From Zero Blood, I Became the Untouchable Solar Overlord!

Chapter 4

High above the freezing streets, Aethelgard’s nobility gathered inside the warm Grand Winter Pavilion to toast their good fortune. On the main stage, Cynthia sat in fine white silk as the honored Solar Maiden, hailed by the crowd for her restored core that would supposedly power the city’s winter barriers.

Beside her, Young Master Garrick raised his golden cup with an arrogant grin. "Drink, my friends!" Garrick shouted across the crowded hall. "Tonight, we celebrate our city's radiant flame and the eternal glory of the Energy Syndicate!"

The wealthy merchants and noble elders cheered loudly, banging their cups against the tables in eager agreement.

Garrick raised his free hand to quiet the room, letting a cold, arrogant smirk spread across his lips.

"To ensure our sacred barriers remain fully fueled through the coming storms, the Syndicate must make certain adjustments," Garrick announced smoothly. "Starting tomorrow morning, the tax on all lower-district coal supplies will increase by thirty percent."

A few older merchants chuckled quietly, while others simply nodded in careless approval.

"If the slum rats want to survive the winter winds, they must pay their fair share," Garrick added with a light laugh. "Warmth is a privilege for those who can afford it, not a gift for beggars."

The crowd erupted into fresh applause, praising Garrick’s firm hand and sharp business mind.

At his side, Cynthia forced her lips into a tight, delicate smile. But beneath the long silk sleeves of her gown, her slender fingers were trembling so hard she had to grip the arms of her chair.

Garrick turned to her, his dark eyes gleaming with pride. He leaned in close, wrapping a heavy arm around her waist to pull her tight against his side for another toast.

The moment Garrick’s aura touched her skin, an explosive burst of agony ripped through Cynthia’s chest.

It felt as though a cup of boiling oil had been dumped directly into her heart. Her breath caught in her throat, and her vision flashed with blinding white light as her internal meridians violently spasmed.

The Inverted Star Core resting inside her chest roared in furious protest, violently rejecting Garrick’s presence.

For five long years, that legendary core had been nurtured every single night by Ethan’s gentle, selfless soul transfers. The core recognized only Ethan's calm life-force, his quiet devotion, and the blood he had willingly bled to keep her alive.

Without Ethan’s familiar energy to soothe it, the wild celestial flame raged out of control, tearing at her inner pathways like jagged glass.

Cynthia bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted iron, fighting with all her might not to scream in front of the city's highest lords.

"Excuse me for a moment, Garrick," Cynthia whispered, her voice strained and barely audible over the roaring music. "The excitement... it has made me slightly faint."

Garrick didn't even look down at her face, waving his hand carelessly as he refilled his cup. "Go freshen your powder quickly. The High Council wants to see your solar projection before midnight."

Cynthia pulled away, keeping her back straight and her head high as she glided past the bowing nobles. But the second she pushed through the double doors of the private vanity hall, her composure shattered.

She stumbled forward, her knees giving out before she could reach the leather couch. She collapsed against the cold edge of a marble washbasin, clutching her chest as a ragged cough tore from her throat.

A thick splatter of dark, foul blood hit the porcelain bowl.

Cynthia gasped for air, pulling a white silk handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her chin. Her hands shook violently as she looked into the gilded mirror hanging above the counter.

The reflection staring back terrified her.

Her skin had turned a sickly, pale gray, and thin, dark veins—like a spider's web—were creeping upward across her collarbone toward her throat.

The pain inside her was suffocating, burning and freezing all at once.

Tears welled in Cynthia’s eyes as an unbidden memory flashed through her mind.

For five years, whenever her fractured core flared with agony, she had never had to suffer alone in the dark. Ethan would sit beside her wooden cot until dawn, never closing his eyes for even a minute.

He would gently rub her back with his rough, calloused hands, whispering sweet words to keep her spirits up. He had let her drain his own life away, shivering in the freezing corner until his lips turned blue, just so she could sleep in peace.

He never once asked for a single thing, Cynthia thought, her chest aching with a deep, hollow pang. Not once did he ever complain.

The heavy brass handle rattled, and the vanity door swung open.

Cynthia quickly crumpled the bloodstained handkerchief into her fist, trying to stand upright. "Garrick... I just need a few more minutes..."

Garrick stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a dull thud. The charming, noble smile he had worn for the guests outside was completely gone.

His eyes were narrowed into cold, cruel slits, his mouth twisted into a look of pure disgust as his gaze dropped to the red stains inside the marble basin.

He walked across the room with heavy, impatient strides, stopping right in front of her. Before Cynthia could step back, his large hand shot out, grabbing her chin in a tight, bruising grip.

"What is the meaning of this?" Garrick hissed, forcing her face up toward the light. "Why are your veins turning black?"

"Garrick, please... it hurts," Cynthia whimpered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "The core... it is rejecting my body. The internal heat is too volatile. I need medicine, or I need rest—"

"Rest?" Garrick cut her off with a vicious sneer, tightening his fingers until her jawbone groaned under the pressure. "You think you have time to rest?"

He leaned in so close she could smell the heavy wine on his breath, his eyes devoid of even a shred of warmth.

"Listen to me carefully, Cynthia," Garrick whispered, his voice dripping with venom. "I didn't take you into my house because of your pretty face or your ruined family name. I took you because you promised me a fully functioning Solar Core."

Cynthia’s heart skipped a beat, her breath hitching in her throat as the cold reality began to sink in.

"The elders of the Energy Syndicate agreed to this betrothal on one condition," Garrick continued, shaking her head roughly. "You are our new power source. You are the battery that justifies our price hikes across the realm."

"Garrick... you told me you loved me," Cynthia wept, her voice trembling with heartbreak. "You promised we would rule the city together!"

Garrick let out a harsh, mocking laugh that made her skin crawl.

"Love you? A woman who stole from her own childhood fiancé and threw him into the snow to die?" Garrick laughed, his eyes full of contempt. "Do you think I am as stupid as that worthless stray Ethan?"

He shoved her backward with sudden, violent force.

Cynthia’s back slammed hard against the edge of the marble counter, and she slid down onto the cold floor, clutching her bruised jaw in utter shock.

"Clean yourself up," Garrick ordered coldly, wiping his fingers on his coat as if he had just touched something filthy. "Cover those disgusting marks with powder."

He turned his back on her, walking toward the door with absolute indifference.

"If you fail to ignite the Solar Runes on the terrace tonight, our deal is dead," Garrick stated without turning around. "I will throw your parents into debtor's prison by morning, and you will be dumped into the workhouses where you belong."

The door slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking into place with a sharp, final snap.

Silence settled over the luxurious room, heavy and suffocating.

Cynthia sat alone on the freezing floor, her body trembling uncontrollably as fresh blood trickled from the corner of her lips. She looked down at her hands, then over at the golden mirror.

The prince she had chosen was nothing more than a monster.

‘What have I done?’ Cynthia wept silently, curling her knees to her chest as the memory of Ethan's honest, warm eyes tore through her soul. ‘Ethan... what have I done to us?’

Down in the Ironworks Slum, miles away from the glowing spires of the Upper District, the night was pitch-black and freezing cold.

The blizzard screamed through the narrow, crooked alleys, dumping feet of gray snow over the rotten wooden shanties. Icicles hung like fangs from the broken roofs, and the smell of sulfur and damp soot hung heavy in the air.

Inside these cracked walls, thousands of families huddled together under thin, mildewed blankets, praying to survive until morning.

A lone figure moved silently through the howling gale, his boots leaving barely a trace in the fresh drifts of snow.

Ethan Vance walked with steady, unhurried steps, wrapped in a long, tattered gray cloak. The deep hood was pulled low over his forehead, hiding his sharp jaw and the faint, dangerous golden light humming beneath his lashes.

Back in a hidden, dry cellar near the outer wall, little Toby was sleeping peacefully, protected by the soft golden glow of the Stasis Frost-Needle. With his brother safe for seven days, Ethan’s mind was completely focused on the hunt.

Ethan stopped in the middle of a deserted alleyway, listening to the bitter wind howl through the eaves. He slowly raised his right hand, turning his palm upward toward the sky.

The sub-zero storm raged against his bare skin, but he did not feel the slightest chill. Instead, the freezing air felt like cool water washing over an inferno.

[Environmental Absolute Zero Frost Detected.]

[Solar-Eclipse System: Conversion Cycle Active.]

An invisible vortex opened in the center of Ethan's palm. The howling blizzard suddenly twisted, spiraling directly into his skin as his inverted black-hole core devoured the cold.

As the frost poured into his veins, his internal furnace ignited, compressing the freezing energy until it inverted into pure, concentrated solar heat.

Ethan focused his thoughts, activating the Solar Compression Art he had unlocked from the system.

A soft, golden hum resonated in the air. Right before his eyes, the swirling energy in his palm hardened, crystallizing into a smooth, dark-gold stone the size of a fist.

The stone gave off no smoke, no ash, and no smell, but the moment it fully formed, a wave of gentle, soothing warmth rolled outward, melting the snow around Ethan’s boots within seconds.

It was a Sun-Core Briquette. A single stone held enough clean, primordial heat to warm a large building for two full days.

Ethan repeated the process smoothly, drawing in the endless storm and forging fifty golden briquettes in less than twenty minutes, storing them securely within his system's inventory space.

Lowering his hand, Ethan turned toward a crooked wooden building at the end of the lane.

A faded wooden sign hung above the door, barely legible under the frost: St. Jude’s Soup House. It was the oldest charity kitchen in the slums, run by tired, elderly laborers who tried to keep the starving children from freezing to death.

Ethan pushed the heavy wooden door open, stepping out of the storm and into the dim, drafty hall.

Inside, more than forty people were huddled together on the dirt floor. Ragged children shivered in their mothers' arms, their lips blue and their breath coming out in thick, white clouds.

Near the back, an old, stooped man with a gray beard was frantically blowing on an iron stove, coughing violently as thick, black smoke poured from the rusty pipe.

"Burn, blast you, burn!" the old man coughed, tears streaming down his soot-stained cheeks. "The wood is soaking wet, and this Syndicate coal is nothing but slate and rock! It won't catch!"

A young mother holding a crying infant began to weep softly. "Elder Thomas, the baby's hands are so cold... please, we just need a little warmth."

"I'm trying, child! Heaven help us, I'm trying!" Thomas cried, his hands trembling as he struck a flint again and again, producing only useless sparks.

Footsteps clicked softly against the floorboards.

The room grew quiet as the freezing crowd turned to look at the stranger standing by the entrance, wrapped in his dark gray cloak.

Ethan walked slowly toward the dead stove, his presence quiet and calm. He did not say a word as he reached the old man's side.

"Who are you, son?" Thomas asked, blinking through his tears at the cloaked figure. "If you came for food, we have none. The Syndicate raised the coal prices again today. We can't even boil water."

Without speaking, Ethan reached beneath his cloak and pulled out three golden Sun-Core Briquettes.

He leaned down, opened the rusted iron door of the cold stove, and tossed the three stones directly onto the damp ashes.

"Wait! You can't just throw rocks in—" Thomas started to warn, but the words died in his throat.

The moment the golden stones touched the iron grate, they flared with a brilliant, warm amber light.

There was no crackle of burning wood, no toxic sulfur smell, and not a single puff of black smoke. Instead, a wave of pure, radiant heat washed outward from the stove like the rising summer sun.

Within seconds, the thick frost clinging to the windowpanes melted into clear droplets of water. The biting, bitter chill that had choked the room vanished, replaced by a gentle, spring-like warmth that filled every single corner of the hall.

The baby in the young mother's arms stopped crying, blinking curiously as color rushed back into its pale cheeks.

Old Thomas stumbled back, staring at the glowing stove with his mouth hanging wide open. He reached out a trembling hand, feeling the rich, clean heat washing over his wrinkled skin.

"What... what kind of coal is this?" Thomas whispered in utter disbelief, his eyes wide. "There's no smoke... it feels like standing beneath the midday sun in the old days!"

The shivering laborers and children scrambled to their feet, gathering around the glowing stove with gasps of pure wonder and joy. Several elderly women fell to their knees, weeping tears of relief as they warmed their stiff, swollen joints.

Ethan stood beside the stove, watching the smiles return to their faces. A quiet, steady warmth settled deep into his chest—a feeling far greater than any revenge.

He turned and set a heavy burlap sack on the wooden prep table. Inside were the remaining forty-seven Sun-Core Briquettes, glowing softly through the woven fibers.

"Elder," Ethan said, his voice low and calm, masked by the system's resonant hum so none could recognize him.

Old Thomas snapped his head up, looking at the cloaked youth with deep reverence. "Yes, master? Who are you? Which grand temple sent you to save us?"

Ethan pulled his hood slightly lower, his dark eyes flashing with sharp, unyielding resolve.

"The Syndicate sells you poison and calls it life," Ethan said clearly, his words echoing through the warm, quiet room. "Take these stones. Distribute them to every freezing family on this street. They will burn clean for two days each."

Thomas stared at the sack, tears running freely down his beard. "How much do we owe you, son? We have no silver, but we can gather copper, we can work—"

"You owe nothing," Ethan interrupted gently, stepping back toward the wooden doorway. "The warmth belongs to the people. Warm yourselves for free."

Before the stunned crowd could rush forward to thank him, Ethan slipped through the door, melting back into the howling darkness of the blizzard.

Standing in the snowy alleyway, Ethan looked up toward the distant, glowing heights of the Upper District, where Garrick's grand towers pierced the winter sky.

A crisp system chime echoed in his mind, carrying the sweet promise of what was to come:

[Slum Population Sentiment Harvested: Pure Gratitude & Relief.]

[Solar Merit Accumulated: +3,000 Eclipse Points!]

[Syndicate Energy Grid Disruption Initiated.]

Ethan pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders, a cold, dangerous smile touching his lips beneath the shadows.

"Enjoy your feast tonight, Garrick," Ethan murmured into the wind. "Tomorrow, your fire goes out."