"Of course..." Van muttered, his finger hovering over the prompt.
There it was — the offer to beco infinitely stronger staring him right in the face. A chance to achieve godhood. The kind of power most people would kill for.
He'd made the call. The one that could shape his future—
"NOT."
With a deadpan expression, Van clicked [NO] without a second thought.
The prompt flickered. The system wasn't giving up so easily.
[WAIT! BE WARNED: IF YOU REFUSE, YOU WILL LOSE THE OPPORTUNITY TO ACHIEVE GODHOOD FOREVER.]
[ARE YOU SURE!?]
[YES] [NO]
Van didn't flinch.
Without hesitation, he pressed [NO] again.
The text blinked rapidly, the system seemingly panicking as it repeated the sa warning. Desperate.
Van raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"So persistent... What is this, a scam ad?" He shook his head. "I said NO."
Another tap on [NO].
He folded his arms, staring at the flickering text with growing irritation.
'Why the fuck would I give up 99.9k Strength, Vigor, Resistance, my Dark Soul passive that literally makes immortal, and Hard Swing — the most broken skill I've seen in this world — for so shady 'God' status?' He thought with a scoff.
'The sa system that screwed over from the start is now asking to reset everything?' He clenched his jaw. 'If I accepted this ridiculous offer, I'd deserve every misfortune afterwards.'
His finger hovered over the screen for a mont longer.
"Miss with that nonsense."
With a final sigh, he swiped his hand through the air, closing the status window.
Van straightened up, exhaling sharply. His gaze hardened.
'I'll just get stronger on my own. Find another way.'
His footsteps echoed through the empty restroom as he walked away, steady and sure.
But as he turned the corner, he brought up his status again.
Hard Swing.
'I stretched the concept of it quite a bit during that fight with… whatever took over Unicus.' He tapped on the skill, the gears in his mind turning. 'I wonder just how much more I can stretch it?'
His gaze shifted to [Seed of Darkness].
The words from the system prompt echoed in his head.
"You will lose all your skills..."
Van narrowed his eyes.
'This passive… it's part of my skillset, isn't it?'
'And if I accepted the offer, there's no guarantee it would stay.'
He sighed as he replayed the battle with Unicus in his mind.
'Nah,' He shook his head.
'I'm too important to take that kind of shady risk.'
------------------ELSEWHERE------------------
'First things first… I can't go back ho. Nor can I ask anyone for help.' Michael thought, leaning against the cold brick wall of the alleyway.
The weight of the past few days pressed on his chest, suffocating him.
'… And maybe I'm strong enough to kill Bernard…' He shivered at the word kill, the thought twisting his gut. 'But not his brother. Doyle's an A-Ranker.'
He clenched his fists and slamd his head against the wall, the dull thud reverberating through the alley.
'What am I doing?' His breath trembled. 'What the fuck am I doing?'
The image of his father's lifeless body flashed in his mind. His throat tightened.
'I’ve never killed anyone. I'm… I'm scared.' He glanced toward the city gates in the distance — the way out. The path to run. To start over.
'Maybe I should just run. Start fresh sowhere else…' He swallowed hard. 'Dad's dead. And I can't do anything to Bernard. I'm not strong enough.'
He stared at the ground, feeling the weight of failure sinking in.
But then he heard Bernard's voice echo in his mind.
"You're too naive, Michael."
His jaw tightened.
Naive.
Too naive.
His heart pounded as rage bubbled up inside him. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
'No.'
Michael stood up straight, pressing his back to the alley wall.
'No.'
'I branded Lizzy and Anne. And... It wasn't because I was doing it for them.' His lips curled into a bitter scowl. 'It was because I didn't want them to leave alone. Because lets face it; even when that piece of SHIT of a dad was alive, he was never with .'
His reflection stared back at him from the surface of a filthy puddle.
He barely recognized the man looking back.
'I’m not naive. I’m a fucking scumbag.'
The words rang in his mind like a tolling bell.
He crouched by the puddle, staring at the dirty, warped version of himself.
'Just like Bernard. I'm doing it all for myself.'
The thought should’ve repulsed him. But it didn’t. Instead, it felt freeing.
'If that’s what I am… then it’s about ti I act like it.'
His fingers brushed against his pouch of gold; all that he has left from the burnt and blown-up ho, and the slave crest.
He exhaled, a shaky, bitter laugh escaping his lips.
His reflection stared back at him, no longer warped or distorted — but clear. Certain.
'Bernard is a scumbag, but he's loved and respected. This ans that as long as I think things through, I'll have it good. I'm DONE acting by emotion. I'll have my revenge, but not now.'
Michael clenched his teeth as the mory of his father’s last monts resurfaced — how his father died without even saying his na.
He straightened, pulling his cloak tighter around him as he made his way back.
“MICHAEL!?”
Misa’s voice cut through the air as she ran up to him, wrapping him in a tight hug.
“Miss Misa…” Michael muttered, his voice low.
“Is everything alright?” she asked, pulling back to examine his face. “I saw that explosion, and—”
“Yes. Just,” He glanced away, brushing past her concern. “Tell .”
Misa blinked, confused. “Tell you…?”
“Lizzy and Anne,” His voice faltered. “They’re… still soone’s… you know. Branded?”
Her expression darkened, and she lowered her head solemnly.
“… I’m sorry. Yes.” Misa’s tone softened. “Miss Marcy and Miss Amoria are looking into it. Please, Michael — stay here. Let keep you safe until they retur—”
“I’m sorry.” Michael stamred, cutting her off. “Please keep them safe.” His voice wavered as he struggled to keep his composure.
“I need to be with my dad. It turns out the explosion wasn’t at my house, haha. I just wanted to check up on them... Is Anne asleep, at least?”
Misa offered a small smile, trying to ease his worry. “Yes. Both of them are in a deep sleep. And Anne seems to be doing much better. I guess Miss Amoria’s spell finally kicked in.”
“I see…” Michael nodded, a faint hint of relief washing over him. “Then, I’ll go.”
Before Misa could say anything more, he turned and left swiftly, his cloak billowing behind him.
Misa stood there, watching him go, her brows furrowed in confusion and worry.
Michael walked with steady steps, his mind racing.
‘Alright… They’re both still slaves.' He thought as he discreetly looked at the tallic crest. 'What other secrets do you have...?'
Michael’s footsteps quickened.
‘I know where to find out for sure.’
He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
‘I never wanted to go back there. Not after the ti Bernard showed that place.’
A dark grin twisted his lips.
‘It was bad company… but now? Now I’ll feel right at ho.’
His cloak whipped behind him as he disappeared into the shadows.
---- ELSEWHERE ----
The rundown shack slled of damp wood and old parchnt. A single candle flickered on the mage’s cluttered desk, casting long shadows across the room.
Michael stepped inside, his hood pulled low over his head, clutching the tallic crest in his hand.
The mage glanced up from a worn to, his sharp eyes narrowing as they landed on the pouch of gold tied to Michael’s waist. His gaze lingered there for a mont before shifting to Michael’s face.
“Well, well… What brings an academy boy to my humble little corner?” the mage asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.
'How did he know...?' Michael bit his lower lip, his pulse quickening as he entered the shack.
He slowly approached the table where the old mage sat.
Michael placed the crest on the table. “I need it inspected. Please.”
The mage raised an eyebrow. “Inspected?”
Michael nodded. “I want to know if it’s still active. And what properties it has... And stuff.”
The mage leaned forward, examining the crest without touching it. “Hmm… And stuff, huh?” he muttered with a smirk.
Michael’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. And stuff.”
The mage chuckled at Michael's reaction; rejoicing internally that a sucker had walked right into his place. But his curiosity alight that such a timid custor carried an illegal slave-crest.
“Alright. I can take a look — but it won’t be free.”
Michael frowned. “How much?”
The mage’s eyes flicked back to the pouch of gold at Michael’s waist. “Half of what you’ve got.”
Michael stiffened. “T-That’s ridiculous.”
The mage shrugged. “Take it or leave it, boy. I’m putting myself at risk by handling sothing illegal like this. You’re asking for a dangerous service.”
Michael hesitated, his fingers tightening around the pouch. ‘Damn it…’
With a reluctant sigh, he untied the pouch and tossed half of it onto the table. The coins spilled out, clinking together.
The mage grinned as he scooped up the gold, tucking it away in a drawer. “Smart boy.”
He grabbed a piece of chalk and began drawing intricate runes on the surface of his desk. Once the circle was complete, he placed the crest in the center and muttered an incantation.
The runes glowed faintly, and the crest began to pulse with a soft light.
The mage’s expression turned serious. He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he observed the magic at work.
“Hmm… Interesting,” he murmured.
“What is it?” Michael asked, leaning forward.
The mage tapped the crest. “It’s still active. Definitely not a dead mark. Brand soone with it, say the words, and they beco your eternal slaves... A limited number of... 3, huh?”
Michael’s heart sank. “So… it still works?”
The mage nodded. “Oh, it works, alright. Has one more use to it. But it’s… unusual.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Unusual how?”
The mage traced a finger along one of the glowing runes. “See this? Redirection magic. Whoever gets branded with this crest isn’t bound to the person doing the branding — they’re bound to soone else… Though, I cannot say who.”
Michael’s eyes widened, and he clenched his fists.
'Bernard…!'
The mage nodded as if reading his mind. “And that’s not all.” He pointed to a faint scorch mark on the crest. “It was also enchanted with explosion magic. But it seems that part’s already been triggered. We’re safe.”
Michael looked down, swallowing hard as the mory of his charred ho flashed in his mind.
'... Alright. Great.' He sighed deeply. 'I guess… it’s ti to do this.'
The mage dusted off his hands, dismissively. “Alright, boy. If you’re done — and you’re not going to sell it — take it and scram—”
Before the mage could finish, Michael removed his cloak, starting to undress.
The mage’s eyes widened in shock. “BOY!? I DON’T SWING THAT WAY. If that’s what you’re after, you should head for the other place around the corner—”
“That’s not it,” Michael said, his voice firm as he exposed his inner thigh.
The mage froze. “What… are you doing?”
Michael took a shaky breath. “I… I need you to brand with this. Here.”
The mage’s expression darkened with suspicion. “Why would you want that?”
Michael lowered his head, avoiding the old man’s gaze.
'If I want a chance at a normal life… I have to prove that I’m a victim, too. And it has to be in a place Aunt Amoria hadn’t checked. She was in a hurry — so she didn't check all my body for the mark.'
The mage crossed his arms. “I appreciate the offer, but if I take a squeaky-clean kid like you as a slave, I’ll be a target. The royal guard will be at my doorstep before nightfall. Leave.”
Michael shook his head. “I’ll keep the crest mark on . I'm leaving, but you must brand .”
The mage raised an eyebrow. “What… exactly are you planning, boy?”
Michael hesitated. Then, with trembling hands, he pulled out a small pouch from his cloak and set it on the table. It jingled with the weight of gold.
The mage’s gaze flicked to the pouch, his eyes lighting up. “That’s all your coin, isn’t it?”
“… It is,” Michael confird softly. “Take it.”
The mage snatched the pouch and weighed it in his hand with a greedy grin. “Generous. But I still don’t see why you’d want to go through with this.”
Michael clenched his fists to steady himself. “Brand on my inner thigh. Give the command I tell you. It might redirect to soone else… but it’ll still respond to the orders you give . You understood that, too. Didn’t you?”
The mage’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve used that crest before, haven’t you?”
Michael said nothing.
The mage leaned in, studying him. “You’re desperate.”
Michael’s voice cracked as he whispered, “Please… Just do it.”
The mage sighed, tucking the pouch of gold into his robes. “Very well. Since you’re paying all you’ve got…”
He picked up the crest, watching it glow faintly in his hands.
“Now, tell — what command do you want to give you?”
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