Prologue: The Sovereign’s Silence
​The rain in New Seattle had a habit of burying secrets, but it could never wash away the smell of copper—the scent of blood and cheap coins.
​Five years ago, a boy stood in a gutter outside the Lumina Grand Hotel. His ribs were a mosaic of shattered bone, his lungs were filling with fluid, and his heart was breaking in a way that medicine couldn't fix. He had watched the woman he loved—the woman he had starved himself to provide for—laugh as she leaned into the arms of the man who had just robbed him.
​He had been a ghost. A "Ghost-Washer." A nobody whose life was worth exactly ten units of currency.
​"I’m sorry," he had whispered into the rain that night. But he wasn't apologizing to them. He was apologizing to the version of himself that still believed in mercy.
​Present Day. The 99th Floor of the Zenith Spire.
​Carson McCain sat in a chair made of liquid-carbon silk, looking at a city that didn't realize it had a new owner. In his hand was a glass of wine older than the city itself. On the table lay a single, rusted coin—the one he had carried through the fires of the Icelandic volcanoes and the crushing depths of the Mariana Trench.
​A soft beep broke the silence.
​"Sovereign," a voice resonated through the room—Aura, the world’s most advanced AI. "The Solaris Hegemony has entered the atmosphere. They are demanding the 'rat' who interfered with their operations to surrender."
​Carson didn't blink. He didn't even look up. He watched as a drop of condensation slid down his wine glass.
​"Surrender?" Carson’s voice was a low, melodic hum that made the very air in the penthouse vibrate. "Aura, activate the Global ORB. I don't want the commoners to get soot on their laundry when I delete their fleet."
​"Authorization confirmed. Shifting New Seattle to Sub-Space."
​Outside the window, the sky didn't turn dark; it turned violet. A massive, shimmering grid of energy swallowed the horizon, a cage for a fight that the world wasn't ready to see.
​Carson stood up. He wasn't wearing armor. He didn't have glowing cybernetics. He was dressed in a simple, perfectly tailored black suit. He reached into the void, and the air screamed as the Star-Shedder Saber manifested in his grip.
​30 strands of Saber-Qi began to rotate around his wrist, humming a song of absolute destruction.
​"Five years ago, I died in this rain," Carson whispered, stepping off the balcony into the open air, his feet finding invisible steps in the sky. "Today, I think I’ll let the stars die instead."
​High above, a Hegemony Dreadnought fired a shot that could level a continent.
​Carson McCain simply raised his blade.
​"Combine," he commanded.
​The night didn't end. It just met its master.
​[Saber Sovereign: The Low-Key Legend]
​A story of betrayal, ancient alchemy, and a man who returned from the gutter to own the sky.

Chapter 18: The Face-Slap of a Relative


​Silas raised his paddle. "One million units!" he shouted, looking around with a smug grin. He wanted the journals to sell back to the Solaris Hegemony for a profit.


​"Two million," a calm voice called from the back.


​Silas turned, his face reddening. "Three million!"


​"Ten million," Carson said, not even looking at his uncle.


​The room gasped. Silas stood up, pointing a finger. "Who do you think you are? I'm Silas McCain! I built this city's tech-infrastructure! You're just some 'new money' brat!"


​Carson stood up and walked toward the front. As he passed into the light, Silas's jaw dropped. The fat man's face went from red to a sickly, pale white.


​"C-Carson?" Silas stammered. "You... you were supposed to be dead."


​"I was," Carson said, his voice echoing. "But I found the journals you threw away to be quite enlightening. Twenty million."


Chapter 18 - Chapter 18: The Face-Slap of a Relative