Crimson: born as noble lived as phantom

The old man led me deep into the thickets to his hidden hut. The dwelling was camouflaged so masterfully with ancient concealment magic that even an elite tracking knight wouldn't be able to spot it from two feet away.

Stepping inside, I found myself in a bizarre workshop. The walls were lined with thousands of deadly daggers. A massive, chaotic worktable dominated the center of the room, littered with blueprints and strange mechanical models of birds—specifically, majestic eagles. In the corner, a giant, mystical sphere pulsed with a low, ethereal glow.

The man standing before me, the Craftsman of Death, was not a warrior. He was a creator. In fact, he was the greatest craftsman ever known to mankind. Fifteen years ago, he was the legend who forged the Sun Crown for the King’s father and the Moon Crown for his wife. The Sun Crown could only be passed from the ruling King to his chosen heir, while the Moon Crown was destined for the brow of the woman chosen as Queen. Grim was even the genius who conceptualized the very anti-magic shackles currently used across the continent.

But what was a living legend doing here? He was supposed to have died fifteen years ago. What was that terrifying physical power he displayed? And how did he know my name?

So many questions flooded my brain, but I forced my expression to remain blank. It was safer to keep my mouth shut.

“'Why is he alive? How does he know my name?' That is exactly what you’re asking yourself right now, isn’t it?” Grim asked, a knowing smirk playing on his wrinkled lips.

I flinched. “How did you—”

“Let us properly reintroduce ourselves,” the old man interrupted, resting his massive black greatsword against the wall. “I am Grim, the Craftsman of Death. The greatest creator born on this planet. And you are Erik Novalanch, the first son of the House of Novalanch. Accused of slaughtering his own parents, currently hunted by the entire Knight Order and his own flesh-and-blood sister. Don't look so tense, boy. I am well aware that you are completely innocent.”

My heart stopped. “How do you know that?”

Was he one of the conspirators? No, that made no sense. If he wanted me dead, he could have let the ants eat me, or erased me with a single swing of his blade. There was no point in saving me just to play mind games.

Grim pointed a calloused finger toward the mechanical eagles resting on the table. “These are called Drones. They are exceptionally useful tools. You simply inject a fraction of your mana into them, and they can fly anywhere, allowing you to spy on anyone, at any time, completely undetected.”

“But why were you spying on me?” I demanded, stepping forward. “Why are you even here? And how are you possessing such abnormal strength?”

“Calm down,” Grim chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “To answer your question about my strength—I am actually quite fragile. The power you saw belongs entirely to this weapon: Moniffier Antifier, the Death Blade. Or, as I prefer to call it, the Mad Blade. It took me fifteen agonizing years in this forbidden forest to forge it. I had to hunt down the strongest monsters, harvesting their rare mana cores to construct its frame. To be precise, I had to slay 50 Tempest Dragons, 73 Haunted Foxes, 87 Mana Golems, and countless small insects like the ones outside.”

He was calling those carriage-sized, armor-crushing ants small insects.

He wasn't bragging; he was stating cold, terrifying facts. His strength was completely unnatural. 'If I can just obtain that sword...' A dark, desperate thought bloomed in my mind. 'If that sword is mine, I can take my revenge tomorrow. I just need to find the right opportunity. I'll stab him from behind, avoiding his vitals so he doesn't die, steal the Mad Blade, and get out of here.'

“Don’t even think about it,” Grim’s voice sliced through the silence.

My breath hitched. Just as I was finalizing the trajectory of my hidden blade, the old man spoke without even turning around.

“This blade was forged using my own life force and blood," Grim stated deadpan. "The only person in existence who can lift a single ounce of its weight is me. To anyone else, it is heavier than a mountain.”

“I see,” I murmured, clicking my tongue.

Grim turned around, an amused glint in his ancient eyes. “You aren’t even attempting to hide the fact that you were actively planning to stab me, are you?”

“Well, if you’ve already guessed it, there’s no point in denying it,” I replied, staring back at him with a cold, unblinking gaze.

“Fair enough,” Grim chuckled.

I took a breath, letting the tension leave my shoulders. “Now... answer the final question. Why are you here in this forest, and what do you want with me?”

took a breath, letting the tension leave my shoulders. “Now... answer the final question. Why are you here in this forest, and what do you want with me?”

Grim didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped toward the center of the room and gently placed his calloused hand on the large, pulsing sphere. The ethereal glow within the glass swirled violently, casting dancing constellations of white light across his old face.

“I didn't choose to come to this godforsaken forest, Erik. I was exiled by my own fate,” Grim said softly. “Fifteen years ago, I forged this artifact. It is a Prophetic Chronos-Sphere. It possesses a unique, absolute magic—whoever touches its surface is granted a vivid, unchangeable vision of a random moment in their future.”

He looked back at me, his eyes dead serious. “Only three people from the royal palace ever touched this sphere before I was forced to flee. The first was Princess Diana.”

My eyes widened. “The assassinated princess?”

“Yes,” Grim nodded grimly. “When her palm touched the glass, the sphere showed her the exact moment of her own violent death. She didn't believe it back then. But it came true, exactly as the orb predicted.”

He paused, tracing the smooth surface of the glowing glass. “The second person to touch it was Lady Quina, the Fourth Princess. What she saw was a scene of absolute devastation. The palace was completely reduced to burning rubble. In the center of the destruction, she saw a young man with pitch-black hair, bleeding but holding her tightly in his arms to protect her. That young man... was you, Erik.”

I gasped, my hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of my sword. Me? Protecting the Fourth Princess in a ruined palace?

“And the final person to touch it,” Grim continued, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper, “was Prince Erwin. But the future the sphere showed him didn't involve royalty. It involved me. The vision showed me lying face down in a pool of my own blood, dying, while a mysterious, shadowy figure wearing a crown stood over my corpse.”

The old man let out a heavy, solemn sigh. “The Chronos-Sphere delivered a final, absolute warning to me that night. It told me that the only way to break my destined death was to leave the capital immediately and never step foot inside its walls again. Furthermore, it stated that when the fated day arrived, I had to help the young man who was destined to hold Quina. I had to aid him in whatever agenda, revenge, or goal he wished to accomplish.”

Grim stepped away from the sphere, standing tall before me. “The orb made the rules of fate perfectly clear, Erik. If I ever step foot back in the capital, the original destiny twists right back into place, and I will die. But by hiding here, tracking you with my drones, and dedicating my life to making you strong enough to face that shadowy crowned figure... I change my own destiny.”

A dark, knowing smirk spread across the Craftsman of Death's face.

“So you see, young master of Novalanch, I am not saving you out of the goodness of my heart. I am doing it because your survival ensures mine. Now tell me... are you ready to become a god-tier shadow operator and tear that corrupt kingdom to pieces

“How much time do we have?” I demanded, my voice tight.

“Precisely three days,” Grim replied, his gaze unblinking. “In three days, Princess Quina will be attacked, and you must rescue her. The King, the Queen, and every single knight captain and vice-captain will be absent from the palace attending a grand summit. It makes it the absolute perfect window for her attackers to strike.”

“Three days? No way,” I argued, shaking my head as panic rose in my chest. “That’s far too sudden! I can barely comprehend what’s happening to my own life right now. And even if the captains are gone, the palace will still be crawling with elite knights. The only ones a fourteen-year-old like me can outpower are the lowest-ranked rookies!”

“Come here,” Grim commanded, gesturing toward the pulsing Chronos-Sphere.

He placed his wrinkled hand upon the glass and began a low, rhythmic chant: “Dear sphere of time, show me the fated vision of Lady Quina.”

The artifact violently flared to life, casting a brilliant, ethereal light across the dark workshop. The swirling mist within the glass solidified into a vivid image. There I was, standing in the ruins of the royal palace, holding the hand of the Fourth Princess. I looked less like a panicked boy and more like a detached observer controlling the entire chessboard.

But as I stared at my future self, a cold shiver ran down my spine. Something was deeply wrong.

“Notice anything different between the current you and the version in the sphere?” Grim asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.

I swallowed hard, my eyes locked onto the reflection. “My eyes… they are crimson in the sphere.”

The sight instantly triggered a wave of nausea. Those glowing, blood-red eyes perfectly mirrored the exact eyes of the man I had butchered in the cave

“Exactly. And you look awfully confident, as if you already possess the absolute power required to escape the elite knights,” Grim noted.

“What do you mean? What are those eyes?”

“I have spent years researching ancient, forbidden texts,” Grim explained, stepping back toward his massive black greatsword. “In the history of this world, only one extinct race possessed the ability to shift their eye color from natural black to brilliant crimson. It grants them unbelievable, god-like physical and magical strength. Technically speaking, Erik… you are not entirely human. You carry the blood of a Phantom.”

My breath hitched. “A Phantom? You mean the cursed race that allegedly made a pact with the devil himself in exchange for ultimate power?”

“The very same,” Grim smiled, a terrifying, manic glint appearing in his ancient eyes. “And over the next three days, you are going to awaken that dormant power.”

“But how? My magic is standard knight-attribute!”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, really,” Grim chuckled darkly, his hand tightly gripping the hilt of the Mad Blade. “You just have to die.”

“Huh—?”

SHING!

Before the question could fully leave my mouth, the massive black greatsword blurred through the air.

There was no warning. No hesitation. Grim drove the cursed blade straight through my chest, deliberately piercing my vital organs.

A fountain of hot blood erupted from my lips. My legs instantly lost all strength, and I collapsed heavily onto the wooden floor of the hut, pinned down by the heavy steel. The agonizing pain tore through my consciousness, freezing the breath in my lungs.

Grim stood over me, looking down at my fading vision with a cold, detached expression.

“If you can survive this agony and force your core to awaken, you will rise as a fated Phantom,” Grim whispered as the darkness began to swallow my sight. “If not… you will simply remain a corpse.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!