The God of Nothing.-Chapter 8: Stubborn Bastard

Like that, Kaden was gone.

Caelith sat on the cold ground in the dead of night, trembling.

A fierce whirlwind of revelations settled in his mind. He trembled, filled with fear he couldn't identify.

Caelith struggled to pinpoint the source of this primordial dread; it eluded him, beyond a single explanation.

A moment later, a spark of understanding flickered deep within his eyes.

It was the weight of everything he didn't understand that haunted him. Not one particular thing. The revelations Kaden had shared had shattered his worldview.

Caelith was by no means arrogant. He was quite the opposite, possessing a subdued inferiority complex stemming from his years of abuse.

However, he couldn't fathom that the truths of this world were so insidious, lurking in plain sight.

The devil didn't inspire the heretics; in fact, he likely didn't even exist, considering how far the god's reach extended.

The heretics were revolutionaries, rebelling against the gods. The nobles' positions didn't reflect years of domination and exploitation of the lower classes; instead, they were a natural consequence of their greater innate powers.

Even his own family wasn't exactly what it seemed.

'Seriously? A forgotten heir?' The thoughts reverberated in his head.

Caelith was still reeling from the revelations Kaden had shared directly, but the ones he didn't mention were truly frightening.

The fact that figures like his uncle could remain unknown despite their significance hinted that his family might be hiding even more.

And what about the hierarchy? What about his future!?

How was he ever supposed to progress and build the life he and his mother desperately wished for while being suppressed by both the gods and his fellow humans?

After a deep sigh, Caelith mustered what was left of his will and dragged himself to bed. The large, oppressive estate never seemed so daunting—and so terrifying.

Eventually, Caelith reached his quarters in the farthest reaches of the estate and collapsed onto his straw bed.

The familiar smell of faeces lingered in the air. His mother's rhythmic breathing was the only sound at this hour.

Caelith's eyes drifted to the ceiling as he lay there. Cracked, rotting, and dishevelled.

Turning his head to face his mother, a wave of guilt washed over him.

The bruises were his fault.

If not for his existence, his mother could have avoided so many beatings. If not for his insistence on improving their lives, she could have gone to sleep without worry. Maybe the dark circles forming under her eyes would have been less noticeable then.

Moreover, he felt guilt for contemplating giving up just a moment ago.

The weight of reality, the weight of truth—it was truly a lot to bear.

But so what?

Hadn't he faced adversity his entire life? Wasn't he used to being stepped on?

Was his resolve really that fickle?

Was Kaden right to see him as nothing when they first met?

No. He was more significant than that.

So what if there were more feet to step on him? More boots, more spit, more insults?

Even a chicken keeps running after its head has been cut off, so he'd make it out of here with his mother. Whether he ended up dead or alive to make it happen was inconsequential.

When Caelith's eyes opened the next morning, something had changed.

Not something as simple as his mood or his readiness for the day. It was deeper, hidden behind his abyssal black eyes.

That day's training was also different, even if only slightly.

Caelith moved with finesse. His sword struck true, and his blows were powerful. They were armed with the weight of knowledge and bolstered by resolve.

Kaden had to take a moment to reassess the slightly less gaunt-looking boy.

Initially, he had hoped that the boy would not be too burdened by the truths he had shared with him. It was a momentary whim that caused him to overburden the bastard child. He felt that this boy would eventually become important in the events to come, and that he wouldn't completely collapse upon learning the truth.

On the contrary, the fear of being struck had disappeared from his eyes.

His will never faltered, and it seemed he did not even fear death itself. His sword was relentless, not quite exhibiting the skill of a battle-hardened warrior but embodying every single grain of resolve it possessed.

The days continued like this.

Caelith was impossibly dedicated to his training, forsaking every opportunity to rest in order to learn more. And soon, a month had passed.

During this month, Caelith had grown more daring, using his increased skills to steal food from the rations for the guards. The 16-year-old boy finally looked more like a warrior than a frail servant. He had been instructed by the vice-captain to join the guard's daily training and had, therefore, been relieved of his servant chores.

Interestingly, a new nickname emerged shortly after Caelith joined their daily training:

Stubborn Bastard.

It wasn't his skill that made Caelith a notable figure, but his determination.

No matter how many beatings he endured, the punishments he faced, or the insults he encountered, the bastard would not back down. By the fourth week, the guards had accepted his presence on their grounds.

Kaden smiled at the sight of his apprentice earning respect.

Yes, Caelith had finally become his official apprentice, a fact kept hidden from everyone else due to his peculiar status in the Stormont house. Not even a vice-captain would be safe from the Madam and her children if they were found showing favour towards the bastard.

Caelith now stood at 170 cm and weighed slightly over 70 kilos.

He had a normal build for his age, except crucially different from both commoners and nobles. He possessed slender muscles forming on his fatless physique.

The most striking difference after this month, however, was the undeniable confidence in his eyes.

Caelith could hold his own against most of the guards, as they were, like himself, zero-star individuals. They hadn't undergone the significant change of starting the path to divinity.

One reason was that they were commoners like him, and the other was their status as noble guards, who seldom saw the battlefield and, therefore, rarely faced those dangers or steeled their wills.

What Caelith lacked in skill, he made up for with grit and endurance.

Now, his first true test was finally on the horizon.

The outside world.

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There were still eleven months until the academy entrance exam, and he still had not even carved his mana veins, not to mention forming his first star.

So, today, he would be venturing out of the Stormont household unsupervised for the first time in his life.

He was going on a hunt.

As the training for the day finished, the guards were dispersing towards their quarters long after the sun had set. They were mandated to live in the dorms in the middle of the estate in case of emergencies.

Caelith, however, did not move from the centre of the grounds.

Once everyone had left, he began.

His sword whistled through the air, flowing through the forms of the Icarian style and internalizing everything he had learned that day. The style emphasized swiftness. However, most people didn't realize that being swift meant more than just moving quickly.

As he needed to move faster, he would have to think quicker; his body would have to depend more on instinct than on conscious thought.

Even his balance would need to keep up with his agile movements.

His teacher had taught him that lesson painfully through countless sweeps and subtle pushes at precisely the right moments.

Thankfully, the guards weren't quite perceptive enough to exploit these openings. Otherwise, his nickname might have been Clumsy Bastard instead of Stubborn Bastard.

Speaking of his teacher...

Kaden had appeared in the corner of the training grounds.

Smiling, Caelith gave him a wave.

However, Kaden did not smile back.

Caelith's eyes trembled as he saw what Kaden carried.

For the first time since they had met...

Kaden held a real sword.