Chapter 29 : The Brother Who Stole My Fruit

The Lord of the Abyss was different from the corrupted creatures lurking beyond the world's barrier.

He had once been human. More than that, he had been the world's Chosen One, and my rival.

He had been a genuine hero, the kind one might encounter in a story: noble in his own way, yet ruthless when circumstances demanded it.

His name was Elden Morven.

Had someone attempted to turn Elden Morven's life into a heroic tale, they would have found remarkably little to criticize in its opening chapters. He was born into misery, rejected and despised by his own family, bullied and humiliated for circumstances beyond his control. Yet he refused to surrender or allow himself to be broken. He endured, grew stronger through sheer determination, and eventually forced everyone who had once looked down on him to acknowledge his existence and recognize his worth.

It was exactly the sort of beginning people loved to give their heroes.

Unfortunately, heroes had a peculiar talent for attracting trouble.

Elden had been born an illegitimate son of an ancient and prestigious clan. His very existence was considered a disgrace, and neither he nor his mother had ever been allowed to forget it. She was mocked because of him, while he was treated as a stain upon the family name. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, those who considered themselves his superiors would provoke him, humiliate him, and remind him that he had no legitimate place among them.

But, like any proper hero, Elden refused to give up.

He grew up gritting his teeth against the world, gradually turning every humiliation into another reason to become stronger. One by one, he defeated the other young members of his clan, including those who had been groomed to inherit its authority. He shattered the pride of its elders, exposed the traitors lurking within its ranks, and personally killed those who had betrayed their own people. By the time he finished cleaning up his clan, there was little left for him to accomplish there.

So he left.

And, as befitted a genuine hero, he could never remain in one place for very long.

He ventured into the wider world, eventually arriving in a city where he happened to offend an arrogant young man. Elden defeated him, naturally. When the young man's elder brother appeared to avenge the humiliation, Elden defeated him as well. Then the elder brother's teacher came seeking revenge, only to suffer the same fate.

At that point, the entire sect decided Elden had become a problem that needed to be eliminated.

And so, the poor hero was forced to flee for his life.

During his desperate escape, he stumbled into a random cave.

Inside, he discovered the inheritance of an unknown hero who had lived thousands of years ago.

Then he walked out of the cave.

Of course, that actually happened.

Elden emerged stronger than before and returned to the sect to crush the people who had hunted him. The arrogant young disciples who had once looked down upon him received their long-overdue humiliation, and Elden might finally have enjoyed a satisfying victory if an elder hadn't appeared to interrupt him.

He fled again, trained harder, and returned to crush that elder, too. Then came an old man who had secretly orchestrated everything from behind the scenes. Elden fought him and sent him to join his ancestors a little earlier than expected.

Naturally, the old man turned out to have been nothing more than a pawn of someone even more powerful.

Then that person appeared.

And so the story continued.

Sometimes, I wondered when the whole thing would finally end.

It never did.

Every time Elden reached the summit, he discovered another summit waiting above it. Whenever he believed himself to be the strongest, someone stronger inevitably appeared. Whenever he thought his family had been the worst thing life could throw at him, he stumbled upon a sect, clan, or secret organization that somehow managed to be even more despicable.

And every single time, he won.

He continued climbing toward the peak, leaving countless defeated enemies in his wake, as though the world itself had appointed him to the task of proving that no obstacle could ever truly stop him.

Unfortunately, I had the misfortune of knowing that bastard personally.

We shared the same teacher, and he was the first person who had ever given me a taste of defeat.

Even now, the memory of my first—and, as far as I was concerned, last—defeat remained painfully vivid.

That bastard had stolen the fruit of my Pureheart Tree.

The tree bore fruit only once every hundred years, and its precious produce could purify the body and improve one's innate potential. Naturally, obtaining such a treasure required patience, effort, and a considerable amount of luck. I had waited for that fruit, watched over its growth, and endured the long years until it was finally ready.

Then, just as I was about to claim the reward for my patience, the fruit disappeared right before my eyes.

Have you ever experienced the feeling of reaching out to collect something you have waited a decades to obtain, only to watch it vanish in front of you?

I felt as though a vein in my head had burst.

The thief bolted, and I nearly caught him. I was already closing the distance when an old enemy of mine happened to achieve a breakthrough and challenged me to battle. I killed him, of course, but by the time I had dealt with the interruption, Elden had gotten away.

The pursuit continued.

Then another group of fools appeared and joined the chase. Somehow, the situation turned into a competition in which everyone seemed more interested in fighting me than in catching the actual thief. Since I was the strongest person among them, I naturally became the most attractive target.

So I fought again.

And again.

And again.

By the time I finally cornered Elden, both of us had accumulated enough injuries to make the entire affair thoroughly unpleasant. He was practically staggering, and I was hardly in a condition to call myself unscathed, but at last, I had him where I wanted him.

I couldn't help laughing.

"Hahaha! Finally, I've got you, you bastard! Now hand over what you stole!"

I had barely finished speaking when Elden achieved a sudden breakthrough into the fourth level of cultivation.

At that precise moment, the Pureheart Fruit he had stolen finally took effect.

The bastard, who had been on the verge of being captured, immediately erupted with renewed confidence. He stood amid the chaos, laughing as though the heavens themselves had personally intervened to save him.

"Hahaha! Who dares stop me? I am Elden Morven!"

What was this supposed to be? Had I somehow wandered into a cultivation novel where the protagonist received a convenient breakthrough whenever he was about to lose?

Naturally, I had no idea what was really happening back then. I knew nothing about Chosen Ones, nor did I understand why the world seemed determined to hand that bastard one opportunity after another. All I knew was that he had stolen my treasure, ruined my pursuit, and now stood before me acting as though I were the villain for trying to retrieve it.

So, despite my miserable injuries and the fact that I had already spent far too much energy dealing with everyone else, I fought him.

It was a genuinely difficult battle.

Whenever I launched an attack, Elden countered it with another. Whenever I thought I had finally cornered him, he produced yet another trick. His methods seemed endless, and the longer we fought, the more I began to suspect that the world was personally invested in ensuring he survived the encounter.

But how could I, Rowan Calder, possibly lose?

I had my pride, after all.

Which was why I eventually made a tactical retreat and escaped with my life.

Damn you, Elden Morven.

I hated that bastard.

I swore I would have my revenge.

Of course, after taking some time to reflect upon the matter while contemplating the mountains around me, I eventually reached a more mature conclusion. As a peaceful man with a magnanimous heart, I decided to forgive him and bury the hatchet.

There was no point in holding a grudge over a little stolen fruit.

Even if it had taken a hundred years to grow.

Even if I had nearly died retrieving it.

Even if the thief had laughed in my face.

I was a man of considerable generosity, after all.

Once my injuries had healed, I returned to the Mage Tower, which was led by my teacher, Serafina, the Origin Mage.

That was when I encountered Elden again.

It turned out that the bastard had stumbled upon an inheritance left behind by Serafina herself. She had accepted him as her disciple before he joined the Mage Tower, apparently without realizing what sort of trouble she was inviting into her life.

In other words, the thief who had stolen my Pureheart Fruit had become my junior brother.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

The days passed, then the months, and eventually the years.

And I came to hate him even more.

Unfortunately, I couldn't exactly express that hatred as freely as I would have liked. Elden was the Chosen One of the world, and I had learned enough from observing his achievements to recognize the pattern. The bastard was practically the protagonist of a cultivation novel, and the world, for reasons I could never understand, seemed determined to bend over backward to help him succeed.

I wasn't stupid. I could see what was happening.

Every time Elden encountered an obstacle, some unexpected opportunity appeared. Every time he was cornered, he discovered a way to escape. Every time he reached a bottleneck, the world seemed to produce exactly the treasure or breakthrough he needed.

And because I was his senior brother, I found myself in the unfortunate position of having to deal with the enemies who would otherwise have killed him before he could grow stronger.

I was a peaceful man, yet I repeatedly had to endure the hatred of Elden's enemies simply to buy that bastard enough time to develop.

It was an arrangement that tested the limits of my patience.

I still remember the time I secluded myself in the mountains, hoping to enjoy a little peace and quiet.

Elden had somehow managed to attract the attention of two powerful enemies, both of whom had reached the sixth level: the Crimson Flame Mage and the Sword of Judgment. Rather than confronting them directly, that bastard had lured them toward the very mountain where I was cultivating.

Then, without even bothering to warn me properly, he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Senior Brother! Save me!"

He didn't even give me a chance to respond.

I turned around just in time to see the Crimson flames and the Sword of Judgment approaching. Meanwhile, the bastard was already running in the opposite direction, leaving me to deal with the two enemies he had dragged into my secluded retreat.

He had abandoned me to fight to the death.

And when I thought I might actually die, I heard his voice drifting back from a considerable distance.

"Thank you, Senior Brother! I'll never forget this!"

I swear, at that moment, I was seriously considering killing him with my own hands after I finished off the other two.

The worst part was that I hadn't even been given the opportunity to refuse. He had simply thrown me into a life-or-death battle and run away, leaving me to pay the price for his survival.

Do you have any idea how infuriating that is?

Nevertheless, I survived.

Somehow.

A month later, we met again.

The bastard approached me without the slightest trace of shame. In fact, he wore a bright smile, as though he had done nothing more offensive than borrow a book and forget to return it.

"Senior Brother! Thank you for protecting me last time!" he said cheerfully. "Oh, and I've become stronger, too."

I stared at him in disbelief, wondering whether I should kill him immediately or at least demand that he apologize before I did so.

"I nearly died, you bastard."

"But you didn't die."

He laughed.

Then, as though that settled the matter, he took out a bottle of medicine and a sixth-level magical tome, placing both before me.

"I was going to give you these from the beginning, but I was afraid you might refuse."

I looked at the items, then at him.

"Do you think these are adequate compensation for my life? What kind of person do you take me for?"

He hesitated, seemingly unsure how to respond to my righteous indignation.

Then he produced another magical tome.

I laughed.

"Hahaha! From this day onward, we're no longer brothers, you bastard!"

He placed another bottle of medicine before me.

"You really think so little of me."

I shook my head. A mage had to possess some dignity, after all. No matter how valuable the items were, I couldn't allow him to believe that my life could be bought so cheaply.

Elden studied me for a moment, his expression growing hesitant. Then he slowly took out another book and placed it in front of me.

A seventh-level tome.

An Origin-level inheritance.

"Senior Brother..."

"Not another word."

A single tear slipped down my cheek.

Damn it.

Damn that bastard's financial resources!

The inheritance was genuinely rare. No wonder he had been hunted like a dog so many times. With treasures like these in his possession, I was beginning to understand why the world had made his life such a ridiculous sequence of opportunities and disasters.

He was a bastard. A selfish, infuriating, thoroughly troublesome bastard.

And yet, in his own strange way, he cared.

He simply had no idea how to express it.

Nor did I know how to ask him for it.

And so, our cursed relationship as senior and junior brothers continued, raising my blood pressure at every possible turn.

Of course, if I hadn't wanted to win at least ten times as badly as I wanted to lose, I wouldn't have been Rowan Calder.

As it happened, Elden and I shared that particular flaw.

Our lives gradually became an endless cycle of competition.

A victory.

A defeat.

Another victory.

Another defeat.

We fought, challenged one another, surpassed each other, and continued climbing toward heights neither of us had ever imagined reaching. Sometimes he stood above me, and sometimes I stood above him, but neither of us could tolerate remaining behind for long. Every achievement became a new challenge, every defeat another reason to push forward, and every reunion an opportunity to discover just how much stronger the other had become.

I had never expected our rivalry to end in calamity.

I had never imagined that the road we walked together - the road that began with a stolen fruit, continued through countless battles, and somehow transformed itself into a bond of brotherhood - would eventually lead us to something far greater than victory or defeat.

But that was our story.

Two brothers.

Two rivals.

Two people who refused to remain beneath anyone else.

And somewhere along that endless road toward the summit, we had walked straight into a catastrophe.