The last Asura

Answer: I am incapable of answering that.

Shunya stared at the screen thoughtfully. A sense of achievement swelled within his chest—but for some reason, he couldn't recall what he had actually done. There was a blank space in his memory. He only remembered meditating… then waking up buried inside the cave wall.

> 'Forget it. No point in thinking about it.'

He shook his head and focused on the translucent screen hovering in front of him, trying to decipher its contents.

> "Hey, Voice—what's this weird spell thing? Why is it inside my head?"

Answer: Please refrain from calling me 'Voice'. This is your status chart. It allows you to monitor your progress, any new abilities you gain, and any skills you awaken or create.

Answer: ...You may call me System.

Shunya wasn't sure whether the voice was being sarcastic or serious, but he chose to ignore the tone.

He didn't know much about his Asura heritage, but just being called an Asura Warrior filled his heart with quiet pride.

Suppressing that feeling, he examined the section labeled Evolution Unique Skills. That part still confused him.

He had a vague grasp of the Talent parameters—but even after evolving once, his rank was still G?

The system responded before he even voiced the question.

Answer: Your power rank does not reflect your current power level—it is linked to your evolutionary stage. It is entirely possible to defeat higher-ranked opponents depending on your proficiency with talents and abilities. In simple terms: the better you fight, the stronger you are.

> "I see. So it's all about getting good," said Shunya, pretending to sound like a wise old sage.

Answer: Precisely. But let me remind you: fighting is nothing like the labor you did as a slave. Be reckless—and you'll lose your breath before your first strike lands.

Shunya nodded in understanding, but he had many more questions.

> "Besides showing me this screen, what else can you do?"

Answer: As a part of your soul and a gift of knowledge from Mother Nature, I can appraise anything you wish to examine.

> "So… you're like an inbuilt database gifted to me by nature?"

Answer: ...Yes.

Shunya felt like he might have hurt the "gift's" feelings.

> "Sorry—I didn't mean it that way. Thank you for your support."

Answer: Appreciated!

Shunya chuckled at the voice's sudden enthusiasm. Though still mechanical, the System sounded genuinely pleased.

> "I don't know if you can answer this, but... before I meditated, I had these strange visions. Any idea why?"

Answer: There are rare occasions when souls from other worlds enter our universe—particularly during death—and attempt to revive themselves. After you died from abuse and the grief of losing your parents, one such soul may have tried to merge with yours. Unfortunately for that soul... the Will of an Asura is no joke.

Answer: Your soul likely defended itself by fusing with the intruder, destroying its ego and assimilating its knowledge and experiences into your consciousness.

Shunya didn't know what to think. Was he lucky? Blessed? Or just incredibly badass that even his soul refused to die quietly?

Suggestion: I can isolate and record those foreign soul memories. You may access them during meditation in your mindscape. Some might even help you unlock new skills.

> "You can do that? Please do it!" Shunya said, excited. The visions had been useful, but experiencing them randomly—especially during combat—could be fatal.

A subtle pressure lifted from his mind. The last remnant of heaviness in his spirit vanished. He felt truly lighthearted for the first time in ages.

> "So, what kind of memories are there? Last time I saw some old man teaching meditation…"

Answer: Analyzing…

Answer: Analysis complete.

Answer: According to the memories, he was something called a 'shut-in Otaku'.

> "Taku?" Shunya blinked, confused.

Answer: Correction: Otaku. What you saw were his memories of watching something called anime in that world.

> "Mi-mi-ne… what?" Shunya fumbled, trying to pronounce the unfamiliar word.

Answer: Correction: Anime. A form of entertainment media from that world. Interestingly, human and demon societies here have similar forms of expression.

> "I… I see," Shunya muttered, awkwardly pretending to understand. He didn't get any of it, but he faked a nod anyway.

Suggestion: You should explore those memories. They may contain useful insights. According to my analysis, humans in that world had no mana—or other races.

> "I was thinking the same thing. Thanks for the advice," Shunya said, laughing nervously.

The System made no comment on its master's bluffing skills.

Lying Skill: Not awakened.

Status: Hopeless.

---

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away…

In a faraway region, beyond the Majin Forest and the demon frontiers, lay the Kingdom of Avalon—the mightiest of the three human empires.

Its dominance came not just from military power, but from unrivaled diplomacy and economic control. Strategically nestled between the other two human empires—rather than near elven, dwarven, or Majin territories—Avalon had long remained insulated from monster conflicts.

But on this day, the Empire of Avalon awoke from a nightmare… only to realize it had been real.

The chaos from the previous night had left its mark.

An oppressive atmosphere hung over the capital. People wandered in dazed silence. Some cried. Others prayed. The cataclysm had shaken the very foundations of their faith.

The churches acted fast. Priests declared that their god had slain a terrible devil who had threatened the world's end. That narrative, though unverified, gave people hope. It didn't matter whether it was true—people needed something to believe in.

Many had lost homes, livelihoods, even family. Grief was heavy. But humans were resilient.

Knights, mages, and adventurers stepped in to aid the recovery. Some traveled to distant villages to help rebuild. Others offered protection against the beasts still riled up by the night's disturbance.

Amidst a half-ruined but still imposing government structure, inside a sunlit office with shattered windows, a man sat alone on a dusty leather couch.

The room was cluttered but bright, paper stacks lit by golden morning rays.

The man had messy black hair and an unshaven face. He looked like he was in his forties, though something in his posture hinted at deeper exhaustion than age could explain.

He signed a document with a sigh. Then—

Knock knock.

The man paused. He capped his pen, laid it beside the stack of papers, and turned toward the door.

> "Yes," he said, his voice gruff and weary.

---