The voice that suddenly echoed in his mind didn't startle Richard in the slightest. He had already skimmed through the system's description earlier, so he knew it would issue prompts and notifications at specific moments. Whether he was fighting or simply practicing, the rule was the same—use a skill, and its proficiency would increase. It was mechanical, efficient, and completely indifferent to circumstance.
Every skill activation consumed magic power. That was the tradeoff.
Take the Eight Swords Flash he was performing now. Each execution drained one point of magic. The same applied to other level-one abilities like Earth Shaking, Heaven Shaking, Zanshin, and Iai Slash. One point per use. No exceptions.
In practical terms, his current magic pool allowed him to unleash thirty skills before running dry.
It wasn't a generous reserve, but it was workable.
There was another advantage to this magic-based system, one that mattered even more in the long run. Without the same magic source, even if someone perfectly replicated the movements of Eight Swords Flash or Heaven Shaking, they would only copy the choreography. They would never reproduce the destructive force behind it.
Technique without energy was just performance.
Though he wasn't cutting anything at the moment, Richard could feel the edge in the air itself when he swung. His instincts told him that the Eight Swords Flash he now wielded could slice through reinforced concrete as cleanly as Sephiroth carving through steel in a cinematic cutscene.
Magic power wasn't limited to sword techniques, either. It could be channeled into energy blasts or cast as full-scale spells.
But that was a concern for later.
His template fusion was only at five percent. He hadn't awakened any actual spellcasting yet.
According to the system's breakdown, his Sephiroth template mirrored the remake version—meaning that beyond sword techniques, he would eventually gain access to advanced magic like Big Flame, Big Blizzard, Big Thunder, and Big Strong Wind.
Eventually.
For now, he ignored the steady stream of notifications in his head and continued practicing in the bedroom.
"Eight Swords Flash Proficiency +1."
"Eight Swords Flash Proficiency +1."
"Eight Swords Flash Proficiency +1."
The rhythm was steady and controlled. Each strike was sharper than the last. The blade whistled through empty air, the sound low and deadly.
After ten consecutive executions, his proficiency reached ten points. He exhaled slowly and, with clear reluctance, ended the session. The more-than-two-meter-long authentic sword vanished back into the system space with a flicker of light.
Silence returned to the room.
He stepped into the bathroom.
Silver-white hair flowed past his shoulders, almost luminous under the light. Light green eyes regarded him from the mirror—calm, cold, calculating. His features were sharp and symmetrical, handsome in a way that felt almost engineered.
He smiled faintly.
Strength was a matter of time. Looks were a lifetime asset.
The original body had been handsome too—something like a young Leonardo DiCaprio. Back then, the hair had been golden rather than silver. The eyes had already been light green.
But now there was a difference.
His pupils were vertical.
Predatory.
After taking a moment to appreciate the transformation, he returned to the bedroom, removed his pajamas, and changed into everyday clothes. Dark jeans. A fitted shirt. Something practical.
He didn't leave immediately. Instead, he sat down and began thinking carefully.
According to the memories left behind, this world was indeed the Marvel Universe—but not a clean cinematic branch like the Avengers films or the X-Men movies alone.
Here, the Avengers existed. Iron Man. Captain America.
The X-Men existed too. The Brotherhood of Mutants. The Hellfire Club. The Fantastic Four.
And most importantly, the United States had passed something called the Mutant Restriction Act.
The law had two primary components.
First, all mutants were required to register and submit to unified oversight under the Department of Mutant Affairs.
Second, unless granted official authorization, mutants were strictly forbidden from using their powers publicly.
Failure to register, or unauthorized power usage, meant arrest by mutant agents and imprisonment in specialized facilities.
It reminded him of the registration bill from the films.
Except here, it had succeeded.
The original body's father had openly opposed the legislation. He never registered. As a billionaire, he had poured resources into forming an underground organization called Crimson Manor—an operation dedicated to sheltering unregistered mutants.
The manor where Richard now sat was the organization's headquarters.
Over fifty mutants currently lived here.
Two days ago, the father had left with three trusted members to Los Angeles, intending to escort a new group of recruits.
Somehow, the information had leaked.
They were arrested by agents from the Department of Mutant Affairs.
Richard felt no emotional tremor recalling this. The man had been the original body's father, not his.
Still, occupying someone else's body came with a certain moral accounting.
If his strength allowed, he wouldn't mind repaying the debt by staging a rescue.
But strength didn't allow it.
He didn't know where the man was being held.
More critically, he didn't possess the power to extract him.
Repayment was reasonable.
Suicide was not.
He finished reviewing the memories and summoned the attribute panel again. His gaze fixed on the X-gene superpower section.
When he focused on the word Plunder, the system provided clarification.
Plunder: seize the superpowers of individuals killed by your own hands. Evolvable. Current level: Beta.
PS: Cannot plunder abilities exceeding your own level.
Two sentences.
That was enough.
The original body had never displayed a superpower because he had never killed anyone. Plunder required blood. Without a corpse, it remained dormant.
Simple logic.
As for upgrading it? The system didn't state it outright, but the implication was obvious.
Steal enough powers, and Plunder would evolve from Beta to Alpha.
In this world, mutants were categorized into five official levels—Level One through Level Five. But the more popular classification, originally advocated by Professor X and Magneto, used Epsilon, Delta, Beta, Alpha, and Omega.
Most mutants preferred the latter.
Partly out of resistance to government oversight.
Partly because Alpha and Omega sounded far superior to Level Four or Level Five.
Of course, ranking didn't equate directly to combat effectiveness. Not every mutation was designed for battle.
He dismissed the panel.
Then he recalled the voices he had heard before waking fully.
He hadn't recognized the speakers, but their intent was unmistakable.
They wanted him gone.
The moment the father was captured, they were preparing to expel his son from Crimson Manor.
So much for loyalty.
Richard had just been considering where to obtain his first superpower.
Now he had direction.
If the people taken in and protected by the original father truly intended to repay kindness with betrayal, then after taking over this body, he wouldn't hesitate to be ruthless.