KING OF STIGMA

New Identity

.

"Alright, let's take a moment to make sense of the memories I just saw..."

Blaze couldn't quite make out everything he saw just yet, his heart sank over some of the things he saw.

"I'm an orphan here... A member of the Crimson Stigma Clan which is located in the Reservation Cave or whatever they call it. Geez, the people of this world sure know how to pick a name."

Here, the kids would join a special ceremony. If they passed, they'd become Stigma Warriors and get lots of good stuff. People thought Stigma Warriors were meant for big things.

But for those who didn't pass, it was tough. They'd have to do hard work and face danger, with no chance of glory because they didn't make it.

Blaze realized the gravity of his situation.

"My Vessel is ten years old and will no longer be eligible for the Clan's provisions. Just great, I'm left to fend for myself in a world that I know very little of, a dangerous world that quite frankly offers little mercy to those deemed unworthy."

His Vessel's failure to awaken at the ceremony had sealed his fate. He was condemned to a fate of toil and hardship among the ranks of the Hunting Logistics Team.

"Yep, I'm the unluckiest person in the multiverse..."

"Is that why that Colt guy hates me?" He muttered to himself and as if on cue, a voice rang from behind him.

"You still don't get it do you, wait were you serious about the amnesia?"

Colt's voice rang out, as usual, it was laced with bitterness and resentment.

"Your father, one of the very best Stigma warriors ever betrayed us all."

Colt's hatred towards Blaze was for that very reason.

It was rooted in a long-standing vendetta that stretched back to his father's disappearance five years ago.

Blaze was left dumbfounded as he processed Colt's accusations.

His father in this new world was apparently a highly renowned Stigma Warrior whom had vanished during a hunting expedition.

"And I should just accept your accusations?" Blaze protested, his voice laced with desperation.

"My father would never betray his Clan."

He didn't know why he added the last part, apparently it wasn't just the memories of the Vessel he'd inherited, he also inherited his emotions.

Colt's expression hardened, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Your father found the Grand Flaming Core—a treasure beyond measure, capable of elevating a warrior to the highest ranks of our Clan. But instead of returning with it, he vanished without a trace, leaving my father to bear the consequences of his greed."

Blaze sighed deeply giving in, "I don't have time to keep dragging this with you."

"Tch, typical. Like father like son, running away."

With that, Colt left Blaze to his thoughts.

"There's nothing I can do about that for now."

Despite the uncertainty surrounding his past and his newfound identity, he knew that the consequences of his father's actions would haunt him regardless.

"Tomorrow, the real struggle begins," Blaze murmured to himself, his voice tinged with resignation. "I'll have to work hard just to put food on the table."

With a heavy heart, he raised his left hand. Suddenly his wrist began to emit a faint glow. The miniature Nine-headed Dragon tattoo appeared on the back of his lefto examine the miniature Nine-headed Dragon tattoo that adorned the back of his hand.

It shimmered faintly in the dim light of the cave.

Blaze furrowed his brow, "Where on earth did you get that amber, Uncle Dane?"

He couldn't help but wonder about the mysteries behind the Sig-Item from the amber fossil gifted by his uncle, Dane.

"How did it follow me to a different world? And most importantly, what purpose does it serve to play in this new world?"

As he kept analysing the tattoo, he couldn't help but think; 'Could it be possible that the reason I'm here is because of this?'

His mind raced with the many possible explanations. A while ago he wouldn't have had such thoughts but now, he wasn't surprised by the strange things that kept happening.

"If only I could unravel all the mysteries of this tattoo, maybe, just maybe, I could find a way back home. Uncle Dane must be worried sick."

Lost in his train of thought, he failed to notice the other children were had returned.

As the other orphans retreated to their makeshift beds of hard rock, a lone figure approached Blaze with a broken bowl clutched in his small hands.

It was Grover, a seven-year-old boy whose eyes shone with a mixture of uncertainty and hope.

"Hey, Blaze," Grover said tentatively, offering the bowl to him. "I... I saved some stew for you."

Blaze felt thankful but also sorry when he saw what was being offered to him.

The stew, though made with good intentions, smelled bad, making his stomach turn. Even though he was hungry, seeing the unappealing meal made Blaze softly groan.

"Thanks, Grover," Blaze replied, forcing a smile despite the reluctance gnawing at him. "I appreciate it."

Blaze accepted the bowl from Grover, who watched anxiously as he took a hesitant sip of the stew. Although the flavor was far from desirable, Blaze forced himself to swallow it.

"This will most likely be the only sustenance he would receive for the night."

Grover's eyes widened with anticipation, his expression mirroring a child's innocent belief in the goodness of his offering.

"Is it good?" he asked eagerly, his voice tinged with hope.

Blaze hesitated, unwilling to crush Grover's spirit with the truth. "It's... not bad," he replied diplomatically with a reassuring smile to the younger boy.

Satisfied with Blaze's response, Grover beamed with pride, his small chest puffing out with newfound confidence.

"I knew you'd like it," he declared triumphantly before bounding off to join the others in their rest.

'I'll die if I keep eating food like this, I swear I'll look for better food.' He made a silent oath as he continued to consume the "death stew."