Nerion opened his eyes with an almost unnatural ease, as if he didn't have eyelids at all. Just the simple desire to "see" was enough to bring his vision to life.
He looked around.
Nothing.
Only endless darkness, scattered with faint glimmers of red and blue light. They seemed close—strangely close—but no matter how hard he focused, he couldn't reach them. It was as if they existed right in front of his eyes, but beyond the limits of touch.
Weird. Deeply weird.
He tried to move—but there was nothing to move. No arms, no legs, no body. He felt like a ghost floating in a world where the physical had no meaning.
Then—
Ding!
[Host has been transported to the spectral world to avoid trauma during the merging process with the Origin Bloodline System.]
Nerion flinched slightly at the sudden appearance of the interface—familiar, yet surreal. It was the same system screen he had seen just before blacking out.
"So that's why I passed out," he muttered.
He stared at the screen, barely able to believe it. He had expected something like this after his transmigration, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.
Still... he wasn't happy.
The whole "system" thing felt cheap. Nerion had always wanted to take control of his destiny—without relying on some divine cheat.
Most systems in stories were created by powerful beings and came with a price. He didn't want to owe anyone. He didn't want power he didn't truly earn. In his eyes, many so-called protagonists didn't deserve their achievements; countless others worked harder and remained ignored simply because they lacked a system.
No.
That wasn't the path he wanted.
"Can I refuse you?" he asked out loud, already sensing that this "Origin Bloodline System" could hear him.
[Host, allow me to clarify a few things. I can already sense the instability in our spiritual link,] the system replied calmly.
[I am not created by any powerful beings as you might imagine. I am an ethereal entity tied directly to your bloodline—your Origin Bloodline.]
"...How the hell do you know what I'm thinking?!" Nerion snapped, anger rising within him.
The idea that the system could read his mind? That was dangerous. Like being haunted by a parasite fused to his soul.
[No, host. I cannot read your thoughts—at least, not in the traditional sense. This space is your soulscape. Here, your thoughts echo clearly because you have no mouth or voice. What you perceive as 'speech' is actually your thoughts, focused and directed at me. Outside this space, I won't hear a single thought unless you consciously choose to share it.]
The system continued, [I am here to serve you, bound only to your bloodline. No one created me. I exist because your bloodline exists. Without it, I would not be. Without you, I would vanish. I have never had a master before you. If you die, I disappear.]
Nerion was still skeptical, but the logic made sense. The system had no reason to lie. They were connected—like a heart and veins. If one failed, the other would too.
One question remained.
"Tell me clearly—are you a gift, or are you my rightful inheritance?"
His voice was serious—maybe more serious than it had ever been.
[No, host. I am not a gift. I am your rightful inheritance—a birthright born from your bloodline. No one placed me inside you.]
Nerion let out a deep breath.
He could never accept the easy road. He would never be one of those arrogant cheats who claimed their power was earned when it clearly came from a lucky system.
No.
Those protagonists were liars.
They said things like "I earned this!" while casually skipping through worlds as if they were stepping stones. Meanwhile, millions struggled and failed.
Still... Nerion kept reading those stories.
Why?
He was bored.
Simple as that.
But back to now.
"So tell me," Nerion asked, curiosity finally overpowering caution, "how exactly do you work, Origin Bloodline System?"
[As you suspect, host, I am not here to make you stronger. I am here to show you how.]
[Your bloodline lacks a structured evolutionary path like those developed in the Ancient Era. That is why I exist—to guide you through the progression of your bloodline's sequences.]
"I see," Nerion replied. "But I doubt it will be easy, right?"
[Indeed, host. Your path is one of the most powerful in existence—perhaps the most powerful. But it is also... the most difficult.]
"...What do you mean by that?" Nerion asked, a heavy feeling in his chest.
[Exactly what you think. The Origin Bloodline is the peak—but its path is a nightmare. The pain is only a small part of the trial. Each step requires rare materials, dangerous rituals, and unimaginable risks. There are no shortcuts. No skipping sequences. Your path will be paved with blood, and your chances of survival are the lowest among all known paths.]
The words hit like a storm. But the system wasn't done.
[So, host... You have two choices. Live as one of the lower races, abandon this terrifying path, and live a decent life—not the strongest, but not the weakest either. Or walk the hard road. Either you reach the top... or you don't. I cannot promise anything. I am only a guide.]
For many, this might seem like an easy decision.
But not for Nerion.
He didn't want ease.
He believed in this: "The joy isn't in the destination—it's in the journey."
And this bloodline promised the most brutal journey of all.
The journey itself.
A wide smile spread across Nerion's ethereal face, causing a ripple in the spiritual link between him and the system.
"But I do have a question," he said suddenly.
[Go ahead, host.]
"The original owner of this body didn't have this bloodline, right? I brought it with me. That's why my eyes are different, isn't it?"
[Yes, host. The previous owner had no unique traits. Even your current appearance is the result of your bloodline rewriting this body's genetic structure, restoring features similar to your original form—amplified by this world's willpower energy. Your eye color, your traits... they all come from that transformation.]
[As for why this body was chosen—it was the most recently deceased vessel with minimal damage. This allowed me to preserve bloodline essence and test your willpower in harsh conditions.]
Nerion was surprised by how precise everything was. The system hadn't chosen randomly—it had optimized every detail.
Oddly, he wasn't angry.
In fact, he realized something important.
Physical strength wasn't everything.
He had manipulated the minotaur—a beast who could crush him in one blow. He had tamed Mia, whose power was even greater.
Cunning was his weapon. And it wasn't new.
Before transmigration, it had been his specialty.
He had studied books on manipulation and psychology: 'The Inner Game of Tennis', 'The Art of War' , 'Atomic Habits', 'The 48 Laws of Power', 'Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion', and more.
Why?
Because he had been a psychologist. And obsessed with it—alongside archaeology.
Why those two?
Only Nerion knew.
---
Ding!
[Merging process nearly complete. When you awaken, you will be prompted to choose your active path as previously described.]
[You may feel disoriented, but it will fade. I have erased all remnants of the previous Nerion except for a few essential memories. Good luck on your path, host.]
Ding!
[Merging complete. Residual soul fragments removed. Host will regain consciousness in:
3...
2...
1...]
---
Gasp!
Nerion's eyes flew open.
Huff.
Huff.
His chest heaved, sweat soaking his body.
"Nerion!" a soft, worried voice called.
He looked up—and found himself staring into two crystal-blue eyes full of relief and joy.
'Wait... am I lying on her lap?!'
Yes. Nerion was flat on his back—his head resting on Mia's thighs.
Before he could speak, she pulled him into a warm hug, pressing her face into his neck.
"Thank goodness... I was so worried when you passed out," she whispered, her hands trembling as they cupped his cheeks.
Nerion blinked.
He didn't understand.
They had only just met. How could she show such deep emotion?
'Is she acting?' he wondered, then dismissed the thought.
If she were pretending, she wouldn't have been angry when he looked at her with disgust earlier. And with her power, she didn't need to fake anything.
'Maybe my transmigration gave me a superiority complex,' Nerion thought, chuckling inside.
Then he said, "Can you help me back to my chair?"
Mia hesitated, then nodded and helped him.
"Miss Mia," Nerion said, "may I ask you something?"
"Of course, Nerion. Ask anything. But please, just call me Mia," she replied with a gentle smile and hopeful eyes.
He returned the smile slightly.
"Alright, Mia. I wanted to know—why did that minotaur call you 'Breaker of Chains'? What does that mean?"
"Oh, that's easy. It's because of my sequence—Sequence 9 of the Blood Path. For vampires, Sequence 9 is known as 'Breaker of Chains.' "
"S-Sequence? What is that?" Nerion asked, genuinely confused.
'She's Sequence 9? ...Is that high?'
'Like... is it better than Sequence 5 or worse?' He tilted his head. 'Maybe it's like spicy food—the higher the number, the more it burns?' Nerion thought dryly.
He wasn't sure yet.
And judging by the way her eyes lit up—Mia was more than ready to tell him everything.