Klein sat in silence as Elora's voice lingered in the air, soft yet unyielding, recounting the chain of choices that had led her here.
She had followed him into exile. Into disgrace. Into ruin.
But why?
Yes, she had been by his side since childhood—a constant shadow, a loyal hand. They had grown close, perhaps even fond of each other in the quiet ways that master and servant sometimes do.
But fondness was not enough to throw one's future into the fire. Not enough to embrace damnation.
As if she had seen the storm on his face, Elora's gaze steadied.
"You need not carry the weight of guilt, my lord. It is my choice. I chose this path, and I do not regret it."
Her words were iron wrapped in velvet.
Klein lifted his head, eyes narrowing as he searched her expression. He expected to find hesitation lurking in her eyes, some tremor of doubt.
Instead, all he saw was steel—a resolve that cut deeper than any blade.
"But why?" His voice was low, almost hoarse. "Why abandon a better life, safer walls, brighter prospects, just to follow me into shadow? I have no coin. No allies. No shield to give you. I am stripped of name and power. Why tie yourself to me when all I offer is suffering?"
"Because," she replied without so much as a heartbeat's pause, "I wish to serve you until the very end."
Her head bowed deeply, hair spilling forward like a golden waterfall.
"I have watched you grow, seen your spirit, your will that refuses to bend—even when every storm tried to break you. That is the kind of master I wish to serve. If you'll have me, then my path is yours."
For a long moment, Klein only stared. Her words struck something raw in him, a place he thought long cauterized.
His lips parted, closed again, and finally curved into a bitter smile.
Rubbing his temple, he exhaled. "Then so be it. I'll accept your service. Let's hope I continue to be worthy of it."
A flicker of warmth touched her eyes.
"I look forward to that, my lord." She straightened with practiced grace. "Rest now. I shall prepare your meal."
With that, she turned and left, leaving him alone with the weight of her vow.
Klein released a long, heavy sigh. His thoughts drifted to her earlier words.
Bronzebrook.
The name alone made his stomach knot. The town lay nestled within the Valemont fief, a small distance from the estate he once called home.
Of all places, why here?
He did not blame Elora—she had chosen the closest haven, a place where he could recover his strength—but the proximity was a blade pressed to his throat.
His siblings would not forget him simply because he had been cast out. Banished or not, he remained a rival, a threat lingering in the dark. And the closer he was to their reach, the sooner the knives would come.
His hand tightened in his lap. Danger circled already.
"System!" he called out.
A voice, sharp with irritation, crackled in his mind.
[Argh! Must you yell like a drunk beggar? Merely think your intent, or whisper if you must. Anything but bellowing.]
Klein blinked, lips twitching.
"Well, how convenient," he murmured. At least he wouldn't look mad, speaking to the air in public.
He tried the silent method the system had told him.
"So you claim your purpose is to guide me to power, correct?" he asked.
[Yes.]
His pulse quickened, fire lighting behind his eyes.
"Then tell me how," he demanded.
[The Sin System is designed to sustain the might of the Sin Cores.]
Klein's head tilted. "Sin Cores?"
[Indeed. Seven in total, each tied to what mortals call the Seven Deadly Sins.]
"The Seven Deadly Sins…" he echoed, brows furrowing. "They sound… foul."
A dry chuckle, like wind scraping bone, brushed his thoughts.
[Foul? That depends on perspective. Each Core is a font of power vast enough to shatter kingdoms. Left unchecked, they would consume the human body outright. That is why I exist—to temper them, to guide their bearer. You.]
Klein leaned forward, fingers curling. He no longer cared if this was witchcraft, divine gift, or the work of devils.
All that mattered was the promise laced in that voice. Power.
And he would seize it.
"So… they're like forbidden spells?" he asked, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and trepidation.
He had read about those once, buried deep in ancient tomes and whispered about in hushed tones by scholars too fearful to speak openly.
Forbidden spells—spells so catastrophic that kingdoms trembled at their mere mention. They could topple cities, drown armies in fire and blood, and leave entire provinces as barren wastelands.
But the cost was always grotesque—life itself. One spell might demand the sacrifice of a dozen seasoned mages to cast.
From what he had learned, the Almadeon Kingdom also had such spells hidden within their guarded archives, heavily concealed and fiercely protected.
They were spells so dreadful that neighboring kingdoms treated them as a lion would treat a snake—carefully, warily, never pressing too close.
Such power allowed the Almadeons to solidify their standing as one of the most powerful human kingdoms.
So if this "Sin Core" power was anything close to that—and it wasn't just one, but seven—his mouth went dry at the thought of bearing such strength.
The system's response coiled in his skull like molten steel.
[You could say they are akin to forbidden spells—though more powerful, in fact. For the Sin Cores are not mere spells, nor rituals bound by human logic or arcane structure. They are power itself—raw, primal, transcending every law mankind has ever recorded. To wield one is to hold authority beyond the concept of magic.]
Klein's pupils shrank, his chest heaving with quickened breaths.
Beyond forbidden spells? Beyond the limits of human craft? That meant power unchecked, a force not shackled by circle or chant.
His lips trembled before curving into a hungry grin.
"Then how do I get them? I'm ready."
The system cut in, its voice sharp with mocking amusement.
[Don't get your balls twisted. Just because I'll help ease the burden doesn't mean the power is tame. You will shoulder it. You will bleed beneath its weight. This is no simple inheritance but a crucible. You'll take the Cores one by one—and only if you survive the trial each demands. First, however, you must obtain their catalyst.]
Klein blinked, his eagerness cooled by creeping unease.
"Catalyst?"
[Each Sin Core slumbers behind a trial, and each trial requires a catalyst. Think of them as… keys scattered across the breadth of the world. Without them, the doors will never open. With them, the path begins.]
A heavy sigh rattled his chest. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as frustration pooled in him.
"So I'll have to scour the entire damn world for seven keys I don't even know the shape of?"
[Correct.]
His lips twisted. "Wonderful. I'd almost prefer if it just cost me a fortune. At least coins are easier to chase than whispers."
But the system's mocking voice cut through again.
[Don't sulk about it. Fortune smiles on you already. You carry one catalyst as we speak.]
Klein's head snapped up. "What?" His heart jolted with sudden hope. "Where?!"
[On you. Around your neck.]
His hand flew up, fingers brushing against the cool necklace that rested against his collarbone—the one Marcus had given him.
He didn't remember putting it on, so he suspected Elora must have done it.
He lifted the necklace in confusion. "This?"
[Not the chain. The pendant itself is the catalyst.]
Klein's heart thundered. He gripped the small object so tightly his knuckles whitened.
"So… catalysts don't have to look like keys?"
[Keys? Hah. Foolish. A catalyst can be anything. A jewel lost somewhere in the world, of different sizes and shapes. It could even be a rock lying in some forgotten place. Its shape means nothing. Only function matters.]
Klein's brows furrowed deeply as a heavy breath hissed from his lips.
The weight of realization pressed against him. If catalysts could hide in such mundane disguises, then how many were already locked away in vaults, worshiped as heirlooms, or forgotten entirely in dust?
Each one a silent gatekeeper to power untold.
The headache clawing at his skull grew sharper. He massaged his temples, exhaling heavily.
He should have felt triumphant. He had one already. Fate itself had handed him a beginning.
Yet the enormity of the road ahead was a mountain pressing against his shoulders.
Still, he forced a bitter smile. At least he wasn't starting empty-handed. At least Marcus had given him this.
He owed his brother more than words now. When they met again, Klein would return the favor—not only in gratitude but in curiosity.
He would like to know how Marcus had stumbled upon such a thing? Perhaps that knowledge would illuminate the shadows of where the others slumbered.
He turned the pendant over in his palm, the sunlight from the windows flickering across its surface.
Something so simple, so ordinary—yet it concealed the seed of an empire's worth of power.
His muttered words barely rose above a whisper.
"One step forward."
The door clicked.
Klein's head jerked toward the sound.
It seemed Elora had returned.