SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant - Chapter 270

Chapter 270: Chapter 270: Ascension
Trafalgar’s consciousness drifted upward slowly, as if dragging itself out of a swamp. His eyelids twitched first—heavy, uncooperative, three times harder to lift than they should’ve been. The familiar softness of the Morgain castle sheets pressed against his skin, too warm, too comfortable for what he last remembered.

‘…What the hell…?’

He forced his eyes open. Light stabbed them. His breath hitched. The ceiling above him swam briefly in and out of focus, ornate carvings he had memorized months ago now looking foreign.

He tried moving an arm.

Pain. Not sharp—just everywhere. Like his entire skeleton had been disassembled and reattached incorrectly.

‘Feels like I got trampled by a fucking stampede… Did Valttair bring me back here? No—someone must’ve dragged me. I was unconscious…’

He pushed himself upright.

Or tried to.

His muscles trembled violently, refusing to cooperate. Every fiber in his body screamed in protest. It felt like his nerves were flickering, rebooting, recalibrating to a body he wasn’t used to anymore.

It took him several breaths—slow, controlled, painful—to finally sit up. Sweat beaded instantly along his forehead.

He blinked hard.

‘My room. Okay. That means… that means that’s over. I survived. Somehow.’

His eyes narrowed.

‘But why am I dressed…?’

He never—never—slept clothed. Meditating nude helped mana circulate, helped him absorb ambient energy while he rested. Yet someone had clearly changed him, put him into simple black sleepwear, even tucked him in.

That alone was unsettling.

He let out a shaky exhale and shifted his focus inward, searching instinctively for his mana core.

And froze.

“…Holy—”

The flow of mana inside him was nothing like he remembered. It was smoother, brighter—almost liquid in its purity. A continuous river, perfectly controlled, perfectly contained.

‘Holy shit. This is insane. What the hell did Valttair do to me? This is crazy…’

He pressed a hand to his sternum, as if the core sat there instead of deep within.

The memory hit him in pieces. Valttair’s hand on his back. Mana flooding into him like molten metal. The agony—white, blinding. His vision collapsing. The world going black.

‘Right. I fainted. No surprise there. Nobody should survive something like that.’

He inhaled deeply, wincing as his ribs protested.

Slowly—very slowly—he swung his legs off the bed. His feet touched the cold stone floor, jolting him awake a little further. Every step he took toward the window felt like walking through mud, his muscles stiff as iron rods hammered out of shape.

He grabbed the curtain, pulling it aside.

A pale dawn light spilled into the room.

The sun was barely rising; the sky was washed in blue-grey mist.

‘…It’s morning? So it’s the next day already.’

He stared for a long moment, expression unreadable.

‘Guess they didn’t just leave me to die on the floor. That’s a plus.’

The mountain winds outside howled between the distant peaks—reminding him why no one sane built a castle at this altitude. Snowflakes drifted downward into the abyss below, disappearing before reaching anything solid.

Trafalgar let out a slow breath.

‘I’m alive. Barely. But alive. And whatever the hell Valttair pushed into me… it changed everything.’

He turned away from the window, every bone still aching, and headed for the bathroom.

He needed a shower.

The bathroom filled with fog the moment Trafalgar twisted the mana-heated valve. Hot water thundered down his shoulders and spine, and he clenched his teeth as it hit—because everything hurt. Not the sharp kind of pain, but a deep, bruised ache that pulsed with every heartbeat.

He braced a hand against the stone wall, letting the water run over him.

‘Feels like my bones are humming… like something’s still rearranging itself inside me.’

The steam thickened, curling around his skin like drifting clouds. He dragged his fingers through his hair, pushing it back as he exhaled.

His muscles were tighter, denser. And beneath the soreness, there was… something else.

A strange lightness.

A clarity just under the surface.

He looked down.

His veins—especially along the arm with the serpent-like mark—were faintly glowing. Subtle, like distant starlight under skin. But glowing nonetheless.

“…Great,” he muttered. “As if I didn’t have enough freak shit going on.”

He rinsed his face, water dripping from his jaw as he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror.

He didn’t look different. Not at first glance. Same black hair. Same cold dark blue eyes. Same sharp features.

But there was something new in his expression.

A quiet sharpness.

A strange stillness.

A pressure behind his eyes that made him feel… older.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, drying himself off carefully—every movement forcing a wince from sore muscles.

Once dressed, he reached for his trousers—then froze as something flickered at the edge of his vision.

A notification.

A shining window of system-blue text materialized in front of him.

[Passive Skill: Morgain Blade has leveled up to (Lv. Max) — Unique Rank]

Trafalgar’s eyes widened.

“…Holy shit.”

This time, it slipped out aloud.

He tapped the window mentally, opening the skill details.

[Morgain Blade — Passive Skill — Lv. Max]

• +50% Morgain Skills Damage

• Aura efficiency increased Sword techniques require less mana + increased precision

He stared at it for a full five seconds.

‘From fifteen percent… to fifty? That’s not a boost. That’s a fucking mutation.’

His heart kicked into a faster rhythm.

Everything he learned in the sword forms—every cut, every flow—was now fifty percent deadlier. And the aura precision? That alone would make him terrifying in duels.

He placed a hand over his chest again.

His mana core pulsed beneath his palm—brighter and stronger than ever, trembling at the edge of breakthrough.

‘Holy shit… I’m actually close to the next core. Already. Just from that… suicide ritual Valttair called “training.”‘

He exhaled shakily and sat on the edge of the bed, towel still around his shoulders, his mind racing.

‘Okay… okay. This is insane. Painful as hell, but insane. I’m basically a newborn with a nuke strapped inside my ribcage.’

His muscles throbbed. His veins still glimmered faintly. His mana core shone like a lantern begging to explode.

And his entire body felt caught between rebirth… and aftermath.

Trafalgar ran a hand through his damp hair.

‘Alright… I need some food.’

He stood up, pulling on a dark jacket as he moved toward the door—

—and froze as he saw a familiar silhouette waiting just outside.

Caelum.

Perfect posture.

Hands clasped behind his back.

Yellow eyes sharp and calm.

“Good morning, young master,” Caelum said, bowing slightly. “How are you feeling?”

Trafalgar huffed. “Like a newborn that got hit by a damn carriage.”

A faint smirk ghosted across Caelum’s lips. “Your appearance… is indeed brighter.”

Trafalgar stepped out into the hall. “Great. So I glow now.”

“It suits you, young master,” Caelum replied calmly.

Trafalgar blinked. “…What?”

“Never mind,” Caelum said. “Come. You need food.”

They walked together down the quiet corridor, the castle still wrapped in early dawn stillness. The air smelled faintly of cold stone and distant snowfall.

Trafalgar shoved his hands into his pockets. “So… while I was apparently sleeping like a corpse, did anything happen?”

Caelum didn’t look at him. “Yes. Quite a lot.”

They reached a turn in the hallway before Caelum added, “Young master… you were unconscious for five days.”

Trafalgar stopped dead.

“Five—WHAT?”

Caelum finally faced him. “Five days. You collapsed in the training chamber after Lord Valttair began the mana infusion.”

Trafalgar blinked. “Collapsed… right, I remember pain. Then nothing.”

Caelum’s expression tightened—just slightly. “Allow me to clarify. You did not simply collapse. You were overwhelmed. Your father’s mana was too potent, too dense, too aggressive. Your body shut down to survive.”

Trafalgar stared.

“…Meaning?”

Caelum exhaled softly. “Meaning Lord Valttair kept pushing more mana into you long after you lost consciousness.”

Trafalgar froze.

“…He WHAT?”

“He entered a state of… fixation,” Caelum said carefully. “Almost frenzy-like. As if the moment he saw your potential, he forgot restraint.”

Trafalgar’s stomach dropped. “So he lost it.”

“Yes,” Caelum replied. “He was consumed by the idea of shaping your core. I considered intervening.”

Trafalgar blinked, startled. “You? Intervene against Valttair?”

Caelum nodded once. “If he had pushed one breath more mana into your nucleus… your body would have ruptured. I was ready to stop him.”

Trafalgar swallowed hard. “…Why didn’t you?”

Caelum’s voice lowered. “Because your body endured.”

Trafalgar stared blankly. “Huh?”

“You adapted,” Caelum said. “Instantly. Unnaturally. Your mana pathways expanded on their own. Your nucleus didn’t fracture—it absorbed everything he forced into you.” He paused. “Even Lord Valttair was… shocked.”

Trafalgar rubbed his face. “So I didn’t survive thanks to Valttair’s control—I survived because my body decided not to die?”

“Correct.”

“Fantastic,” Trafalgar muttered. “I’m built different. Literally.”

They resumed walking.

“And,” Caelum added, “your father was… affected. When it ended, he was pale, shaking, and drenched in sweat. Forcing that much mana out of himself took a toll. Even he nearly collapsed.”

Trafalgar blinked again.

“…He almost passed out too?”

Caelum nodded. “He pushed himself as far as he pushed you.”

Trafalgar let out a long sigh.

“So we both almost died. Father-son bonding at its finest.”

A faint smile tugged at Caelum’s lips. “If you wish to phrase it that way.”

Trafalgar groaned. “I need food before I process any more of this.”

“As you wish,” Caelum said, guiding him forward. “But understand one thing: surviving that ordeal was not normal. It means your body’s compatibility with mana is… exceptional. Even terrifying.”

Trafalgar huffed. “Great. Add that to the list of things that’ll keep me awake at night.”

And together, they headed toward the dining hall.