Exiled To Rule

A week had passed.

Seven days since I'd stepped foot into the Flame Temple—a dungeon that felt less like a ruin and more like a test designed by something old, cruel, and deliberate.

In that time, I became something new.

I wasn't the same Evan who once grumbled over late assignments and stayed up binge-reading webnovels. I wasn't even Lucien Elvar, the disgraced noble cast out of a story before it even began.

I was the man who survived.

By the fifth day, I had killed over thirty low-tier flame beasts. My strategy wasn't brute force. I couldn't fight them head-on—not with base stats and beginner skills.

So I became cunning.

Each beast was taken down through traps, misdirection, and preparation. I scavenged their fangs, bones, and sinew, turning them into makeshift tools. I used leftover monster blood to mask my scent and bait predators into pre-sprung snares.

I laid deadfall traps using loose stones propped by melted slag. Dug spike pits and covered them with burnt cloth and dust. Strung tension wires made from cracked brazier frames rigged to unleash fire jars or collapse rubble.

When the creatures walked in, they never walked out.

[Ash-Horned Salamander Killed]+36 XP[Level Up: 3]+2 Strength, +1 Endurance, +1 WillpowerSkill Up: Ember Affinity → Lv. 3Skill Up: Basic Survival → Lv. 4

My fingers had calluses now. My robes were singed in half a dozen places. My heartbeat barely flinched at the sight of blood anymore.

And yet… I had only scratched the surface of this place.

The deeper levels of the temple were still hidden. The real story—whatever it was—waited below.

I felt it, like the pulsing heat in my bones.

On the morning of the eighth day, I packed my satchel, reinforced my boots with bone-wrapped bindings, and descended.

The air changed almost immediately as I passed beyond the shallow floors.

Up top, the temple pretended to be ruinous—cracked halls, worn stone, and predictable threats.

Below?

It was alive.

The temperature increased by the step. Torches flickered without fuel. The walls began to hum with heat-born mana. My skin prickled with pressure. A low thrum echoed beneath the floor as if something ancient was breathing deep within the stone.

I wrapped my hands in ember-drenched cloth to dull the heat and pressed forward.

The first trap appeared before I reached the bottom of the stairwell.

Trap One: Ember Rain

It looked innocent enough—a hallway lit by suspended flame crystals. But as I stepped inside, I noticed the ash patterns on the floor didn't match natural accumulation. I stepped back and tested the air with Analyze.

[Analysis Complete]Runic Trap: Ember Rain (Active)Trigger: Movement > 3 km/hEffect: Flame Crystal Explosion

A speed trigger?

I carefully slowed my steps to a crawl. One foot. Pause. Second foot. Wait. I moved like a corpse trying to dance.

It took ten minutes to cross twenty meters.

But the trap didn't trigger.

I made it through.

Trap Two: The Blinding Path

A room bathed in white-hot light. Pure illumination poured from above, making everything within shine—walls, floor, ceiling. I couldn't see depth. Couldn't judge distance.

Then I saw them—shadows that weren't mine.

They moved when I didn't.

Mirrors? Illusions?

I pulled out a shard of bronze from a fallen guard's armor and angled it toward the ceiling.

And there it was: an embedded sigil that fed off the eyes of the intruder. It punished those who tried to "look" too much.

I closed my eyes and used only touch, sliding my back along the wall, counting breaths. Every twenty seconds, I dropped to the floor and crawled. When my hand brushed a loose tile, I froze and rolled sideways—just in time to avoid a rain of spears that impaled where I had just been.

Vision was the enemy here.

By moving blind, I avoided the illusion entirely.

Trap Three: The Flame Chain

I reached an open courtyard with blackened tiles. At the far end stood a locked door with three glowing chains running through the walls.

A puzzle.

I followed the chains, each leading to smaller side chambers guarded by elementals—embers shaped like wolves, burning inhumanly bright.

This time, I didn't set traps.

I used Ember Affinity to suppress my presence. I observed their patterns. Waited for them to separate. Then I slipped past, deactivated the runes by rerouting mana channels using pieces of melted crystal and red chalk I had gathered.

When the third chain faded, the door opened.

And behind it, I found a story.

A vast chamber.

No enemies. No puzzles.

Only silence… and murals.

Not simple paintings, either.

These were legends carved in stone—meticulously etched across a domed chamber as tall as a cathedral. Lines burned faintly with magic, still alive despite the age. They wrapped from floor to ceiling in a spiraling, firelit sequence.

I stepped forward, breath held.

And saw the truth behind the Flame Temple.

Mural One: The Masked Trial

A man stood before a tribunal of faceless kings. Twelve thrones. Twelve torches. Each king held a sword in one hand and a brand in the other.

The man was bound in chains. His face—blurred, almost scratched out deliberately. Like history wanted to forget him.

"He was not born weak. But he was born inconvenient."

This line was carved beneath in fire-script.

Already, I felt something stir in my chest.

Mural Two: Exile

The man walked alone. A trail of corpses behind him. He wasn't a murderer—but discarded, like me. There were chains around his wrists, broken. Blood on his hands, but no malice in his eyes.

He came upon a ruined land. Volcanoes. Ash. Monsters.

"Where gods turned away, the flame whispered."

Mural Three: Awakening

The man knelt before a brazier burning blue.

Not gold.

Not red.

Blue.

He reached into the fire. Screamed. Did not pull away.

A second later, the flame reached into him.

When he rose, his eyes glowed like molten steel.

"He gave the flame pain. In return, it gave him purpose."

Mural Four: The Sovereign's March

With a cloak of ash and a crown forged from the bones of monsters, he led a march across the empire. Beside him walked twelve others—faces blurred, but each wielded fire in unique forms: daggers, bows, gauntlets.

He wasn't just a mage.

He was a king of exiles.

"He raised a nation from the forgotten. Not by blood, but by flame."

Mural Five: The Fall

The flame dimmed.

The empire grew decadent. His twelve lieutenants turned greedy. Some made pacts with shadows. Others grew jealous. One fed lies to the masses.

One held a dagger.

The sovereign was slain not in battle… but in his throne room.

Alone.

"Even fire, when worshipped, becomes a weapon of pride."

Final Mural: The Reignited Spark

A single ember remained.

Nestled in the ruins.

It floated—ignored by history, unseen by men—until it touched another exile, kneeling alone in a new age.

"The flame remembers. It always remembers."

The mural glowed faintly.

And then:

[System Alert: Legacy Detected]You have uncovered the full cycle of the Flame Sovereign.Hidden Path Progress: 27%Flame Affinity Strengthened. Trait Unlocked: Ember-Blooded (Dormant)

My fingers trembled.

This man… this sovereign… he wasn't the protagonist of a noble tale. He was someone erased from it. The same way Lucien had been erased from the novel.

And yet, here I was.

Remembering.

I sat at the edge of the mural for what felt like hours.

Thinking.

This temple wasn't just a trial of strength. It was a remembrance. A crucible to see who was willing to reclaim what history burned.

I stood up, gripping my charred blade.

"I won't be a footnote," I said aloud.

Not this time.

Not like him.