CHAPTER 97: SEBASTIAN [ PRINCE OF MASKS ]

Far beneath the majestic, gold leafed halls and marble floored corridors of the Imperial Palace, there was a place where the sun never reached, a place known only to the Emperor and a select few.

This was an underground laboratory where cold stone walls sweated with dampness, and the air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood and nose burning chemicals.

Sebastian, or Dr. Aris as was his old and true name, was the master of this dark place.

He wore a white coat stained with dried blood. With thin leather gloves on his hands, he worked on the subject lying on the metal table before him with the precision of a meticulous surgeon. The being on the table might once have been human, but now it was a mass of flesh reshaped by Sebastian’s "art."

Its chest cavity was completely open, and the heart beating within was three times the size of a normal human’s; a monster heart reinforced with mana, wrapped in dark purple veins.

"Stabilization rate... seventy four percent," Sebastian muttered, his voice echoing in the silence of the laboratory.

He adjusted his glasses on his nose and plunged the syringe in his hand into the exact center of the heart. When the green liquid inside the syringe penetrated the organ, the heart contracted violently, the subject on the table took a raspy breath but did not wake up.

Sebastian was not interested in whether the subject was suffering. The result was what mattered. What mattered was "perfection."

After the apocalyptic explosion that day, Toven’s body had been completely destroyed.

However, Toven was no ordinary mortal bound by the rules of this world. He was the "Prince of Masks."

Thanks to [Soul Parasite], a forbidden ability granted to him by the gods and developed by him over centuries, he used death not as an end, but merely as a tool.

Just before his body was annihilated, he had compressed his consciousness like a data packet and hurled it into the nearest suitable living being with the lowest mental resistance.

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his sterile laboratory. Instead of blood and chemicals, he smelled manure and damp earth. He was not wearing his white coat; he wore a tattered shirt of rough fabric.

He looked at his hands. These were no longer old, veined, experienced hands; they were the hands of a young, calloused, and frail boy.

The new body belonged to Sebastian. An orphaned boy with no one, living in a rural town in the furthest corner of the Empire. Sebastian had no family, no talent, and no one to look for him. He was a character even more worthless than the "extras" of this world, a faded figure filling the background.

As Sebastian sat up in his bed of straw, he felt a deep void in his chest. His "Masterpiece," Cassian, on whom he had spent years, knowledge, and resources, had slipped through his fingers.

He did not know at that moment whether he had survived the explosion, but his instincts told him he was alive. An entity on whom he had spent years would not be destroyed so easily.

At first, he was angry. Years of effort had gone to waste. However, this anger soon gave way to a twisted admiration and cold logic.

Cassian had become strong enough to kill his creator. This did not mean the experiment had failed; on the contrary, it meant it was far more successful than anticipated.

"Live, my little monster," Sebastian whispered into the cold rural night. "Grow, become strong, and sharpen your hatred. You are still mine. Only... your leash has loosened a little."

Trying to take him back now would be foolish. His current body was weak, devoid of mana. If he confronted Cassian now, he would truly die this time.

He would take him back, yes. But first, Cassian needed to mature, to discover his own potential. And Sebastian needed to reach the power to cage him again...

Sebastian temporarily locked his obsession with Cassian in a drawer of his mind. Because the world’s clock continued to tick. The "Apocalypse" scenario, the inevitable end of the game, was approaching.

The other Reincarnators (Obsidian Dawn and the other Princes) were trying to keep the world in balance by playing the roles assigned to them by the gods, or trying to drag it into chaos for their own interests.

But Toven’s goal was different. He did not just want to survive or save the world. He wanted to rise to the level of those who set the rules of this "game," the Gods, to transcend the boundaries of the mortal world.

For this, he could not waste time milking cows in a rural town. He had to intervene in the flow of history, take his place at the center of chaos, and take the biggest share from the impending destruction.

Sebastian stepped into the heart of the Empire, Solmarion.

His goal was simple: To use the Empire’s power as his shield and sword. However, the Emperor was old and cautious; the First Prince Roderic was too suspicious and surrounded by his own men. The Emperor’s third bastard daughter was considered useless.

Toven’s eye was fixed on a perfect target: The Second Prince Charles.

In the game "Child of the Dawn," Charles was the only human who could rival the main character in terms of power and potential. A young man who had made a contract with the Golden Dragon, the apple of the public’s eye, proud, talented, but burning inwardly with an insatiable desire for validation.

Charles was an uncut gem. And Toven was the best jeweler in the world.

After finishing his work, he took off his gloves, threw them aside, and walked towards the main hall of the laboratory, to the long corridor that was his source of pride.

Both sides of the corridor were filled with massive glass tubes rising to the ceiling. Inside the tubes, pale blue and green colored, nourishing and protective fluids filled the space. And within these fluids... Sebastian’s "Subjects" slept.

As Sebastian walked with heavy steps in front of the tubes, a fatherly but equally twisted smile appeared on his face.

In the first row were the "Faceless." They had a humanoid body structure; their muscles developed beyond human limits, their skin gray and hard like armor. But they had no faces.

No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just a smooth layer of gray skin. Their sensory organs were complex magic seals placed under their skin. They did not see, but they felt. They did not speak, but they obeyed. Each one possessed the power to tear apart a Fifth Star level knight in seconds.

Further down, the hybrids stood. Floating inside a tube was a being with massive, bony wings sprouting from its back, its arms transformed into the pincers of a mantis.

In another, there was a creature whose body was completely covered in scales, with gills and glands on its hands that secreted acid.

And at the very end, in the darkest corner of the corridor, stood three specially reinforced tubes, much larger than the others.

The beings inside emitted an aura of power at the Seventh and Eighth Star levels. Even in sleep, the pressure they radiated could make a weak human faint.

These might not be Sebastian’s masterpieces – that title still belonged to Cassian – but they were his loyal, unquestioning, and unstoppable army.

"Very soon," Sebastian whispered, placing his hand on the glass of his strongest subject.

"We will be reunited again."

Finishing his work in the laboratory, Sebastian took off his lab coat and put on his usual stylish and impeccable palace advisor clothes.

He put on that gentle, harmless, and slightly obedient mask. Leaving the heavy air of the underground, he stepped into the upper floors of the palace, into those bright corridors where intrigues and power revolved.

His goal was to go to the Second Prince Charles. However, as he was passing through one of the palace’s wide, pillared corridors, his path was blocked.

The figure blocking him physically resembled Charles; the same golden blond hair, the same noble jawline. However, this man’s face was older, harder, and his eyes were filled with suppressed anger and jealousy.

The First Prince, Roderic Solvarion.

Roderic Solvarion is the official heir to the Empire and the rightful owner of the throne. He carries within his veins that rare "Holy Blood," unique to the Solvarion dynasty and symbolizing a connection to the gods.

On paper, he possesses everything required to become the next Emperor: lineage, seniority, and a formal education.

Aside from carrying the Holy Blood, there is nothing that makes Roderic "special." He is neither a genius in magic nor a master of the sword.

On the other hand, his younger brother was his polar opposite, more talented than him in every regard.

Roderic harbored a constant hatred and jealousy toward his younger brother; after all, he had completely eclipsed what little glory Roderic possessed.

And on top of all this, Charles’s contract with the Golden Dragon was the final straw.