Lucien Graves blinked as the red-haired boy mumbled something incomprehensible: "I βΓτχΒψ—huh!"
Though indecipherable, the intent was obvious—it was provocation, veiled in the garble of divine or ancient tongue.
Lucien laughed, amused rather than offended. His gaze lowered to the boy's bare backside. Both of them appeared no older than eight, and given the solitude of the ruined chamber, nudity was neither embarrassing nor notable.
The red-haired boy met Lucien's gaze with defiance.
Lucien smiled wickedly. Without hesitation:
"Pah—Pah—"
Two crisp slaps echoed.
On an ordinary child, they would have left marks or tears. But the boy simply turned and sneered.
"That's it?"
Lucien arched a brow. "So you do want a proper lesson."
With a sigh, he whispered to himself, "No, Lucien, don't take the bait. He's just a cub."
Then he slapped ten more times, with methodical intensity. Each strike was heavier than the last. When he finished, he stepped back, refreshed.
The boy's expression twisted in frustration. The red hue on his backside had already begun to fade.
Mythical creature physiology—dense flesh, rapid recovery. He'd expected as much.
Lucien crossed his arms. "If you still don't accept it, try hitting me back."
The red-haired boy snorted. "Elder brother."
The words came reluctantly, but sincerely.
Lucien blinked. That had not been expected.
Only then did he realize: the provocation, the physical test, the submission—it was all instinctual.
The boy was a born mythical creature. Like Lucien himself.
To such beings, hierarchy wasn't granted; it was earned. The fight had been a trial. Had Lucien shown weakness or cruelty, the outcome would have been fatal.
But he passed. And the cub acknowledged him.
Lucien sighed. "Since you called me brother, I'll take care of you."
The boy scoffed. "Heh. We'll see who takes care of whom."
Lucien didn't reply. He surveyed the chamber.
It was a ruined man-made cavern, with shattered furniture and remnants of regal decor. A small, destroyed palace beneath the earth.
Checking his internal condition, Lucien confirmed no immediate signs of divine erosion. Now was the time.
He activated the knowledge inherited from Vest No. 1—the mythical creature identity he could control across timelines.
His current vest was of the Hunter Pathway, with partial comprehension of the Hermit Pathway due to inherited memory.
The moment he initiated the ability, his body blurred and became translucent.
Lucien entered a state of raw cognitive perception. The material world broke down into essence. Information. Code.
To others, this would be overwhelming. But Lucien floated in it like a fish in water. He had no anchor like the Fool's Sefirah Castle, yet he remained stable.
Was this his transmigrator's cheat? Or the nature of a born mythical creature?
Lucien examined the corpse beneath his feet. What was once monstrous was now only data, decoded and still.
Suddenly, he understood his existence.
His mother—a dual-Pathway Beyonder of Hunter and Hermit—had not intended his birth. He was born as a vessel to purge unstable Hunter characteristics and prevent her descent into madness.
Lucien's vest had accidentally inherited what remained.
He turned toward the red-haired boy. In his state of perception, the boy was a massive stream of compacted, hostile data.
Curious, Lucien reached out.
"Don't use your powers on me," the boy warned.
"Sorry," Lucien replied sheepishly, returning to his physical form—though not before brushing the edge of the boy's informational stream.
He read:
[Name: Medici]
[Pathway: Hunter]
[Sequence: Weather Warlock (Sequence 2)]
Lucien froze.
Medici—the Weather Warlock, the King of Angels of the Red Priest Pathway.
Not just a cub. Not just a brat.
This was a literal angel, reborn.
And he had just spanked him.