SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 4: Forging the Origin

Trafalgar occupied himself by sitting cross-legged upon his chamber floor, a thick, leather-bound manual splayed across his knees. The title read, 'Awakening the Core: A Scholar’s Guide.' Its cover exhibited significant wear with frayed edges, and the parchment emitted a faint scent of aged ink mixed with an herbal undertone—perhaps lingering mana residue.

"A manual for those lacking noble blood, yet yearning for noble power," he muttered, reciting the weathered subtitle.

The opening chapter detailed the fundamental principles of core formation. According to the text, every living entity contained latent mana. The objective was to perceive this flow, guide it internally, and coax it to settle beside the heart, the designated location for a 'Core' to take root.

"Mana is not something you seize. It is something you must listen to," one passage noted, highlighted with red ink.

Trafalgar rolled his eyes in skepticism.

"Right, excellent advice. Perhaps this would be easier if I were an elf priest..."

Despite his doubt, the process seemed feasible. He had previously felt the mana circulating in the atmosphere. If this represented the true path to cultivation in this world, then he had no justification for hesitation.

He closed the tome carefully, set it aside, and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Very well," he whispered into the stillness, "let us see if I can ignite the spark."

The room remained quiet, disturbed only by the soft crackle of the hearth. Trafalgar sat motionless, eyes shut, maintaining a slow and measured rhythm of breathing.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He sought any sensation—a slight tingle, a pull, or a shift in the air. At first, he only perceived the dull fatigue of his own muscles and the faint residual warmth from his recent meal. Yet, gradually, a subtle whisper of something foreign began to emerge.

It arrived faintly, like a distant breeze brushing against skin.

A warmth.

A current.

Subtle, yet undeniable.

He focused his concentration, narrowing his senses. The book had stated that mana permeated the atmosphere, with the physical body acting as a sieve. While most individuals remained oblivious to it, once noticed, the subsequent task was to carve a pathway.

He envisioned his own meridians as conduits, with the mana flowing like a gentle, luminous mist.

'Come on... just move.'

And it did.

The warmth began to drift inward, pressing against his chest cavity. He winced at the sudden, uncomfortable pressure, as if his physical form resisted this external power. He gritted his teeth.

"I am not stopping now," he muttered, sweat beading upon his brow.

Inch by inch, he coaxed the flow toward his heart. The manual had warned this was the most arduous phase—the task of forcing the mana to remain anchored.

Briefly, it dissipated, scattering like steam throughout his body.

"No, no, return!"

He forced his focus, visualizing a small whirlpool manifesting near his heart. He strained until the effort became physically painful.

And then—

A pulse.

A glimmer within the void.

The mana condensed instantly, collapsing toward his center, and something resonated within him.

Trafalgar gasped, his eyes snapping open.

A single, resonant chime echoed in his mind:

[Core Established: Origin]

His chest pulsed once, not with pain, but with raw power. The sensation of possessing a new essence inside him was overwhelming.

He gazed blankly ahead, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"...Did I truly succeed?"

Trafalgar remained rigid for a long moment, his heartbeat gradually calming. The warmth at his core persisted—faint, steady, and vibrant. He realized it was no mere hallucination. He had succeeded.

He possessed a Core.

Then, just as his thoughts began to settle, a shimmer appeared before him.

[Ding!]

A soft chime rang in his mind, accompanied by a flickering blue glow.

A transparent interface hovered in his vision, resembling a digital menu. It appeared significantly more detailed than anything he had seen previously.

[Host: Trafalgar du Morgain]

[Title: Cursed Heir]

[Age: 15]

[Class: Swordsman]

More info? → A foundational combat class focused on the use of blades. Common across all nations, it serves as the initial step for those seeking mastery through steel.

[Race: Half-Human/ ???]

[Bloodline: ???]

[Core: Origin]

[Talent: SSS]

[Abilities]

Active Skill – None

Passive Skill – Sword Insight (Lv.Max)

Description: Trafalgar possesses an exceptional natural affinity for swordsmanship. Upon witnessing a blade technique, he instinctively grasps its structure, flow, and intent. While he may not replicate it immediately with perfect precision, his observations cause him to rapidly adapt the technique to his personal style.

Effect:

Gain a profound understanding of most sword techniques after a single viewing.

+15% learning speed when practicing observed techniques.

Each level increases the retention of structural form.

Trafalgar blinked, scanning the text line by line. His fingers reached toward the projection, though it lacked physical substance.

"...I actually possess skills now. A passive one... and a class."

His gaze fixed upon the name.

Swordsman.

'Fairly mundane, isn't it?'

He softly chuckled.

Regardless, he held no complaints.

Exhaling, he relaxed against the cool wall, processing the transformation. He had transitioned from a forgotten heir in a tower to one with tangible power, potential—and options.

Trafalgar sat against the wall a moment longer, watching the interface dissolve like mist. His body still resonated with the faint echo of energy; it was subtle, yet enough to confirm that his foundation had fundamentally changed.

He rose slowly. His limbs felt weary, and a slight pressure lingered behind his eyes—as if something dormant had finally awakened.

He approached the desk where 'Awakening the Core: A Scholar’s Guide' remained open.

"The Origin Core signifies the dawn of one’s cultivation. Most awaken it prior to age six. Failure to do so results in being labeled 'empty'."

He released a slow, measured breath.

"I suppose I made it... ten years late."

A wry smile crossed his face.

In this world, even commoners achieved awakening in childhood. The noble houses ensured this through elixirs, herbs, and rigorous training. To awaken at fifteen was... humiliating. It was akin to learning to crawl while others had long since sprinted.

He glanced into the mirrror above his dresser. His reflection stared back—unruly dark hair, pale complexion, and eyes with an intensity they previously lacked.

Nothing appeared changed.

Yet, everything was different.

He clenched his hand into a fist, searching for a sign of change. There were no grand divine displays or explosive bursts of strength. Yet, there remained that small flicker—a glowing ember resting near his heart.

No legendary lineage. No mentors waiting to teach him.

But he finally possessed a path.

A late one.

A pathetic start by local standards.

But a start, nonetheless.

"...I can certainly work with this," he muttered.