[Chameleon — After killing someone, you can take on their appearance for a day.]
Confusion washed over Drakis as he looked at the skill. As far as he could tell, it had no connections to Realis or his bloodline.
Before he could even begin seeking answers the system flashed again.
[Arena Points gained: 5]
[All stats increased by 1]
[Progress to 2nd star mortal: 50%]
[Loading...]
□●●●□
•– General –•
Name: Drakis Veryan
Age: 20
Lifespan: 80 years
Realm: 9th Star Mortal
Bloodline: Veryan; Terikan (03%)
Perks: N/A
Skills: Omniscience; Chameleon
Mana: 100/0
Mental Stability: 100%
Arena Points: 5
Strength: 10
Agility: 10
Perception: 10
Vitality: 10
Intelligence: 10
•– Arena –•
Rank: 9th Star Bronze
Main Team: N/A [0/5]
Fans: 0
Gold: 0
Challenges: N/A
■○○○■
Drakis looked over the progress with great interest. After all his time spent as a weak runt with no mana, he was finally becoming someone strong.
'Gwen's not gonna... not gonna...'
A sudden dizziness overtook Drakis. He tried to balance himself but the attempt was futile. Within just moments he fell to the ground before passing out completely.
...
The place looked so familiar and yet entirely alien to Drakis at the same time.
It was a simple room, decorated with little more than a bed, nightstand, and endless stacks of paper. A tiny quill could be seen poking out from amongst the paper.
The rest of the room was completely empty, as if its inhabitant only cared about sleeping and writing.
'Whoever lived here might be the world's only punctual writer,' Drakis thought with a chuckle.
Then he looked for the door. Whatever this was was a nice distraction, but he still had a mission. His adoptive parents still needed to die.
It took all of two seconds to find the door. It was old, simple and rundown with some of the wood splintering off. But a door didn't need to be fancy to be opened.
Therefore, Drakis wasted no time.
He simply twisted the handle, opened the door, and left—
"Drakis?"
A woman's low, soft voice stopped him immediately. For some reason, it seemed so familiar. Yet as he turned around, he was certain he never saw her in his entire life.
She was seated on the edge of the bed, reading over one of the many papers from the nightstand. However, beyond speaking his name she never did anything else to acknowledge him.
The woman who appeared out of nowhere simply repeated his name over and over.
Drakis.
Drakis.
"DRAKIS!!"
A sudden shout jolted Drakis awake. The surprise of suddenly waking up caused him to jump and bang his head off the back of his bed.
"Ouch... what the hell?" Drakis murmured to himself as he rubbed his head.
Then he surveyed the room and realized he was in an infirmary. Multiple beds lined the room, each of them occupied by some injured soldier.
'Victors,' Drakis thought with growing excitement.
"Hey look, you're finally awake!" That same voice shouted, her voice brimming with excitement.
Drakis turned to her smiling face. The doubt and worry she had before the match seemingly completely vanished.
'Of course it did,' Drakis thought with a smile. 'I said I was gonna survive, after all.'
But surviving did hurt.
Now that he was awake and in the real world, the pain of his injuries were excruciating. It felt like the individual muscles within his right arm were writhing like little snakes under his skin.
His smile dropped to a grimace as the pain became too much to bear. This change in expression elicited a small laugh from the lady.
'Wait, I don't know her name,' Drakis realized as he sat on his bed, laying his head on its rest.
At the same time, the lady sat down on the edge of his bed, sitting to the side so that she could easily turn and see him.
Then she said, "I'm happy you survived. It's— it's been so long since I could say this, but my name's Maeve."
'So long?' Drakis thought as a wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over him. His eyesight dimmed and he could feel the clutches of sleep grabbing him. As he drifted off, he wondered what she meant exactly.
...
"Which inmate are you looking for?"
"This one. He's the guy who killed Realis, right?"
"Yes, but he's sleeping now. Besides, silver ranked Chosen shouldn't interfere with new recruits. He needs time to—"
"That's fine."
Drakis awoke to Maeve's words again, but this time someone else was talking as well.
His voice sounded soft and nimble, yet stiff. Like a noble who actually learned how to fight.
Since he was going to become the Emperor, Drakis spent plenty of time with nobility. Most of them had the same kind of voice: loud, commanding, and brittle.
Many of them were obviously nepotism babies, ready to feed off the title their ancestors earned. Some of them had enough mana to be seven star or maybe even six star mortal realm, but even those people weren't all that special.
Even the lowest of the 9 True Houses in his homeland would effortlessly kill them. In short, those with a limited idea of power never respect true authority.
But the man didn't have that kind of voice. Just from the way he spoke, Drakis knew he was a true warrior. He knew that the man faced adversity constantly, and much like himself the man persevered anyway.
"The Terikan Bloodline sends their thanks. Filth like that should've never become one of our chosen." Footsteps followed that show of gratitude, footsteps that grew more and more quiet every second, leaving Drakis alone with his thoughts.
The 'filth' was Realis of course. He didn't know why the kid's own Bloodline would call him something like that.
Filth was meant for the worst people in the world, the murderers and betrayers. Did weak people really fall into that same category?
Maybe.
After all, filth was essentially just garbage. And what was a corpse nobody cared about good for? The dead were merely cast aside, fit for nothing more than feeding the grass.
And dead might as well be synonymous with weak.
'Which is why I'll never die again.' Drakis thought as he drifted off to sleep for the final time that night.
This time, a system notification accompanied him.
[First trial complete! Returning the host to his proper plane now!]