"This time, I truly am fucked."
Lan could barely hear his own words over the sound of his pounding hearts as he ran as fast as his body could possibly allow, speeding down the courtyard and weaving through building alleys.
The clouds were grey, as though it could rain at any time.
The academy was massive. If he was fast enough, he could escape them and hide.
He just needed to—
Lan's jaw shifted violently as a hand slammed into it. Something inside his mouth tore open, and blood splattered out—far too much.
"Why do this? Run?" said the boy, rolling the same hand he'd struck Lan with. The impact had sent him sprawling across the stone floor.
Lan groaned in pain as he shifted, his jaw now dislocated. Blood welled so much in his mouth he had to spit it out just to keep from choking.
He inhaled sharply—pain flaring with the breath.
Above him, three boys stood.
Seventeen in age.
The one who hit Lan stood at the center—broad-shouldered, with wild red hair and a square jaw.
His eyes were cruel, golden, and amused.
He wore his academy uniform open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing tattoos of burning blades etched into both arms. Gareth was clearly the leader.
The boy to his right was lanky with a thin face and long nose, nervous eyes flicking between Lan and the gathering crowd. The other, heavier-set with cropped hair, cracked his knuckles with practiced eagerness.
"Why do you never learn? It's always the same with you," Gareth said, looking down at him. "You're somehow in this academy with such a disgraceful excuse of a mana core, and yet you still haven't understood to shut up."
Gareth was one of many who tormented Lan here—but none seemed to derive as much joy, or satisfaction, from it as him and his lackeys.
"I... I'm sorry... please... I won't... again..."
Lan tried to speak through the shattered mess of his jaw, but his words were barely audible. Every syllable was pain beyond description—yet he still begged.
It didn't take long for other students to gather around, watching.
"I can't hear you. Speak up," Gareth said, tilting his head.
"I... said... I'm sorry."
Lan tried again, eyes watering from the effort and agony of speaking.
Gareth turned to the two boys beside him.
"Can you hear him?"
"Not even a bit," one replied, while the other just shrugged.
"Speak up a bit, Lan," Gareth barked again, stepping closer.
"I said... I won't... do... again..." Lan muttered through a bleeding mouth.
"Oh, you won't do it again, huh?" Gareth said, stepping closer. "You won't?"
Then he swung his leg—kicking Lan hard across the face.
The boy let out a soundless scream as his body shuddered from the pain.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you won't," Gareth said coldly, eyes burning more with disgust than pity.
"Hold him up," he ordered.
The two boys grabbed Lan by the arms and hauled him up. His mouth dripped blood that now soaked into the front of his academy uniform.
"Aren't they going a bit too far this time?"
"It's his own fault. For being weak," came whispers from the crowd as Gareth rolled his shoulders.
Then it began.
Gareth struck him first, a savage punch into the gut that made Lan retch blood. The heavier boy followed with a brutal elbow into his ribs—Lan felt something snap.
The lanky one wasn't as strong, but still landed sharp kicks into Lan's legs, his side.
They beat him like they were working through boredom, not rage. Gareth took special care—grabbing Lan's face and slamming it against a stone pillar, then delivering punch after punch to his jaw and temple.
Each strike seemed to blur Lan's vision further. Blood ran down his face, his ears rang, his body quivered with trauma.
Still, the rain began—soft at first, then turning to a downpour. The beating didn't stop.
They continued even as thunder rumbled and rain lashed at them, drenching their uniforms. Lan couldn't stand anymore, couldn't scream. Only the dull thud of flesh against flesh remained, until at last they let him go—barely conscious, bleeding, and collapsed into the puddle forming.
Lan laid there a while, in pain, unmoving—unable to.
'Is the sky crying for me?' he wondered.
Lan faced upward, eyes barely open. The clouds above twisted with stormlight. The rain felt like shards of glass against his face, each drop more painful than the last.
"Ah... this is how I die?' he thought.
Well, it was bound to happen one way or another—whether from the daily beatings he took at the academy, or out on the battlefield, or in the jaws of a mana beast.
The weak die.
There was no way around it—and Lan was probably the most clear-cut definition of weak.
His mana core, if it could even be called that, was barely active. He had yet to cast a single successful spell. The only reason he'd even made it into the academy was his outstanding knowledge of magic, which had impressed the dean enough to grant him entry.
However, semesters later—what he'd thought was a blessing now seemed more like a curse than anything else.
Logically, it would be better to just die. There was no sense in suffering like this day after day.
No, Lan thought.
"No..." he muttered aloud.
"No! I won't die. Not until I make you bastards pay. Not until I'm the strongest!" he screamed through a broken jaw.
With each word came a pain so unbearable it was a miracle he remained conscious.
It was a defiant scream—filled with agony, but also with something deeper.
Determination.
But honestly?
It was more a fool's ramblings than anything else.
How could the lowest-ranked student in the academy make anyone pay—or become the strongest?
Then, in that moment, he saw it.
---
[Forbidden Arts Synchronization Complete]
[Time Taken: 16 years, 10 months, 15 days]
[Memory Synchronization Has Begun]
---
Then the memories flooded in.
A man who became a God. Who terrorized the Seven Martial Realms. Who was untouchable.
A man who reached the peak of cultivation—and dared to go further.
And as he realized these memories were his own, it was then he understood the rain.
The sky wasn't crying for him—
It was crying for the rest of the world.