They all looked like little ants.

At least, that’s what Crest thought as he gazed down onto the buzzing city underneath. The streets below were full of people bustling about with great haste. They were all likely scattering about in order to work their meagre and equally garbage jobs. From his high advantage point, Crest couldn’t see their faces, but he liked to imagine their expressions. Be it hopeful, wrathful, or even joyful. He imagined it all.

A smile crept into his face.

They were all equally worthless. The people walking the streets all bared hopes and dreams. Desires that they held onto with the vague self-promise of accomplishment. The people walking the streets were walking on the streets for a reason. All of them, yes, all of them, believed to a lesser or greater extent that they were able. Able to achieve their goals and dreams. This belief, therefore, manifested itself in this unsightly form of a struggle. The constant daily grind. The long hours they worked.

Crest took a step away from the window.

He couldn’t help but pity the poor people. Their beliefs were simply wrong. Their hopes and dreams were all forever out of reach, and they were likely to remain that way. It was a sad fact, and one that was made even sadder by their lack of awareness.

Letting out a sigh, Crest made way to his comfortable ergonomic chair.

The people of the modern world lacked awareness. Awareness of their own core incompetencies. Like children first gazing into the expanse of the ocean from the shore. Beholden to its massiveness, but never truly grasping its size. The people of the modern world were forever trapped, trying to grab and hold a semblance of understanding. Working on fixing mere symptoms rather than the cause.

Their own incompetencies.

The average person was riddled with impurities. Jealously, anger, fear, crowdedness, and all that which corrupted them. They were beyond saving, and it was for that reason their desires remained forever out of reach. Forever worthless. Anything and everything was available to the modern person if they simply desired it.

Finally sitting in his comfortable ergonomic chair, Crest admired his high-perched office. Content. The white room, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, was bathed in natural light, offering a breathtaking panoramic view of the cityscape below. Its centrepiece was a sleek, custom-made executive desk crafted from rich walnut wood, paired with a high-back ergonomic leather chair that promised comfort during long hours of work.

The walls, adorned with minimalist art and smart glass panels, could switch from transparent to opaque at the touch of a button, ensuring both openness and privacy as needed. A built-in bookshelf, stocked with essential reference materials and a few select volumes of modern literature, added a touch of intellectual elegance.

It was all very beautiful and rather easy to acquire once Crest identified his core incompetencies. Since then, nothing has been able to stop him. Not the poverty he grew up in, not his failure of a parental figure, not his business rivals, nor even his ailing body. Crest had achieved everything he set out to do. Best of all, he had done it well.

He was a content person.

There was nothing more in this life that he found himself desiring. The current Crest was merely a person who had finished living early. He was simply waiting for death; however, that may find him. In the meantime, he would revel and enjoy the fruits of his suffering. He deserved it.

Stretching out his hand, Crest reached for the mirror he kept propped up on his desk. He couldn’t stop the smile that made to his face. He was a handsome man. Something not even his ailing body could hide.

‘Maybe that’s what will take me?’

Crest chuckled at the thought. There was no real way to eradicate an autoimmune disease.

‘Wouldn’t that be a rather anticlimactic death for me?’

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Having his own immune system weaken him until something as trivial as a common cold killed him sounded lame but went to show something. Everyone was in their own way at the end of the day.

His life was, is truly beautiful.

Putting the mirror down, Crest gazed out his massive windows.

‘Ah, that’s more like it…’

Here, high in the sky. A plane had passed the point of no return.

There was no stopping it.

Crest took a moment to pick his mirror up.

He really was a beautiful man.

A sharp pain assaulted Crest’s mind.

He was dying.

----------------------------------------

This was it.

This was officially the weirdest instrument Zuian had ever played.

‘Whose idea was it to stick a wheel to a violin?‘

Tracing his hands along the body of the instrument, Zuian tried to form a better mental image of it. The instrument was made of some hard wood that was smooth to the touch. Its body resembled a somewhat large, flat violin or a small guitar in shape. A gaping circular hole opened in the centre of the instrument, allowing air to flow. Along one side of the instrument, there was a handle you could turn—this was the crank that operated a wheel inside. It was like a jack in the box.

Raising his right arm, Zuian grasped the crank handle. This was only his first day playing this instrument. It was still far too early to tell whether this was a stroke of genius or a silly gimmick. Pulling down the handle and starting the rotations, a sweet sound was produced.

Zuian stopped.

This instrument was the work of some mad inventor. Some genius mad inventor.

Zuian continued feeling around the instrument until he came upon some keys. Piano keyboard-like keys. They resided at the bottom of the instrument and seemed to play with the strings that ran inside the instrument.

‘Such craftmanship... if only I just could see...’

A familiar temptation ate at Zuian. The temptation to remove his blindfolds and see. With his hands alone, he could feel the grooves and indents of the instrument. All of them told of the fine engraving it received. It would no doubt look beautiful.

Supressing the desire, Zuian once again cranked the handle. This time playing with the keys.

“Princess, if we leave any later, we will be unable to reach the ceremony in time.”

A soft voice brought Zuian out of his play.

It was Rose. One of the family maids.

‘Well, isn’t that a little dramatic?’

Zuian knew the ceremony would run the entire day. He had just started playing; it should still be morning.

‘I guess she really wants me to go this time, but to lie about it is-‘

Zuian thoughts halted.

He had finally sensed a new small object in front of him. Past experiences told him it was a table. Without much delay, Zuian reached out and touched the item protruding out of the vague table silhouette. The plate was cold. He had missed his lunch yet again.

‘Crud! W-Well, anyone can lose track of time. It is such a notoriously fickle thing after all…’

Standing up, Zuian set down his new instrument. His lame excuses were starting to hurt his head. The sound of hurried footsteps rang as Zuian felt a presence approach him.

“Let me assist you, princess.” (R)

A hand lightly touched Zuian’s own, prompting him to raise his and find its source. With his hand firmly secured to a shoulder, Zuian felt his body relax slightly. It was so much easier to get around with someone guiding him.

It was ironic. That’s what Zuian thought. Despite having some of the best vision around, Zuian needed to be guided. Zuian wasn’t blind; in fact, it was the complete opposite. He had great vision—too great vision. In this room alone, he could make out its vague shifting objects, and that was with three layers of special blindfolds. Granted, the objects tended to shift more the further away they were from him, but he could still manoeuvre himself decently.

“I shall now begin walking, princess.” (R)

Rose’s steps were slow. Very slow. It was to the point Zuian was tempted to tell her to hurry, but he refrained from doing so. Her already helping him saved him the effort of paying attention to his surroundings. He didn’t want to be ungrateful.

“We are now leaving the room.” (R)

With Rose guiding Zuian, Zuian let his thoughts wander. Today was a special day. It was the day he finally decided to summon his lifelong companion. Truthfully, he should’ve done this about two years ago, but life simply got in the way. Two years ago, when Zuian was ten, he completed his awaking trial. After which, he decided to take a month-long break that extended a little. Normally, one would conduct the summoning four months or less after their awakening.

‘Well, at least I’ll be with kids more around my age’

It’s good to focus on the positives, even if they don’t make you feel better.

Zuian was the youngest person in his family to undergo the trial. He was also the youngest person in recent history to survive doing it at such an age. Most nobles did it at thirteen, while talented commoners typically did it a year or two later with the church’s help. The reason Zuian did it so early was due to passing all the typical tests one would take before the trial. Novice internal mana control, low silver sword mastery, and a literacy rate of three. At the time, Zuian demonstrated Advanced Beginner internal mana control, low Ruby sword mastery, and a literacy rate of 6. On paper, he should’ve been able to pass the trial, and he did. Not unscathed, though. The trial was different for everyone. Those tests were essentially useless.

“We have arrived at the carriage, princess.” (R)

‘Already? That was oddly quick?’

It had been some time since Zuian left the castle.

Hopefully something good comes from all this farce.