Template locked in, I wasted no time. I dove straight into tests—poke it, prod it, stress it, see where it cracks. Disappointment crept in fast.
Activation was subtle. No fireworks. No divine choir. Just a deep shift, like something fundamental slid into place. Chakra reserves exploded. It felt like trading a muddy puddle for a goddamn ocean—tenfold at least, maybe more. I sliced my arm and watched the wound knit shut in seconds, skin smoothing like it had never been touched. Next came the lungs. I leaned over the ship's side and sank beneath the waves. One hour. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight full hours before my chest even twitched. I surfaced, coughing saltwater, furious.
"That's it?"
No numbers. No clean stats. No neat soul-resistance percentages or corruption immunity breakdowns. Nothing about mind control or divine influence. Vague. Lazy. Bullshit. If the system had just called it a high-tier existence boost, I'd be ecstatic. But slapping Lucifer Morningstar on it? The cosmic rebel, the fallen king—then handing me this? My heart sank.
"What a goddamn scam," I muttered, punching the cabin wall. The dent stayed shallow. Body tougher too, apparently. Power was still power. I swallowed the irritation and moved on.
Energy Conversion didn't disappoint. I converted a sliver of chakra into stamina and got flooded instantly—a ridiculous ratio, something like one to a hundred. A whisper of chakra turned into an ocean of endurance. No more exhaustion crashes. No more running dry mid-fight. That alone solved half my future problems.
Satisfied, I got bored. Time for something practical. Alchemy.
I sliced my palm and let blood drip into an empty flask, then poured in a healing potion. The reaction was immediate. Crimson spiraled, thickened, then shifted into a glowing orange like molten amber. I took a sip. Nothing. No warmth. No reaction.
"…Figures."
I waved the pirates over. "Drink."
They didn't argue. The oldest went first, and his change was instant. Wrinkles softened. His spine straightened. His shallow breathing became deep and steady. "I… I feel young," he whispered. The others drank. Gasps followed. Laughter. One pirate dropped to his knees, sobbing as he flexed his fingers, whispering that his joints didn't hurt anymore. I stared at the flask.
A rejuvenation potion. Inefficient, but effective—and priceless.
We reached Volantis the next day. This time, I didn't step onto the docks as a slave. I stepped down as a lord. I ordered my men to find an elder master—rich, powerful, desperate. Within hours they led me to a grand estate. The guards tried to block my entry. I didn't argue. I bent the earth beneath their feet and tossed them aside like toys. More guards rushed me. I moved. One strike, a simple chop, a neck collapsed. A spear flew—I caught it and threw it back. It punched through a wall and vanished into stone. Silence followed.
Inside, several masters sat mid-conversation. They froze. "Sit," I said. They tried to call guards. I gestured. My pirates forced a potion into the mouth of the oldest man. He struggled, then stilled. Seconds passed. His eyes widened.
"…Lord," he whispered, trembling. "Thank you for your blessing."
Panic spread. I ordered the potion passed around. Each drank. Each changed. Fear turned into reverence. They offered payment—ten thousand gold coins. I didn't react. In the Free Cities, five gold coins could sustain a man for a year. One hundred bought luxury. Ten thousand was absurd.
"I want slaves," I said calmly.
Negotiations followed. The final price: twenty Unsullied, one hundred fifty builders, fifty literate slaves, one hundred common slaves, ten ships, construction materials, and six hundred gold dragons. A kingdom's foundation.
That night, I abandoned the treasure nonsense. No more cheap lies. I would build a myth—immortality, divine blessing, a sacred land, a living god. Before leaving, I asked about the year. 286 AC. Three years after the Mad King's death. Three years before the storm. Plenty of time.
I visited a tailor and spent fifteen gold coins on a one-of-a-kind outfit worthy of a ruler. Before departure, I paid the pirates ten gold coins each and smiled. "Forget everything you saw," I said softly. "If I ever see you again, you die." They nodded in terror. Good. Fear was useful.
Mid-voyage, the system pinged. Points: 1500. Ten spins' worth. "Island first," I muttered, suppressing the itch. I opened my diary. Name? Shit. Need one. Lucifer Morningstar. Not original, but cool as hell. Kingdom name? Rome. History could cry about it later.
A week later, the island appeared. No port. So I shifted consciousness to my island-body. Sand surged. Stone rose. A crude dock formed—ramps, basin, solid enough. I carved a wide gathering ground. Three hundred twenty souls stepped ashore. I cleared trees with earthbending. Timber crashed. Sand whipped like blades.
I stepped forward, voice booming with chakra. The ground roared. A stone platform erupted beneath me, grinding upward like a waking beast. Dust filled the air. Knees buckled. Dead silence.
"Look at your hands."
They did—scarred, broken, bought.
"These hands were sold. Ordered to bleed. Ordered to kneel."
Murmurs rippled. "I didn't bring you here to own you." Gasps followed. Someone shouted, "Then why?"
"Because chains breed fear." The ground cracked, then stilled. "I want your strength. Your sweat. Your loyalty."
A boy asked bitterly, "Work again?"
"Yes."
Faces fell.
"But never as property."
Silence. Then sobs.
"Builders. Soldiers. Farmers. Scholars. Mothers and fathers of a nation unborn."
Walls erupted behind me, stone jaws biting the sky. "This land is Rome."
Knees hit dirt.
"Stand with me. Rise with me."
The island trembled.
"Long live Rome!"
"Long live the king!"
"Long live Lucifer!"
I turned away, satisfied. Bullshit had become belief.
Puffed chest. Saluted my shadow in the dim. Narcissist? Fuck yeah. My grind earned it.
Rome rises.