden Vasco's eyes burned with a mixture of frustration, anger, and despair. Tomorrow, he would face his fate, and all his skills would be reduced to mere spectator sport.
The memories of the book—the "Sword of Walpurgis"—offered nothing. The story had only briefly mentioned Aden Vasco, a criminal sentenced to death by the Emperor himself. There were no details, no clues to his innocence. Only a name, a crime, and an execution.
'Is this really how it ends?'
He clenched his fists, his mind spiraling into frustration. It wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about control. Right now, he had none. And if he was going to change his fate, that needed to change.
Before he realized it, the faint glow of dawn crept through the tiny barred window above. The iron door creaked open, and a trio of knights entered, their polished armor glinting under the dim light.
"Prisoner 107," one of the knights announced, his voice devoid of emotion. "It's time."
Aden exhaled slowly, forcing his emotions into submission. He knew what he had to do—lay low, observe, and wait for the right moment.
The knights moved forward, releasing his restraints. The weight on his wrists and ankles vanished, but the phantom pressure remained. The leading knight, a grizzled man with a scar over his brow, met his gaze.
"Listen, kid," the knight muttered under his breath, his voice just low enough that the others wouldn't hear.
"Don't do anything stupid. The Emperor has little patience. If you want to live, keep your mouth shut and bow when expected."
Aden didn't respond. Not that it would matter—even if he tried to say something respectful, his cursed speech would only twist it into an insult.
He was led through a series of corridors before stopping at a room. The heavy doors swung open, revealing a set of pristine garments laid out before him. The Vasco family's signature black-and-silver robes, embroidered with golden accents. Even now, he was still considered a member of their house—if only for this trial.
He hesitated for a moment before slipping into the attire. The fabric was smooth, foreign against his skin, yet it fit him perfectly. A final reminder of the bloodline he now belonged to.
Once dressed, the knights flanked him again, guiding him forward through the grand corridors of the Imperial Palace. The air was thick with tension. Every step echoed against the polished marble floors, each turn bringing him closer to his judgment.
Finally, they reached the grand entrance of the Imperial Court.
The towering doors loomed before him, adorned with golden carvings of dragons and phoenixes in eternal battle. As the knights pushed them open, a blinding wave of sunlight poured in, momentarily forcing Aden to squint.
Beyond the threshold, the Imperial Court revealed itself in all its splendor.
A vast hall stretched out before him, its high ceiling adorned with intricate murals of past conquests and legendary battles. Rows upon rows of nobles, ministers, and military commanders filled the chamber, their eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped inside.
At the very front, elevated above the rest, sat the Five Dukes of the Empire, each representing one of the Great Houses. And above them, seated on a golden throne that overlooked the entire hall, was the Emperor himself.
Aden's breath hitched for just a moment. The weight of countless gazes bore down on him, as if the very walls of the chamber sought to crush him under their judgment.
The knights halted just before the central platform, forcing him to kneel.
The chains on his wrists clanked against the marble floor.
The sun's rays illuminated his face as he lifted his head slightly, staring into the grand courtroom.
'This is it.'
The trial had begun.