The Nameless Heir-Chapter 40: The Forbidden Fruit

He sat in the empty training hall, feeling lost.

Not sure where to start.

The last time he tried to use his father’s godly power, it ended horribly. He collapsed, body burning from the inside out. The pain wasn’t as bad as before, but it still felt like his entire body locked up—like the worst muscle cramp he’d ever had.

He lay on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling, wishing Orion was here.

Someone to explain how this works.

Someone to guide him.

Then he remembered something. The old man—he saw back when he was drowning in the River Styx. His voice echoing in the dark:

"Trust your shadows."

Kael blinked.

He sat up slowly.

"Why not," he muttered. "Not like I got another option."

The shadows had always been there—wrapped around him since the day he was born.

They protected him.

They had never let him down.

Plus, they were his father’s power.

So maybe... they knew what to do.

He sat down again. Crossed his legs. Closed his eyes.

The room was quiet.

"Hey... shadowy buddy. I need your help here."

Nothing moved at first.

Then, the shadows slid up his arms and across his chest.

He didn’t fight it.

He let them wrap around him like a blanket.

He could feel everything.

They were waiting.

He took a breath.

"Help me."

The shadows responded.

They moved toward his chest—right over his heart.

Instantly, he understood what they were trying to tell him.

They were telling him to focus the energy here.

It started at the center of his heart, then spread like veins.

It didn’t rush.

It didn’t explode.

It moved slow, steady, calm.

He finally understood why he failed before.

He was dumping all his power into his body at once, flooding everything.

Overloading his system.

Not guiding the energy in any direction.

But now, everything made sense to him.

The energy had a path.

From his heart, through his spine, then into his arms, hands, legs, and feet—like blood through veins.

Like breath through lungs.

It didn’t want to be forced.

It wanted rhythm.

So he focused.

Let it build in the heart.

Then let it move—slow, steady, like a heartbeat.

He breathed in.

The shadows pulsed with him.

He breathed out.

The energy flowed perfectly.

Smoothly.

Cleanly.

Kael opened his eyes.

He wasn’t in pain.

His body wasn’t shaking.

He got to his feet.

He felt the power flowing through him—deeper than magic, heavier than shadow.

Something inside had changed.

He closed his eyes, removing all sound.

He listened—not with his ears, but with something else.

A sense that stretched across the entire Underworld.

He could hear everything.

He could see everything.

He was connected to every shadow.

Every whisper.

Every breath.

Every soul.

And more than that—he could choose what he heard.

He blocked out the noise.

Like tuning a frequency, he focused on one voice.

"Mother, are they ready?" he said calmly.

Even though Kael was nowhere near her, Persephone turned to face the shadows beside her and smiled. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

Kael had finally accepted it.

He was walking the path of Hades.

"I’m so proud of you," she whispered. "I’ll send them right away."

He was confused what she meant—but he ignored it.

In an instant, three undead soldiers rose from Kael’s shadow.

Their armor was shattered.

Their flesh gone.

Only bone and scraps remained.

They had no voice.

No identity.

Just purpose.

One was a sword master.

One a brawler.

One a spear legend.

They were the best the Underworld had.

Souls with no names.

Bodies long forgotten.

Criminals in life.

Monsters in death.

He said nothing.

He let the shadows take the lead.

His shadows began to move, swirling like black flame.

They crawled up the undead soldiers, wrapping around them, pulling them together.

Then it lifted them in the air.

The shadows started to swirl, forming a perfect massive black sphere.

Their bodies twisted as it compressed tighter and tighter, pressing against itself, reshaping them until it looked like a pomegranate.

The fruit was glowing faintly with violet cracks along its skin.

Kael walked toward it and reached out to grab the fruit.

He sat down in silence.

And began to eat.

Each seed burned in his mouth.

Not with heat—but with memory.

Every bite carried something.

A skill.

A scar.

A sin.

He saw flashes.

A man cutting through a hundred innocent people with a single sword stroke.

A soldier breaking bones with bare fists, smiling through blood.

A warrior spinning a spear so fast it cracked the sky.

But with the skill came their crimes—murder, betrayal, endless pain.

Kael didn’t look away.

He took it all in.

Ten minutes passed.

The fruit was gone.

Kael opened his eyes.

The room was still.

His breathing calm.

He knew them.

Their rage.

Their mastery.

Their memory.

He didn’t just absorb their strength.

He absorbed their story.

Once again, he closed his eyes, trying to focus.

As he did, the flashes of their skill came up.

Then his body moved.

He didn’t fight back.

He let it happen.

His movement—his swordsmanship—improved.

Things were getting easy—too easy.

Kael paused for a moment.

Then a thought hit him.

What if he pushed further?

He looked down at his body—stronger than before, faster too—but it was not enough.

Not yet.

He could keep training under more intense gravity.

To push his body harder...

By adding more weight to his body.

That way, he could increase his strength and endurance.

It would also sharpen his precision, speed, and control.

It was the fastest way to get stronger.

This time, no one would help him fight his battle.

He trained day by day, adding more and more bracelets.

The gravity in the hall kept rising.

And soon, he started mixing both—to practice his sword strikes, to make every swing heavier and more powerful.

By the seventh day, Kael was able to handle 500 pounds on each arm... under 200x gravity.

The next day, he stood in the middle of the hall—alone, like always—his body dripping with sweat.

The bracelets on his arms felt light.

Kael reached for a sword.

His fingers wrapped around it.

He slowly lifted it, inch by inch.

He tightened his grip.

Then he started to swing, syncing each strike with precise footwork, step by step.

He stepped forward, slashed down.

Stepped back, cut across.

Again and again, until the rhythm kicked in.

He was completely focused—

Until he heard clapping from behind him.

"CLAP, CLAP."

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