Day Nine.
I woke to sunlight streaming through my windows and the dull ache of healing wounds. My shoulder throbbed with each breath, but it was manageable pain—the kind that said recovery was happening, not worsening.
I sat up carefully, testing my range of motion. Stiff, definitely. Limited, absolutely. But functional.
Rita appeared within minutes of me rising, as if she'd been waiting. She carried fresh bandages and another amber healing potion.
"How does it feel?" she asked, already unwrapping yesterday's bloodstained bandages.
"Better. Still hurts, but I can move it."
She examined the wound with professional efficiency. The potion and my mana circulation had done their work—what had been a ragged puncture yesterday was now pink scar tissue, still tender but closed.
"Remarkable healing speed," Rita observed, applying a final low-grade potion directly to the scar. "Between the potions and whatever you're doing with your mana, you'll be at maybe eighty percent by tomorrow."
"Good enough."
"For what?" She wrapped fresh bandages, her movements precise. "You're planning to return to the ruins, aren't you?"
"I have twelve more kills needed for a quest. Yes."
Rita was silent for a long moment. "Most people would rest another day. Take time to fully recover."
"Most people have time to waste. I don't."
She didn't argue, just finished the bandaging and packed her supplies. "Try not to tear the stitches. Again."
After she left, I checked my status.
[STATUS DISPLAY]
NAME: Leon De Stellis
AGE: 17
RANK: Mortal (Low, 16%)
CONDITION: Recovering (Moderate injury healing, estimated 80% combat capability)
ACTIVE QUESTS:
- Survive the Astral Academy Entrance Exam (9 days remaining)
- Foundations of Power: Reach 25% Mortal Rank (3 days remaining, 9% progress needed)
- Predator's Path: Defeat 50 monsters without retreating (1 day remaining, 38/50 completed)
One day to finish Predator's Path. Three days to gain nine percent rank progress.
Nine days until Arielle De Luna killed Leon De Stellis.
Unless I became strong enough to change that outcome.
I dressed, ate a quick breakfast alone—Father was gone early, siblings nowhere to be seen—and headed to the stables.
Shadow nickered softly as I approached, and I could have sworn the horse looked judgmental about yesterday's blood-soaked return.
"Don't start," I muttered, mounting up. "We're doing this again."
The ride to the ruins was becoming routine. Two hours through Lourven Domain, past subjects who moved aside with practiced fear, into the wild lands where monsters lurked.
I spent the journey practicing mana circulation, feeling how it had become almost second nature now. The Intermediate level made it flow like breathing—present, constant, effortless.
My shoulder protested the movement, but I worked through it. Pain was just information. It told me my limits, and I was nowhere near them yet.
The ruins appeared, skeletal and familiar. I dismounted, tied Shadow to his usual tree, and drew my sword.
Twelve more kills. Then I'd complete Predator's Path and earn Combat Instinct.
Time to finish what I'd started.
---
The first wolf pack found me within twenty minutes.
Five wolves this time, spreading out in their typical flanking pattern. But today I had the advantage of experience, and my new understanding of efficient combat.
I didn't wait for them to position. I charged the nearest wolf, closing distance before it expected, and my blade took it across the throat in one clean motion.
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 39/50]
The pack scattered, reassessing. I pressed forward, controlling the engagement, not letting them dictate the pace.
Second wolf lunged. I sidestepped—minimal movement, conserving energy—and drove my blade through its ribcage. Heart shot. Dead before it hit the ground.
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 40/50]
The remaining three attacked together. Coordinated, but I'd fought enough wolf packs to read their patterns now.
Left wolf: Parried its lunge, riposte through its eye socket.
Center wolf: It overcommitted to its attack. I used its momentum, guided it past me, slashed across its exposed flank.
Right wolf: Tried to flee. I threw my sword—Leon's muscle memory making the motion smooth—and the blade caught it in the hindquarters. Finished it quickly.
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 43/50]
Five wolves, maybe ninety seconds total. Clean. Efficient. My shoulder ached but held.
Progress.
I moved deeper into the ruins, tracking prey systematically. Found a cluster of four slimes in what had once been a cistern. Tedious work cutting them apart, but it went faster now that I'd learned to aim for their cores first—small crystalline centers that, once destroyed, made the slimes collapse into inert goo.
[SLIME DEFEATED] x4
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 47/50]
Three more kills. I needed goblins—they were worth the most experience, even if they were the most dangerous.
I found them near what had once been the fortress's main keep. Three goblins on patrol, crude spears in hand, scouting for prey or threats.
They spotted me at the same time I spotted them.
No surprise advantage this time. Just straight combat.
The goblins spread out immediately, coordinating without words. Smart. Dangerous.
I maintained my mana circulation, feeling the energy enhance my body, and engaged.
First goblin thrust its spear at my chest. I deflected with my blade—the clang of metal on metal echoing through the ruins—stepped inside its guard, and drove my sword through its throat.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 48/50]
The other two attacked simultaneously from different angles. This was the test—could I handle multiple intelligent opponents while injured?
My shoulder screamed as I twisted to parry a spear thrust from my left. The parry wasn't perfect—the spear tip grazed my already injured shoulder, sending white-hot pain through my body—but I didn't let it slow me.
I kicked out, caught the left goblin in its knee, heard something crunch. It stumbled.
The right goblin pressed the attack, sensing weakness. Its spear thrust toward my ribs. I sidestepped—barely—and brought my blade down in a brutal overhead chop that split its skull.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 49/50]
One left. The goblin with the broken knee was trying to crawl away, spear abandoned, fear in its eyes.
I should have felt something. Mercy, perhaps. Hesitation.
But I felt nothing except the cold calculation that this was the final kill needed for quest completion.
My blade ended it quickly.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 50/50]
The notification I'd been waiting for appeared:
[QUEST COMPLETE: PREDATOR'S PATH]
[50 MONSTERS DEFEATED WITHOUT RETREAT]
[CALCULATING REWARDS...]
[REWARD GRANTED: COMBAT INSTINCT]
[REWARD GRANTED: AGILITY +2]
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
COMBAT INSTINCT
Your body has learned to read danger before your conscious mind processes it. Grants enhanced threat detection, pattern recognition in combat, improved spatial awareness, and the ability to read enemy intentions from micro-movements. This skill grows with experience.
The change was immediate and profound.
The world sharpened. I became aware of sounds I hadn't consciously registered—wind moving through broken walls, the scuttle of small animals in the rubble, the way shadows fell at different angles throughout the ruins.
More than that, I could feel the space around me. The distances, the angles, the potential threats.
I tested it by closing my eyes and spinning slowly. My Combat Instinct painted a mental map of my surroundings—collapsed walls to my left, open courtyard behind me, narrow passage to my right.
When I opened my eyes, the map was accurate.
"This," I said aloud to no one, "is going to be useful."
I checked my status.
[STATUS DISPLAY]
NAME: Leon De Stellis
AGE: 17
RANK: Mortal (Low, 18%)
ATTRIBUTES:
- Strength: 12
- Agility: 17 (+2)
- Endurance: 13
- Mana Pool: 10
- Mana Control: 9
- Intelligence: 18
- Wisdom: 16
- Charisma: 14
TALENTS:
- Basic Sword Affinity (Level 1)
- Mana Circulation (Intermediate)
- Combat Instinct (Passive)
Two percent rank increase from today's fights. Two points of agility. And a new passive skill that fundamentally changed how I perceived combat.
Good progress. But I still needed seven percent more to complete Foundations of Power, and I had three days to do it.
Which meant more grinding. More fighting. More—
My Combat Instinct pinged.
Not danger, exactly. More like... curiosity. An awareness of something I hadn't noticed before.
I turned slowly, scanning the ruins. What was different? I'd been here multiple times, fought through these same corridors and courtyards.
Then I saw it.
A section of collapsed wall that I'd passed dozens of times. But now, with Combat Instinct active, I noticed something off about it. The rubble was positioned oddly, and there was air movement—a faint breeze coming from beneath the fallen stones.
Air movement meant open space below.
I approached carefully, my new skill keeping me alert for threats. Used my sword to probe the rubble, testing stability. Then I began moving stones aside.
It took twenty minutes of careful work, but eventually I cleared enough to reveal what was hidden: stone stairs, descending into darkness beneath the ruins.
I stared down into the black opening, Combat Instinct analyzing the space beyond. Old. Very old. And something else—a presence, maybe. Not hostile, but significant.
I should probably head back. I'd completed my quest, gained valuable skills, made progress on my rank.
But Jake had spent twenty-three years playing it safe, and it had gotten him nowhere except dead.
Leon De Stellis was arrogant, confident, the kind of person who saw a mysterious underground passage and thought "opportunity" rather than "danger."
And I was both of them now.
I lit a torch from my pack—always prepared—and began my descent.
---
The stairs were ancient, worn smooth by time and maybe countless feet in ages past. They descended far deeper than the ruins' foundations should have gone, cutting through bedrock, following some design that predated the fortress above.
My Combat Instinct remained alert but detected no immediate threats. Just... presence. History. Weight.
The stairs opened into a hallway, and I stopped, holding my torch high.
The passage was magnificent and terrible in equal measure.
Stone sentinels lined both sides—warrior statues easily twice my height, carved with impossible detail. Each held a different weapon: swords, spears, axes, bows, halberds, maces. Their faces were hidden behind helmets, but I could feel them watching despite being stone.
The architecture was nothing like the ruins above. This was older, more refined. The walls were covered in carved runes that seemed to shimmer in my torchlight, script I couldn't read but that felt important.
The hallway stretched ahead into darkness, and at its end, I could see a faint glow.
I walked forward slowly, boots echoing on stone floors that had known no footsteps for who knew how long.
As I approached the halfway point, I noticed something on the wall to my right—an inscription, larger than the runes, carved in relief.
Two swords, depicted in exquisite detail.
One radiated light, carved lines suggesting brilliance and warmth. Silverbright, my mind supplied from Marcus's knowledge. The hero's blade. Arielle's weapon in the game.
The other radiated darkness, carved shadows that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The lines suggested not just darkness but something deeper—an unfathomable void that swallowed everything.
Between the two blades, carved in script that was somehow readable despite being an ancient language I shouldn't understand:
Here lies the tale of twin blades, forged in the First Age when gods walked among mortals. Silverbright, born of dawn's first light, blessed by the celestial chorus, destined to be wielded by heroes and saints.
Blackheart, born of the void between stars, cursed by the fallen, destined to be wielded by those who would defy fate itself.
Light and Dark. Hero and Villain. Salvation and Damnation.
Two paths, two destinies, two endings to the same story.
Choose wisely, wanderer, for the blade chooses its wielder as much as the wielder chooses the blade.
I stared at the inscription, my heart pounding. Blackheart. The dark counterpart to Silverbright.
Arielle's blade had a twin. An opposite.
And it was down here. Had to be. That's what the glow at the hallway's end was—not light, but darkness made visible.
I should turn back. This was clearly some kind of test or trial, and I was in no condition for either.
But my feet kept moving forward, drawn by something I couldn't name. Destiny? Fate? Or just the desperate hunger for power that might let me survive?
The hallway opened into a circular chamber. The stone sentinels continued here, forming a ring around the room's perimeter, all facing inward toward the center.
At the chamber's heart stood a podium of dark stone, so black it seemed to be carved from solidified night.
And embedded in that podium, waiting, was a sword.
Obsidian blade, black as midnight, absorbing my torchlight rather than reflecting it. The hilt was wrapped in leather so dark it looked like shadow given form. No crossguard, just a simple straight blade that tapered to a wicked point.
It was beautiful in the way a storm was beautiful. Terrible in the way death was terrible.
I could feel it from across the chamber. Not magic, exactly. More like... recognition. Like the blade knew I was here, and was waiting.
My Combat Instinct should have been screaming warnings. Instead, it was silent. Watchful. Waiting to see what I would do.
I crossed the chamber slowly, my footsteps echoing. The stone sentinels felt more present here, like they were truly watching rather than merely facing inward.
I stopped before the podium, staring down at the obsidian blade.
Blackheart.
The dark twin to Silverbright.
A cursed blade for villains and those who defied fate.
And I was definitely defying fate. Refusing to die as Leon De Stellis was supposed to die. Refusing to be cannon fodder for the protagonist's story.
I reached out, hesitated with my hand inches from the hilt.
This was a choice. A permanent one, probably. Whatever this blade was, whatever power it offered, there would be a cost.
There was always a cost.
But what choice did I really have? I was at sixteen percent Mortal rank with nine days until the entrance exam. I had basic skills, moderate talent, and a System that promised power through relentless effort.
Was that enough to survive Arielle De Luna? The protagonist with plot armor and a legendary blade?
Probably not.
But a legendary blade of my own? The dark twin to her light?
That might be enough.
"Fuck it," I muttered. "I've already died once. What's the worst that could happen?"
I gripped the hilt.
Cold.
That was my first sensation. Not the cold of ice, but something deeper. The cold of void, of empty space between stars, of places where light had never reached.
The cold spread from the hilt up my arm, through my chest, into my core. Not painful, but profoundly wrong. Like something that shouldn't exist in the material world had just touched my soul.
My vision exploded with text—red text, warnings, information cascading faster than I could process.
[WARNING: CURSED ARTIFACT DETECTED]
[LEGENDARY WEAPON IDENTIFIED: BLACKHEART]
[DANGER LEVEL: EXTREME]
[ANALYZING...]
[BLACKHEART - THE FALLEN BLADE]
[GRADE: LEGENDARY (CURSED)]
[COUNTERPART TO: SILVERBRIGHT (HERO'S BLADE)]
[ANALYSIS: Blackheart and Silverbright are twin blades forged in the First Age. While Silverbright embodies heroic ideals and holy power, Blackheart mirrors its structure through corruption and darkness. They are perfect opposites, equal in power, opposite in nature.]
[CORE ABILITIES:]
[MANA CORRUPTION:]
- Enhances wielder's mana output by 300%
- Corrupts mana into dark energy that burns with cold fire
- Wounds inflicted by this blade do not heal naturally
- Festering effect: injuries continue damaging targets over time
- Dark mana leaves lingering corruption in victims
- Cost: Wielder's mana takes on corrupted properties permanently
[UNNATURAL STRENGTH:]
- Grants strength beyond normal physical limits (+15 Strength while wielding)
- Effect feels physically wrong - bones creak under pressure, muscles bulge unnaturally
- As if something else moves through the wielder's body
- Allows feats of strength impossible for current rank
- Cost: Physical strain on body, sensation of wrongness that never fades
[TECHNIQUE PERVERSION:]
- Amplifies all sword techniques by 200%
- Corrupts techniques into twisted versions:
- Rising slash becomes wave of crawling darkness
- Thrust spawns shadowy afterimages that strike independently
- Parry returns deflected attacks as dark energy
- Defensive forms create barriers of shadow
- All techniques gain dark element properties
- Techniques become visibly corrupted and unnatural
- Cost: Techniques mark wielder as user of forbidden/cursed arts
[MALEVOLENT AURA (PASSIVE):]
- Projects aura of dread and wrongness in 10-meter radius
- Weakens enemy resolve and combat effectiveness
- Causes deep unease even in allies and neutral parties
- Marks wielder as something to be feared rather than followed
- Cannot be toggled off while blade is drawn
- Grows stronger with wielder's power
- Cost: Social isolation, allies will instinctively distrust/fear wielder
[CURSE PROPERTIES:]
- Blade cannot be permanently discarded once soul-bonded
- Can be stored/sheathed but never truly abandoned
- Slowly influences wielder's personality toward darkness and isolation
- Using blade's power accelerates corruption of mind and soul
- Extended use may result in complete personality transformation
- Requires strong will and sense of self to resist full corruption
- Warning: No wielder in recorded history has fully resisted corruption
[COMPATIBILITY ANALYSIS:]
[HOST POTENTIAL: PARADOX]
[COMPATIBILITY: 87%]
[ANALYSIS: Host's Paradox-tier potential provides unusual resistance to corruption. Host can wield Blackheart longer than normal users before succumbing. However, corruption remains inevitable without countermeasures.]
[SOUL-BOND AVAILABLE]
[ACCEPT BLACKHEART AS SOUL-BOUND WEAPON? YES/NO]
[WARNING: THIS DECISION IS PERMANENT AND IRREVERSIBLE]
[WARNING: ACCEPTING WILL MARK HOST AS WIELDER OF CURSED BLADE]
[WARNING: CORRUPTION WILL BEGIN IMMEDIATELY UPON ACCEPTANCE]
I stared at the cascade of information, my hand still gripping the cold hilt.
This blade was everything the System warned about. Cursed, corrupting, isolating. It would make me stronger but also make me something feared, something dark.
It would mark me as a villain, not a hero.
But I'd never planned to be a hero. Heroes in stories had plot armor, destiny on their side, the certainty that the narrative would bend to ensure their victory.
Villains? Villains had to be stronger, smarter, more ruthless just to survive in a story designed for their defeat.
And I was already cast as the villain. Leon De Stellis, the cannon fodder antagonist of Arc One, scheduled to die so Arielle could level up.
If I was going to play that role, I might as well embrace it fully.
Besides, the blade was perfect for what I needed. Three hundred percent mana enhancement. Massive strength boost. Technique amplification. All the power I desperately needed to survive.
The cost? Corruption, isolation, becoming something dark.
But what was the alternative? Stay weak, stay safe, and die in nine days when Arielle De Luna killed me at the entrance exam?
Jake had died helpless, watching his body fail while unable to do anything about it.
I refused to die helpless again.
And my Paradox potential meant I had better resistance than anyone else would. I could control this. Use the power without succumbing completely.
I had to believe that. Had to believe I was strong enough.
"I accept," I said aloud, my voice echoing in the ancient chamber.
[SOUL-BOND INITIATED]
The cold in my hand turned to ice, then to something beyond cold. The sensation spread through my entire body, rewriting something fundamental at the core of my being.
[BINDING IN PROGRESS...]
[10%...]
[25%...]
[50%...]
Pain exploded through me. Not physical pain—something deeper. Soul-deep. Like parts of me were being torn apart and rewoven into a new pattern.
[75%...]
I gasped, fell to my knees, but my hand wouldn't release the blade. Couldn't release it.
[90%...]
Images flashed through my mind. Not my memories. Someone else's. Everyone else's. Every previous wielder of Blackheart, their faces, their corruption, their inevitable fall into darkness.
Knights who became monsters. Heroes who became villains. Saints who became demons.
All of them had thought they could control it.
None of them had succeeded.
[100%]
[SOUL-BOND COMPLETE]
[BLACKHEART REGISTERED TO: LEON DE STELLIS]
[CORRUPTION RESISTANCE: ACTIVE]
[NEW AFFINITY ACQUIRED: DARKNESS]
The pain faded. The cold remained, but it was manageable now. Part of me.
I stood slowly, and the obsidian blade came free from the podium effortlessly, as if it had been waiting all along for the right person to claim it.
A scabbard appeared on my hip—black leather, simple design, sized perfectly for Blackheart. The blade slid into it smoothly, and the moment it was sheathed, I felt some of the wrongness recede.
But not completely. Never completely.
I could feel it now. The Malevolent Aura, pulsing from me in waves. Making the torchlight flicker strangely, casting shadows that moved wrong.
The stone sentinels around the chamber seemed to shift, though they remained frozen. A trick of the light, or recognition of ancient power claimed?
I checked my status with trembling hands.
[STATUS DISPLAY]
NAME: Leon De Stellis
AGE: 17
RANK: Mortal (Low, 18%)
AFFINITY: (??????)
ATTRIBUTES:
- Strength: 12 (27 with Blackheart drawn)
- Agility: 17
- Endurance: 13
- Mana Pool: 10
- Mana Control: 9
- Intelligence: 18
- Wisdom: 16
- Charisma: 14
TALENTS:
- Sword Affinity (Level 1)
- Mana Circulation (Intermediate)
- Combat Instinct (Passive)
- Dark Affinity (Level 1)
‐‐‐
CORRUPTION LEVEL: 1% (Paradox resistance active)
MALEVOLENT AURA: Active (Passive effect, cannot be disabled)
I stared at the corruption percentage. Only one percent. That was... manageable. The Paradox potential was doing its job.
But the warnings had been clear. Using Blackheart's power would accelerate corruption. Every fight, every technique, every moment of drawing on its cursed abilities would push that percentage higher.
Eventually, if I wasn't careful, I'd cross a threshold where I couldn't come back.
But I'd deal with that when the time came.
Right now, I needed to test what I'd just claimed.
I turned and left the chamber, retracing my steps through the hallway of stone sentinels and up the ancient stairs. The blade at my hip felt comfortable, natural, like it had always belonged there.
When I emerged back into the ruins proper, late afternoon sunlight greeted me. I'd been underground longer than I'd realized—hours, probably.
I drew Blackheart.
The obsidian blade seemed to drink the sunlight, pulling shadows toward it. And the moment it left its scabbard, I felt the full weight of the Malevolent Aura activate.
The air grew heavier. The light seemed dimmer. And I could feel the wrongness radiating from me in waves.
Combat Instinct pinged—movement to my left. A wolf, drawn by the scent of blood from my earlier fights.
Perfect timing.
The wolf saw me and hesitated, its instincts warring. Prey was prey, but something about me made it uncertain.
I channeled mana through my pathways, and Blackheart responded. The energy flowing through me twisted, corrupted, becoming something dark and cold. My mana pool hadn't increased, but the output—
I could feel the difference immediately. Three hundred percent enhancement. What should have been a small boost of mana felt like a flood of power.
The wolf snarled and charged, deciding hunger outweighed fear.
I performed a basic horizontal slash—the same technique I'd used hundreds of times.
But this was different.
The blade cut through the air, and darkness followed—not metaphorical darkness, but actual shadow trailing from the obsidian edge. The slash connected with the wolf mid-leap.
The effect was devastating.
The blade didn't just cut. It corrupted. Where it struck, the wolf's flesh blackened, withered, festered. The creature didn't die immediately—it collapsed, whimpering, as the dark energy spread from the wound.
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[BLACKHEART CURSE EFFECT: Active]
[CORRUPTION LEVEL: 1.2%]
I stared at the dead wolf, at the blackened wound that continued to smoke and decay even after death.
This was what Blackheart did. Not clean kills, but corrupted ones. Suffering ones.
I felt... nothing. No guilt, no horror. Just cold analysis of effectiveness.
Was that the blade's influence already? Or was it just Leon's arrogance and Jake's pragmatism combining into something that could look at suffering and feel nothing?
I didn't know. Couldn't know.
I sheathed Blackheart, and the Malevolent Aura receded slightly. The corruption level didn't decrease—damage done—but at least the active effects faded.
A notification appeared:
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: MASTER THE DARKNESS]
[OBJECTIVE: Learn to control Blackheart's power without succumbing to complete corruption]
[DIFFICULTY: A-RANK]
[TIME LIMIT: Before corruption becomes irreversible (Current threshold: 50%)]
[REWARD: Dark Combat Style, Corruption Resistance +50%, New Talent]
[FAILURE: Complete corruption, loss of self, transformation into something inhuman]
Fifty percent. That was my line. If corruption reached halfway, I'd lose myself completely.
Currently at 1.2 percent. That gave me... room. Not much, considering each use of Blackheart's power increased corruption, but room.
I needed to be strategic. Use the blade when necessary, keep it sheathed when not. Control the corruption rather than letting it control me.
I could do this. I had to.
Shadow was where I'd left him, though the horse shied away when I approached. The Malevolent Aura made him nervous, made his instincts scream danger.
I murmured soothing sounds, kept Blackheart sheathed, and eventually managed to calm him enough to mount.
The ride back to Lourven Domain was strange. Animals fled before me. Birds went silent as I passed. Even the wind seemed to avoid me, creating a pocket of still air around my presence.
The Malevolent Aura, marking me as something wrong.
By the time I reached the estate, the sun was setting, painting everything in shades of blood and gold.
The guards at the gate saw me approaching and immediately tensed. They couldn't explain why—I looked the same as always, gave no obvious threat—but their instincts recognized something had changed.
They let me through quickly, relief visible on their faces once I'd passed.
The courtyard was busy with evening activities—servants finishing tasks, guards changing shifts. But as I rode through, conversations stopped. People paused in their work, turning to look at me.
Not with curiosity. With unease.
They felt it. The wrongness. The darkness that now clung to me like a second skin.
Rita materialized from the shadows—appropriate, given she was an assassin—and approached as I dismounted. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I saw her hand drift toward the concealed blade at her waist.
Her instincts recognized me as a threat now.
"Young master," she said, her voice measured. "You're back late."
"I got... distracted." I gestured vaguely toward the ruins. "Found something interesting."
Her eyes tracked to Blackheart on my hip. The blade was sheathed, unremarkable to casual inspection, but Rita wasn't casual about anything.
"That's a new sword," she observed.
"Yes."
"May I see it?"
I almost refused. The thought of drawing Blackheart here, in the courtyard, surrounded by people who would feel its full Malevolent Aura, seemed unwise.
But Rita had asked, and refusing would only raise more questions.
I drew the blade slowly.
Rita's reaction was immediate and visceral. She stepped back, hand going to her weapon, every line of her body screaming combat readiness.
Around the courtyard, others reacted similarly. Servants backed away. Guards reached for swords. Even Shadow tried to bolt, only stopped by his reins tied to the post.
The Malevolent Aura washed over everyone, and their instincts told them one truth: this was a weapon of power and darkness, and the person holding it was dangerous.
I held the blade up, letting Rita see it properly, then sheathed it. The moment Blackheart slid into its scabbard, the pressure eased. People could breathe again.
Rita's expression had shifted. Recognition, maybe. Or just understanding that I'd claimed something significant and terrible.
"That," she said quietly, "is not a weapon for heroes, young master."
"Good thing I'm not trying to be one."
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded once. "Dinner is in an hour. Your father expects your attendance."
She left without another word, but I saw her glance back once, her assassin instincts still screaming warnings about me.
I led Shadow to the stables, where the stable boys gave me a wide berth. Left the horse with trembling hands reaching for reins, then made my way to my chambers.
As I walked through the estate, I saw Kira in a hallway. She looked at me, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and hurried away. Whatever she'd wanted to say, the Malevolent Aura had chased it from her mind.
Frey I glimpsed through a window, watching me cross the courtyard. He raised a hand in greeting, but the gesture faltered. Something about me made him uncomfortable now, made him choose distance over connection.
My siblings were pulling away, and I'd only had the blade for hours.
This was the cost. Isolation. Fear. Being marked as something dark.
But I'd accepted that cost when I gripped Blackheart's hilt.
In my chambers, I locked the door and examined the blade properly.
I drew it slowly, studying the obsidian surface. No reflection—the blade absorbed light completely. Runes were carved along its length in the same script as the sanctuary walls, spelling out words I couldn't read but somehow understood:
From darkness born, to darkness wed, by darkness shall thy enemies fall, until darkness claims thee whole.
A promise and a warning.
I practiced basic forms with the blade, feeling how it moved. It was perfectly balanced, responding to my intentions with eerie precision. Each movement felt amplified, more powerful, trailing shadows that had no physical source.
My Basic Sword Affinity recognized the blade as something special, something that enhanced my techniques beyond normal limits.
But I could also feel the corruption, subtle but present. With each swing, each channeling of dark mana through the blade, that percentage ticked upward.
1.3%
1.4%
1.5%
I stopped practicing and sheathed the blade. I needed to be careful. Needed to use Blackheart strategically, not recklessly.
[CORRUPTION LEVEL: 1.5%]
[WARNING: Continuous use without purpose accelerates corruption inefficiently]
[RECOMMENDATION: Reserve Blackheart for actual combat. Practice with standard blade when possible.]
Smart advice. I had a normal sword still—the one I'd been using all week. I should save Blackheart for when I truly needed its power.
A bell chimed through the estate. Dinner time.
I washed quickly, changed into clean clothes that didn't smell of blood and monster gore, and made my way to the dining hall.
---
Father was already seated when I arrived, reading correspondence as always. Frey and Kira sat in their usual positions, though I noticed both had chosen seats slightly farther from mine than normal.
I took my place to Father's right, and the moment I sat, I felt the temperature in the room drop slightly. The Malevolent Aura was still present even with Blackheart sheathed, just reduced. A lingering wrongness that made everyone instinctively uncomfortable.
Father's eyes lifted from his papers, settling on me with that cold, assessing gaze. His expression didn't change, but I saw his attention shift to Blackheart on my hip.
For a long moment, he stared at the blade. Then his eyes met mine, and something passed between us—recognition, perhaps. Or acknowledgment.
Duke Aldric De Stellis dealt with demons. He knew dark power when he saw it.
But he said nothing. Just returned to his correspondence as servants brought food.
Dinner proceeded in uncomfortable silence. Frey kept glancing at me, then looking away quickly when I noticed. Kira focused on her plate with unusual intensity, avoiding eye contact entirely.
They felt it. The wrongness. Their brother had left this morning and returned as something that made their instincts scream danger.
"Leon," Father said suddenly, not looking up from his papers. "You found something in the ruins."
Not a question. A statement.
"Yes."
"Something of power."
"Yes."
"Cursed power, if I'm not mistaken." He set down his papers, finally giving me his full attention. "That blade carries weight. History. The kind of thing that destroys lesser men."
I met his gaze steadily. "Good thing I'm not a lesser man."
Father's lips twitched in what might have been amusement. Or approval. "Indeed. House Stellis has never been afraid of dark bargains. We deal with demons, trade in forbidden knowledge, walk paths others fear to tread." He paused. "But we survive because we're strong enough to control what we claim. Are you strong enough, Leon?"
"I will be."
"We'll see." He returned to his meal. "The entrance exam is in nine days. Whatever you've claimed, whatever price you've agreed to pay, it had better be worth it. House Stellis cannot afford public failure."
"I won't fail."
Father nodded once, and the conversation died.
But the message was clear: he recognized what I'd done, understood the implications, and didn't care as long as I succeeded.
Results mattered. Methods didn't.
That was the Stellis way.
After dinner, I returned to my chambers. The estate felt different now—or maybe I felt different moving through it. Servants avoided me. Guards watched me with wary eyes. Even the shadows seemed deeper where I walked.
In my room, I sat on my bed and checked my final status for the day.
[STATUS DISPLAY]
NAME: Leon De Stellis
AGE: 17
RANK: Mortal (Low, 18%)
AFFINITY: [??????]
ATTRIBUTES:
- Strength: 12 (27 with Blackheart)
- Agility: 17
- Endurance: 13
- Mana Pool: 10
- Mana Control: 9
- Intelligence: 18
- Wisdom: 16
- Charisma: 14
TALENTS:
- Sword Affinity (Level 1)
- Mana Circulation (Intermediate)
- Combat Instinct (Passive)
- Dark Affinity (Level 1)
‐‐‐
CORRUPTION LEVEL: 1.5%
ACTIVE QUESTS:
- Survive the Astral Academy Entrance Exam (9 days remaining)
- Foundations of Power: Reach 25% Mortal Rank (3 days remaining, 7% progress needed)
- Master the Darkness (A-Rank, complete before 50% corruption)
MALEVOLENT AURA: Active (Reduced while blade sheathed)
Nine days until I faced Arielle De Luna at the entrance exam.
But now I had Blackheart. The dark twin to her Silverbright. The cursed blade to counter her blessed one.
I had Combat Instinct, enhanced agility, and a weapon that amplified everything I did by three hundred percent.
I was stronger than I'd been yesterday. Significantly stronger.
But I was also marked now. Changed. The Malevolent Aura meant I could never hide what I'd become, could never pretend to be just another noble student.
Everyone who saw me would feel the wrongness. Would recognize that I'd claimed something dark and terrible.
I would be feared. Isolated. Marked as a villain in a story designed for heroes.
But I'd already been cast as the villain. Leon De Stellis, the cannon fodder antagonist who dies in Arc One.
At least now I had the power to rewrite that ending.
I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting on Blackheart's hilt.
The blade pulsed with a slow, steady rhythm. Like a heartbeat. Or maybe like corruption spreading through my soul one drop at a time.
Jake Cornelli had died helpless, drowning in his own blood, unable to control his fate.
Original Leon De Stellis was scheduled to die in nine days, killed to make the protagonist stronger.
But I was neither of them now. I was something new. Something with a cursed blade and the determination to survive no matter the cost.
"Better a living demon than a dead saint," I muttered to the darkness.
The darkness didn't answer, but Blackheart pulsed once in agreement.
Outside my window, Lourven Domain settled into night. Somewhere out there, Arielle De Luna was preparing for the entrance exam, probably with Silverbright already in her possession, confident in her destiny as the hero.
She had no idea that the villain she was supposed to kill easily had just claimed the dark twin to her blessed blade.
She had no idea that Leon De Stellis wasn't going to roll over and die for her character development.
I smiled into the darkness, cold and sharp as Blackheart's edge.
Nine days.
I'd use every single one of them to become strong enough that when we met at the entrance exam, it wouldn't be a foregone conclusion.
It would be a real fight.
And may the best blade win.
I closed my eyes, maintaining my mana circulation, feeling the dark energy flow through pathways now adapted to corruption. The corruption level remained stable at 1.5 percent—I wasn't actively using the blade's power, so it didn't increase.
Tomorrow I'd need to continue grinding for Foundations of Power. Seven percent in three days. Doable, especially with Blackheart's power available if needed.
But I'd be careful. Strategic. Use the cursed blade only when necessary, preserve my humanity as long as possible.
Because the moment corruption hit fifty percent, I'd lose myself completely.
And if I lost myself, survival became meaningless.
So I'd walk the line. Use the darkness without being consumed by it. Wield Blackheart without becoming its puppet.
I'd done impossible things before. Survived twenty-three years in a failing body. Died and been reborn in a fantasy world. Claimed a legendary cursed blade.
What was one more impossibility?
The night deepened around me, and somewhere in the darkness, I felt Blackheart's presence like a second heartbeat alongside my own.
Dark and light. Corruption and resistance. Power and price.
Nine days until everything changed.
I was ready.
Or at least, I would be.
[DAY 9 COMPLETE]
[NEXT OBJECTIVE: Complete Foundations of Power - 7% progress needed in 3 days]
[WARNING: Corruption is permanent. Choose carefully when to use Blackheart's power.]
I let the System's warnings fade from my vision and surrendered to sleep, one hand still resting on the cursed blade that was now part of my soul.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. New fights. New choices between power and corruption.
But tonight, I could rest knowing I'd taken a step toward survival.
Even if that step had been into darkness.