The silence that followed was a heavy, suffocating blanket. The arena was now as quiet as a tomb.
Thousands of eyes were fixed on the solitary figure kneeling in the center of the sand. A boy covered in filth and blood. His own eyes burned like two crimson coals.
The shock was broken by a single set of footsteps. The Headmaster. His face was a pale, sweat-sheened mask of confusion and fear.
He cautiously approached Edward. He looked from the massive pile of black dust to the boy. His mind struggled to reconcile the two.
"Edward… Ross…" the Headmaster began. His voice was a hoarse, uncertain whisper. "What… what was that? What did you do?"
Edward didn't answer. He couldn't.
The raw soul energy he had absorbed was a raging storm within him. A chaotic symphony of the Behemoth's ancient instincts. Its primal rage. Its hunger.
He was fighting a war on two fronts. One against the power threatening to shatter his soul. The other against the agony in his mangled shoulder.
He pushed himself to his feet. A low groan escaped his lips. The red glow in his eyes faded. He was too exhausted to maintain the overflow.
He looked at the Headmaster. At the guards now circling him. Swords held low, but ready. He saw the fear in their eyes. The suspicion.
He had saved them all. His reward was to be treated like a rabid dog.
'Of course,' his inner voice rasped. The humor was blacker than the dust at his feet. 'No good deed goes unpunished. Especially when it involves eating a monster's soul in front of a live studio audience.'
"He needs a medic!" a voice cried from the stands. Sarah. Her face was a mask of genuine concern.
But the Headmaster raised a hand. "No. No one approaches him," he commanded. His voice regained a sliver of authority. His eyes were locked on Edward. But now they held a new, colder emotion. Calculation.
"Take him into custody. Place him in a containment cell. We need to… investigate this matter."
The guards, emboldened, closed in.
Edward didn't resist. He didn't have the strength. He allowed them to grab his arms. They half-dragged, half-carried him out of the arena. Away from the thousands of staring eyes. Down into the cold depths beneath the academy.
His new home was an Inquisition-grade containment cell.
The walls were carved from a single block of polished obsidian. Smooth and seamless. No bars. Only a solid, heavy iron door. The air was cold and still. Faint, ambient blue light emanated from runes in the stone. Light designed to suppress magical energies.
They tossed him inside without a word. They slammed the door. The sound of heavy bolts echoed in the small space.
He was left alone in the cold, silent dark.
He slumped against a wall. He needed to focus. The pain was a distraction. The fear was a luxury.
The most important thing was the power. The massive windfall of Soul Points. He had over 1500 SP. A staggering sum. A king's ransom. A sliver of real security in this hostile world.
He closed his eyes. He focused his intent on the one place he had any agency left.
He opened the [Market].
The familiar black void filled his vision. He bypassed the pathetic "Common" and "Uncommon" tabs. His days of shopping for junk were over. He went straight to the [Rare] category.
The list that appeared was a true armory. Gleaming swords. Enchanted armor. Artifacts. The prices were steep, but for the first time, they were within his reach.
He could buy armor. He could buy a long-range skill. He could buy a healing potion. Sensible choices.
But Edward wasn't feeling sensible. He was feeling cornered.
He wasn't a knight. He wasn't a mage. He was a predator. An assassin.
And what a predator needed was a better set of teeth.
His Bone Dagger had served its purpose. It was a crude tool. He needed a scalpel.
He filtered the list. Daggers. Dozens of options appeared.
He was looking for something specific. Something that felt like him. Dark, fast, and lethal.
And then he saw it.
[Shadowfang Dagger (Rare)]
[Description]: Forged from the crystallized shadow of a Void Lurker. The blade is unnaturally sharp and absorbs light. It craves the taste of souls.
[Special Trait]: [Soul Thirst] - For every 10 souls this weapon devours, its base damage permanently increases by 1.
[Price]: 1200 SP
Edward stared. It was perfect.
Not just a weapon. A companion in his curse. A tool that grew stronger the more he hunted. A blade whose nature mirrored his own.
It craves the taste of souls. A shiver, not of fear, but of recognition, ran down his spine. It was as if the dagger had been forged for him alone.
The price was exorbitant. It would consume most of his SP. But he didn't hesitate. He knew this was the right choice. This was the weapon that would define him.
`[Purchase Shadowfang Dagger for 1200 SP? Y/N]`
He confirmed. 1200 SP vanished.
In the center of his cell, a vortex of black dust swirled. It deposited the dagger on the stone floor with a soft clink.
He reached for it. His hand trembled with anticipation.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt, a jolt, cold and sharp, shot up his arm.
The blade itself was a masterpiece. A single, elegant shard of absolute blackness. A piece of solidified night that seemed to drink the light of the cell.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
And then he heard it.
Not a sound from the cell. A whisper. A faint, sibilant hiss that slithered directly into his mind.
...More...
Edward froze. He looked around the empty cell. He was alone.
...Feed me... the whisper came again. Clearer. An ancient sound, filled with a bottomless, echoing hunger.
It was coming from the dagger.
The blade wasn't just an enchanted object. It was sentient. A hungry ghost, bound to a shard of night. And it had just found a new master who could provide the only thing it craved.
'A monster with a monstrous weapon,' he thought, a grim smile on his lips. 'How fitting.'
He was no longer just a boy with a curse. He was an addict with a supplier. Their shared addiction was the essence of life.
The sound of heavy bolts broke the silence. The massive iron door creaked open.
An academy instructor stood in the doorway. His face was pale. His expression was carefully neutral. He refused to make eye contact.
"The Headmaster has… concluded his initial investigation," the instructor said. His voice was stiff and formal. "You have been cleared of any malicious wrongdoing."
Edward raised an eyebrow but said nothing. 'Cleared of wrongdoing? I saved the entire academy.'
"However," the instructor continued, his eyes flicking nervously to the black dagger in Edward's hand, "due to your… unique and uncatalogued abilities, you are to undergo a period of 'rehabilitation and observation.'
You are being assigned to an official dungeon exploration team. Effective immediately."
Edward felt a cold knot form in his stomach. A dungeon team. A leash. A way for them to watch him. To control the monster they were too afraid to kill.
"Who's the team leader?" Edward asked. His voice was low and raspy.
The instructor finally met his gaze. For a second, Edward saw a flicker of pity in the man's eyes.
"To ensure a proper, disciplined environment," the instructor said, reciting the official line, "you have been placed under the command of the academy's most exemplary student. Your team leader… is Chris."