Vulcan Zebra

Vulcan Zebra.

His childhood was one of profound misfortune.

Vulcan was born into the Zebra royal family.

However, he was born of tainted blood.

The King of Zebra was a lecher.

A lecher to a truly appalling degree.

So much so that he kept retainers whose sole task was to procure women.

The retainers did not discriminate, scouring even the slums for their quarry.

So long as they were not afflicted with a terminal illness, they could be cured by the King’s personal clerics.

Washed and fed, they could be made presentable enough.

Thus, all that the retainers needed was a pretty face.

Zebra’s mother hailed from the slums.

One day, a retainer approached her with a proposition.

He offered a sum of money, a small fortune, if she would offer her body to…someone.

Her family was poor, struggling to survive each day.

The offer reached her mother’s ears, and the mother herself gave her consent.

“Sell her! Of course, we’ll sell her!”

And so, she was offered to the King.

She was subjected to the King’s depraved tastes and, surprisingly, he took quite a liking to her.

“A most diverting amusement. I am pleased.”

As a result, she became the King’s personal plaything.

But even that didn’t last very long.

In time, the King tired of her.

The problem, however, was that by then she was carrying his child.

Bearing the King’s child was an unprecedented event.

Even more so as the child was conceived from a slum girl.

There was a high probability that she would disappear quietly, never to be seen again.

With the King having lost interest, her prospects were bleak.

As she nervously concealed her pregnancy…

“You’re with child.”

She was found out.

The one who discovered her secret was none other than the retainer who had brought her to the King in the first place.

“Come with me.”

Ironically, it was with the aid of such a retainer that she managed to escape the royal household.

“Why did you help me?”

She asked the retainer why he had aided her.

The retainer offered no answer.

Whether it was affection that had grown for her in that short span, or a sense of disillusionment with the task he was undertaking.

“Live a life unnoticed.”

Unable to discern the truth, she nonetheless survived thanks to the retainer’s whim.

In the wake of that escape, she bore a child.

“Your name will be ■■.”

Though the child was born from an unwanted pregnancy, she raised it with all her heart.

But the child’s misfortune had only just begun.

One day, a fire broke out in the house where the child lived.

The child was about three years old.

Still barely able to toddle, the child was consumed by the inferno’s flames and perished.

“■■! No! ■■!”

Her mother tried to enter the burning house to save the child, but to no avail.

In the end, the house was reduced to ashes.

But the child did not die.

Though his entire body was burned, someone had rescued him.

And that person was also the one who had set fire to the child’s house.

He was a knight, acting under the orders of Count Idrass.

When Vulcan turned three, King Zevra died suddenly.

The king’s health had been failing for some time, due to his frequent indulgence in women and drink.

In the end, his heart gave out, and he met his end.

Count Idrass had somehow learned of the child’s existence.

And decided to use the child for his own purposes.

The throne had no suitable heir.

King Zevra’s obsession with women stemmed from his own inability to easily father children.

His womanizing was a reaction to that complex.

Therefore, the only heir was a young princess, still just a child herself.

And even she was the offspring of a concubine.

Any other claimant to the throne would have been a more than worthy contender.

“Remember. From now on, your name is Vulcan Zevra. Forget your former name.”

Thus, the child was stripped of his former identity.

The year Vulcan turned five.

He was installed as the new prince by the noble faction, including Count Idrass.

The year he turned seven.

The noble faction failed to monopolize the throne, and collapsed, with many being executed for treason.

Just before the execution.

Count Idrass barely manages to escape the royal palace with Vulcan, fleeing to the worst slums in Zevra.

“It’s your fault. All your fault! The Prince, the Prince was too incompetent to realize this dream.”

From then on, Count Idrass displayed an extreme obsession with the throne, bordering on madness.

And he pushed the blame for this entire situation onto Vulcan’s incompetence.

“You little vermin. I saved you from your tainted bloodline, and this is how you repay me!”

Vulcan, in truth, was just a boy of seven.

The fallen Count Idrass, fearing persecution from the royal family, relentlessly abused Vulcan.

He emphasized the necessity of an heir, claiming he had to take the throne, and did not hesitate to commit s*xual abuse.

All of this happened before Vulcan turned ten.

After three years, Count Idrass had aged dramatically.

He resorted to extreme stress and cheap back-alley drugs, exhibiting hallucinations and auditory delusions.

Eventually, he made a fatal decision.

He decided to commit suicide, taking Vulcan with him.

“It’s no use. This world has no need for us.”

He forcibly hanged the resisting Vulcan and then hanged himself.

With that, he kicked away the desk he was standing on.

Count Idrass, his body already at its limit, died instantly.

But Vulcan did not want to die.

Though still young, his will to live was strong.

So, even in that brutal situation, he ceaselessly struggled to survive.

His eyes, barely able to open from the beatings he received from Count Idrass, struggled to see as he fought for his life.

At that moment, black fire suddenly ignited on the old rope, and Vulcan rolled to the ground, surviving.

But the flames that had caught on the rope spread to the old house.

Vulcan had no strength to move.

He watched helplessly as the house burned.

Then, an old man appeared before him.

“Heh heh, well now, I’ve stumbled upon something precious.”

He was a mage who dabbled in forbidden magic.

While hiding in the Zebra Slums, he sensed the aura of the black flames and rushed over, only to discover…

“A hero, the reincarnation of Rozly, no less.”

He was a black mage who had foreseen the reincarnation of the hero.

And a man who had been plotting to use this hero for his own ends.

He had found the reincarnation of the hero he had been so desperately searching for.

Without any chance to resist, Vulcan was dragged away by the black mage.

The black mage took Vulcan away, intending to extract his soul and talent.

He cut open Vulcan’s forehead and rummaged through his brain.

Vulcan screamed in excruciating pain.

Having barely survived, he was now about to be killed by a black mage.

Endless despair and hatred towards the world poured out from Vulcan.

The black mage tried to forcibly draw out the soul of the hero Rozly, which resided within Vulcan.

And that resulted in an irreversible outcome.

「Wh-What in the world… is this?!」

The hero, Rozly.

He had saved the world, yet he was a tragic hero who couldn’t protect his own family.

And so, he came to loathe the world, ultimately carving corruption directly into his very soul.

The Tainted Flame.

A flame born from his hatred of the world.

Heroes, sensing his corruption, eventually stopped Rozly and sealed away his soul.

But he deceived even the eye of the Goddess and managed to be reborn.

And this, his reincarnation as Vulcan, was reignited by a black mage consumed by hatred and greed.

The Tainted Flame devoured the black mage.

The black mage screamed as he burned away, consumed by the unquenchable flame.

Then, an eye opened on Vulcan’s torn forehead.

Vulcan trampled the burned remains of the black mage as he walked outside.

Black tears streamed down from his eyes.

Vulcan wandered aimlessly.

Rozly’s memories returned, awakening all the way back to the moment of his birth.

Painful memories tormented Vulcan without rest.

Yet, Vulcan’s steps were directed towards only one place.

The woman who had shown him the only affection he ever knew.

His mother.

Barefoot, Vulcan passed through the slums, only to witness a scene.

A woman walking with a man and a child.

She was older, but it was the woman from Vulcan’s childhood memories.

She had forgotten the past completely, and strolled along the street with a truly happy face.

Vulcan stared blankly at the scene.

「■■.」

The one she used to call with such kindness was no longer here.

Perhaps that was why, even though he remembered everything else, he could not recall his original name.

Vulcan quietly turned away.

He no longer had any lingering attachments to this world.

Vulcan sacrificed his life force to nurture the Tainted Flame.

Through this, he drew forth the power of the former hero, Rozly.

In Vulcan’s eyes now, only hatred for the world remained.

A life where he was born, lost his name, was denied by the world, and was nearly ended as a sacrifice.

He did not want this world to remain intact.

「I will burn it. I will burn it all away.」

He would completely incinerate this world, and in the end, even burn the Goddess.

It was the moment Vulcan was utterly driven mad.

This was the leader of the Mystics.

The tainted blood, Vulcan Zebra.

Vulkan’s purpose was singular.

To set the world ablaze.

To achieve this, he resolved to usurp the soul of a hero blessed by the goddess.

His eyes could discern souls.

Thus, he could also distinguish heroes.

Absorbing the first hero, Ordo, had been effortless.

But from then on, things became increasingly difficult.

The kidnapping of the Saintess failed, and he only obtained half a soul.

The White Arborist’s descent into mysticism complicated matters further.

Aquilin’s reincarnation, Mushika, returned alive from the clutches of a grotesque being.

Successively, the attempt to abduct Jerion’s reincarnation also failed.

Through Mushika and the Saintess, they ultimately reached the very stronghold of mysticism.

And at the heart of it all was one boy.

Hanon Airey.

Digging through information, nothing existed beyond his bloodline as a duke of Robleia.

Yet, in the days past, he was connected to every incident.

And now.

Vulkan found himself in a deeply perplexed situation.

Before him stood the very boy he had just mentioned.

A bizarre boy who, astonishingly, wielded the magic of an ancient dragon.

He faced Vulkan, each accompanied by a single girl.

At first, Vulkan scoffed at him.

Even with the goddess’s wing and Jerion’s reincarnation, they were still just children.

Incapable of touching him, who had devoured the heroes Rozly and Ordo.

He planned to swiftly deal with them, absorb their souls, and then…

Finish off the White Arborist, who would be weakened from fighting the earth dragon.

However, under Hanon’s direction, the two displayed a ferocious synergy.

What hardships and trials had they overcome together?

The two understood each other’s intentions with just a glance, launching a relentless offensive.

They were practically one and the same.

Moreover, Zenia, who had completed a sacred magic to obstruct spatial movement, joined the fray.

Zenia, as Jerion’s reincarnation, demonstrated exceptional magical prowess.

Furthermore, her teamwork with Hanon was as natural as family.

As a result, he faced a thoroughly perplexing situation.

“What… is this?”

All of Vulkan’s attacks were thwarted by the three.

Meanwhile, their attacks relentlessly struck Vulkan.

Vulkan was clearly overwhelming in terms of raw power.

But no matter how he attacked, his offensives were predicted and thwarted.

It was, well… something else.

It was as if his every action were foreseen, anticipated even.

Clearly, the disparity in power was overwhelming.

And yet, it was Vulkan who was being pushed back.

“Just what…”

Vulkan cried out, unable to believe the situation.

Hanon, reflected in his eyes, was undeniably a spirit far smaller than those around him.

And yet, he shone brighter than any of them.

“What manner of thing are you?”

Hanon, unfazed by the questioning born of disbelief, emerged from the smoke, a hand-blade poised.

“Hanon Irei.”

He spoke the name he already knew, the corner of his lips twitching upward through the sheen of sweat.

“To put it grandly, an Agent, I suppose.”

For Vulkan, it was the sudden appearance of an unthinkable crisis.