From Scorned to Supreme: The Infinite Skillholder

The sound of rain pattering against glass was the first thing Kael noticed. The faint aroma of damp stone followed, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring at a ceiling painted with cracks, faint traces of vines creeping through its edges.

"Where… am I?" he muttered, his voice startling him. It was deeper than he remembered, and rough, like sandpaper grating against stone.

He sat up, clutching his head as a rush of disjointed memories flooded his mind. Silver hair falling into his vision, a foreign weight to his limbs, the echoes of voices not his own. Slowly, the realization clawed its way to the surface.

This wasn't his body.

He stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling like a newborn fawn's. There was a mirror in the corner of the room, and he staggered toward it, gripping the edges of the frame to steady himself.

The face staring back at him was hauntingly familiar, and yet alien. Sharp silver hair framed a pale face, the once-proud features now gaunt and hollowed. His gray eyes looked like storms caught in glass, alive yet dulled with regret.

Kael's breath hitched. "This can't be…"

Flashes of memory surged forward, like waves crashing against a fragile dam. He'd seen this face before—on the cover of a novel he had once read. A novel abandoned by its author after just one volume.

"The Sovereign's Fall…" The name left his lips in a whisper, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

And it did.

He was in the body of Kael Kaelward, the disgraced heir of the once-mighty Kaelward family. A man who was both hated and pitied by his peers. A man who, in the story, would die in the first act.

Kael's fingers dug into the edge of the mirror as he forced himself to think. "Why him? Of all the people in this world, why this disaster of a character?"

Kael staggered away from the mirror, collapsing onto the bed. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on his very soul. There was a strange, constant feeling of disorientation, like he didn't entirely belong.

The thought left him unnerved, but he shoved it aside. Survival first, questions later.

If this was truly The Sovereign's Fall, he needed to figure out where he was in the story. The novel's world was unforgiving—full of schemes, betrayals, and powers far beyond human comprehension. Kael Kaelward, as a character, was supposed to be an early casualty, a stepping stone for the protagonist's rise.

But now that Kael was here, there was no way he'd let himself be reduced to fodder.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Young master, are you awake?" A voice called out, smooth and polite but carrying an edge of indifference.

Kael froze. The memories of the original Kael bubbled to the surface, and with them, the identity of the voice's owner: Eron, the family butler.

"I'm awake," Kael replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Enter."

The door creaked open, and Eron stepped inside. His tall frame was wrapped in black-and-gold robes, his expression neutral, yet his eyes held a glint of suspicion.

"You've been unconscious for two days," Eron said, his tone flat. "The council has sent word. They expect your presence at the Trial of Worth tomorrow."

The Trial of Worth. Kael's heart sank.

He remembered this event vividly. It was the point in the novel where Kael Kaelward's fate was sealed—a public humiliation, followed by a brutal assassination under the guise of an accident.

Kael masked his reaction, nodding curtly. "Thank you. Prepare what I'll need."

Eron bowed, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before he left the room.

Kael exhaled sharply, slumping against the bedpost. His thoughts churned as he pieced together the situation.

The Trial of Worth was a trap. He knew that. But he also knew that avoiding it wasn't an option. If he refused, the council would strip his family of their titles and lands, leaving him powerless.

Kael's jaw tightened. He needed to survive the trial—and, more importantly, he needed to figure out who he could trust.

His eyes drifted to the window, where the rain had begun to subside. The sprawling city beyond the estate walls stretched into the horizon, its lights flickering like stars against the darkened sky.

Kael couldn't help but wonder how far the story had progressed. The Sovereign's Fall had been full of twists, with alliances and betrayals shaping the narrative at every turn.

"I need information," he muttered. "About the council, the trial, and where the protagonist is right now."

If the protagonist had already entered the scene, it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed. And when they did, Kael couldn't afford to be unprepared.

As he stood there, a faint, pulsing ache resonated in his chest. It wasn't just pain—it was a gnawing, insistent pull, like a presence lurking just beneath the surface of his consciousness.

He pressed a hand to his chest, frowning. It had been there since he woke up, subtle but unrelenting.

"I'll deal with you later," he said to no one in particular. For now, he needed to focus on surviving tomorrow.

Kael glanced at the remnants of the mirror, his reflection distorted but still visible. He didn't see the frail, defeated Kael Kaelward anymore.

What he saw was someone who refused to lose.

Kael let out a breath, though it was shaky. The cold seeping through his clothes reminded him of the stakes. He had to survive, but more importantly, he had to play his part in a world where knowledge was power, and power was life or death. The Trial of Worth was not just an awakening; it was the first step in a path that would define him.

He glanced down at his hands, fingers trembling slightly. This body, this life—it was no longer his own, but he would make it his. He wouldn't let Kael Kaelward's name be written in the annals of failure.