Human.
Awakened.
Vessel.
Revenant.
Ascended.
Archon.
Saint.
Those were the seven levels of powers a human was said to possess. By crossing through a realm, one would ascend to the next stage—and through this method, one could easily reach the peak of all humanity on the earth.
Ragnar thought as he slowly struggled with his regular pushups, increasing his usual limit by ten, which was almost half its normal value. He was not going easy on himself.
Was this because of how frustrated he had grown these few days?
'No, that's not it... or maybe it's because I have no idea what happened during the week I was murdered—and the only spy I have to bring me information is no more than a useless shadow that mixes up information in the worst possible way.'
Yes, that was it—the reality of him being surrounded by buffoons, unreliable companions.
However, Ragnar did not think more on the matter than it already demanded. After all, the shadow was not to be trusted.
It served two masters after all. And just because it went out to spy for Ragnar did not mean it wasn't doing the same behind his back—serving its one true master and feeding him better information than Ragnar got.
Stopping his workout, Ragnar sat himself up and then took his cup filled with water to hydrate, as he was sweating profusely.
'It's even more likely the person who killed me placed this shadow in me—to watch my every move and report back to him... He must really be cautious then.'
Ragnar continued down this line of thought for a while before eventually stopping himself from the argument within.
It was as he suspected—
"I've started going crazy. When did I get so accustomed to ranting and arguing with myself as though I'm two people?" Ragnar raised his hands to his face and, with his palm, rubbed his left eye a bit, as if to clear his gaze. Then he let out a sigh as his gaze met the sight of the prisoner.
The lone shadow, clad in large bulky chains, just stared at the young Lord—or so he believed.
"What?—"
The shadow gave no reply to Ragnar's rueful voice. It only continued to stare.
Ragnar opened his mouth to speak further, then held his tongue. The shadows could not speak, so there was no hope in trying to manipulate them—or trying to realize their motives, if needed.
So he took his time to think on his own for a while before speaking.
"Do you know why Ragnar... I mean..." He stuttered and quickly corrected his error, not wanting to raise unwanted suspicion. "Do you know why I spend most of my time in my room? It's because, one—the nobles are not obligated to be there for classes and training, as they can order private classes. Another reason is because I knew the other nobles would bully me for being the son of the weak noble family. And the third is because of a yandere-type girl that is so cringe... which I find really stupid now—"
Ragnar's gaze widened as, for the first time, the indifferent shadow made a movement. It tilted its head a little, so that it looked almost confused as to why Ragnar had said this.
Ragnar took his time and scrunched up his nose as he thought of the simplest way to put it.
"Well, this body has little to no battle experience. Injuries and efficiency? Though the body has trained well enough in this room, it has not yet battled a proper opponent—so it's useless."
"A dog that only barks and cannot bite is like a fish drowning in a river," the young Lord paused and stared at the prisoner, who nodded before reverting to its usual indifference. "That's how useless this body is."
Taking a long pause, the two seemed to just stare—Ragnar taking his time to look at the Poet, still scribbling in his notes. He seemed like the only one not so interested in Ragnar or the situation happening all around.
'An author with imagination as the ink of his quill... how unending.' The young Lord absorbed the situation and then turned to the prisoner once more.
"My father is merely a Vessel. My elder brother Aaron is on the same rank as him. The other noble heads are at least the Revenant, and the highest is the Archon, I suppose. But I'll be aiming at the peak of it all. It will be a very dreary adventure you're going to accompany me on—so you'd better be more compliant, bastard," Ragnar's voice was back to being commanding and cold.
The prisoner remained indifferent for a second, and then its head turned to the direction of the Poet.
"How convenient," Ragnar frowned as he stared at the Poet. It had stopped scribbling away at the shadow book for a second.
It seemed to be thinking—and when it finally grasped something, it began writing again and...
{Ding!}
{The Poet has seen a glimpse of interest in your facade. He has written about you in his pages.}
Ragnar's throat tightened, and his eyes grew wide as he took his eyes off the notification and back to the Poet.
'What?!—'
{Pride... Wrath... Greed... Selfishness... Lust... Sloth... All these are hidden under many faces. But you hold all faces within one—a certain eclipse that has no ending. You are the lowest of the low, the rags aimed at being the wears of kings.}
{Your Title: Faceless Son of Darkness}
Ragnar's face turned grim as he asked himself,
'What does this mean? Named by a shadow.'