I made a choice — a reckless, controversial one. Despite the venom boiling in my chest, despite everything that bastard had done to me, I gave in to the pull.
I decided to check my system status.
Petty? Maybe. But this system… this thing was supposed to make me overpowered, right? That was the whole damn point, wasn't it?
Wasn't it?
With a sigh that felt like it had clawed its way out of my soul, I muttered the words, "System Status."
The air shimmered, and a familiar blue screen flickered into view before me.
---
System Status:
Name: Michael Von Ashford
Titles:
— "Genius" (A flattering lie wrapped in self-delusion)
— Evil Bastard (At last, a title that tells the truth)
— Doom of the Gods (Please. Even pigeons don't flinch)
Current Rank: C (Clinging to it by the skin of your teeth)
---
► Attributes
Strength: C+ (420/900 XP)
You hit like a dying breeze. Even your sword is reconsidering its contract.
Speed: C+ (300/1000 XP)
Slower than regret. A crippled squirrel on crutches could dodge you.
Endurance: C+ (510/800 XP)
You fall over if the wind breathes too hard. Pathetic.
Intelligence: C+ (600/1300 XP)
You think you're clever? You once argued with a tree and lost.
Mana Control: C+ (480/600 XP)
You leak mana like a toddler leaks secrets. Get it together.
Charisma: C (200/700 XP)
You inspire fear, not in enemies, but in tailors. Even your noble bloodline winces at you.
Mana Reserves: S- (0/4000 XP)
A nuclear warhead with no instruction manual. One spark and everything goes to hell — including you.
---
Blessing:
None. (Insert sad trombone here)
---
► Skills
Blood Magic (C+): 0/1000 XP
You smear blood around like a toddler with ketchup. It's not magic. It's a mess.
Shadow Magic (C+): 0/1000 XP
The shadows whisper… and they're asking for a transfer.
Enchanted Senses (C+): 90/800 XP
You can now hear every mistake you make. Congratulations.
Ashford Style Swordsmanship (C+): 330/900 XP
Your technique is a disgrace. Blindfolded children with wooden spoons do better.
Physical Conditioning (C+): 240/700 XP
Push-ups make you weep. Sit-ups send you to therapy.
Blood Sense (C+): 0/600 XP
You can smell blood. Just not your own mediocrity.
---
► Quest:
None
---
► Special Skills
Blood Cleaver (C-Rank)
A blade forged from your own blood. It's sharp. It's deadly. It drains your life with each swing. Use it wisely or bleed out before your enemies do.
Shadow Pierce (C-Rank)
A spear of shadow meant to impale. Deadly, in theory. But one slip in focus and it vanishes like your chances at dignity.
---
I didn't even feel angry anymore.
The insults... they didn't sting like they used to. They sounded like the deranged scribbles of a mentally challenged goblin. Childish. Predictable.
Michael knew that much. He didn't flinch. Not this time.
But something did catch his eye.
Every single attribute… every skill… they'd all climbed. Little by little, they'd grown.
A bitter laugh slipped out.
"Well, damn. Finally, some good news."
Maybe I wasn't entirely useless after all.
I closed the system window before it could make another snide remark and ruin my fleeting sense of victory.
And then—
Knock knock.
A polite rap echoed through the door, followed by the voice of a man who'd served our family longer than I'd been alive.
"Young Master," Sebas called gently. "The carriage is ready."
I stood and straightened my coat, trying to bury the anxiety gnawing at my gut. The small surge of confidence I'd just earned? Gone in an instant.
I was nervous. More than I wanted to admit.
Today was important.
Too important.
And I was afraid something—anything—might go wrong.
But fate wouldn't let me die just yet... would it?
I didn't get an answer. Just silence.
I walked to the door and pulled it open. Sebas bowed with the elegance of a man forged in another era. But what he said next caught me off guard.
"Happy birthday, Young Master," he said with a smile. "Come. Lord Longinus awaits."
For a second, just one fleeting second, my heart felt… warm. A small ember in a chest of frost.
No one… no one had ever said that to me before.
Not once.
Maybe… just maybe… Michael and I weren't so different after all.
Neither of us had anyone to celebrate our birthday with. Not until now.
I nodded silently, swallowing the strange tightness in my throat. I didn't want him to see how much it meant.
Sebas turned and descended the grand staircase, his footsteps echoing softly. I followed in silence, our path winding through gilded halls and dimly lit corridors until we reached the massive front entrance of the Ashford estate.
The doors opened.
Outside, beneath the gray morning sky, Lord Longinus sat atop his horse like a knight out of a dream — aloof, regal, and untouchable.
Beside him stood a pristine carriage. A luxurious thing of polished black and gold trim, drawn by two majestic white horses. The driver gave a nod in greeting.
Longinus tilted his head toward me in a shallow, respectful bow.
I returned the gesture, then climbed inside the carriage. The seats were absurdly soft — the kind that cradled you like a mother might cradle a child.
Sebas stepped in across from me and nodded to the driver.
"Let's move."
The carriage lurched forward.
I leaned against the window, resting my chin in my hand as the Ashford estate shrank in the distance.
From the outside, the mansion looked even larger. Imposing. Almost unnatural.
But my mind wasn't on the estate.
It was elsewhere — churning, spinning, haunted.
We were headed to the village beneath Ashford's rule.
My rule, technically. Though let's be honest — nothing truly belonged to me. Not yet.
There, in a small, ancient cathedral, the ritual would take place.
My Awakening.
And whatever came after… I'd face it, even if it killed me.
---