I walked through the halls of the castle with a lightness in my step.
For once, the world felt… good.
I'd done it — unlocked an Aspect Legacy.
That wasn't something that just happened to people.
That was the kind of thing heroes were born with, the kind of thing entire clans built dynasties around.
My fingers brushed the cold stone wall as I walked, letting my thoughts spiral.
I opened my runes again. A new one pulsed faintly — its glow deep and steady, almost regal.
---
[Hollow Sight]
"They say beauty lies in the details — that's why the most beautiful creatures must know every detail."
---
I snorted. "Criptic and flirty. I'll take it."
The power sat in my head like a whisper I could almost hear — the promise that I could see deeper, clearer, sharper than before. Every drop of blood, every heartbeat, every twitch of fear or fury — all of it, visible to me if I focused.
It was… exhilarating.
And dangerous.
And beautiful.
But then something else caught my attention. My Echoes rune. It pulsed like a beating heart.
I focused on it, and the runes rearranged themselves.
---
[Blood Beast]
Rank: Awakened
Class: Devil
Attributes:
[Wrathful Ascension]
[Blood Manipulation]
---
My brow furrowed. "Huh… weaker version of my own ability?"
No, not weaker. Different. It was clunky, crude, unrefined — like using a hammer to perform surgery. It manipulated blood through rage and brutality, not finesse. Still, that made it interesting.
Then I looked at the second attribute.
---
[Wrathful Ascension]
"A blood beast representing the sin of wrath must ascend in wrath."
---
I blinked.
"Okay, that's ominous…"
Then my stomach dropped as another rune flared below it.
---
[Blood Beasts destroyed: 0/20]
---
I stared at it. Then back at the text. Then back again.
A counter.
"…No way. It can evolve?"
That was something you only read about in ancient records — echoes that grew stronger, climbing ranks by consuming their own kind. Not even noble houses got those often.
And I — a newly awakened Sleeper — had one by pure chance.
Or… maybe fate.
I chuckled. "Guess the [Fated] attribute's finally paying rent."
---
The scent of roasted meat and smoke drifted through the corridor as I entered the great hall — the cafeteria, though calling it that felt wrong. It looked more like a grand cathedral built to worship food and fear in equal measure.
Long wooden tables stretched out under banners stitched with gold thread. Crystal lamps burned low, giving everything a faint amber glow. The air buzzed — but not with joy. With unease.
Then I saw why.
At the center of the room, the crowd had formed a half-circle around Gunlaug.
He was impossible to miss.
A towering man in armor that flowed like molten gold, seamless and alive. Every movement shimmered — light sliding across his surface like water. There was no face, only a smooth, perfect reflection where one should've been.
And what he reflected was the fear of everyone in the hall.
Beside him stood a thin, crooked figure — his hunchbacked aide.
The man was pale, ghostly almost, his posture warped as though the world itself had crushed him. But his eyes — cold and glassy — saw everything.
A lone prisoner knelt before them. A woman. Her wrists were bound with glowing iron chains that sizzled faintly.
Gunlaug's voice filled the room — deep, calm, and heavy with false righteousness.
"This one," he said, "stands accused of theft. Of taking from the castle's sacred vaults — of stealing what belongs to the kingdom."
He let the words hang, turning slightly so the crowd could see their reflection in him.
"The punishment for theft… is death."
The crowd remained silent — no gasps, no murmurs. Just dread.
"However…" he continued, "I am merciful. She may earn her life. She will duel for it."
His hunchback aide shuffled forward, carrying two weapons — a rusted blade for the prisoner and a gleaming spear for the man she'd have to fight.
"Sir Varn," Gunlaug said.
A large man stepped out from behind him — one of Gunlaug's guards, clad in gold-trimmed steel. His helmet resembled a snarling wolf. He bowed once, then turned to face the trembling woman.
"Begin."
The woman barely had time to stand before Varn lunged. His spear moved like lightning, striking the ground beside her, forcing her to stumble back. She swung her dull blade in panic, sparks flying uselessly.
The crowd didn't cheer. They watched.
Like they were waiting to see if she'd scream.
I sat down at one of the tables. Effie, Kai, and Aiko were already there — heads low, trying not to draw attention.
"Why is everyone acting like he's a god?" I whispered.
"Because," Kai muttered, "he is, in this city. The Warden of the Golden Fortress. No one crosses him."
"Why? He's just shiny."
Aiko kicked me under the table. "Shut up. His armor reflects your soul. One look, and he can see your sins — your fears, everything. That's what they say."
As if on cue, a young boy from the crowd accidentally glanced into Gunlaug's armor. He froze
"Reflection paralysis," I muttered. "Interesting trick. Wouldn't work on me, though."
Effie shot me a glare. "Could you not test that?"
Varn's spear clashed against the woman's sword again. This time, it struck home — the blade splintered, and the woman dropped to her knees. She was shaking, bleeding, clutching her arm.
Gunlaug raised a hand, and Varn stopped mid-strike.
He stepped forward slowly, his golden reflection casting her face a hundred times over his armor.
"Do you understand now?" His voice was almost kind. "This is not cruelty. This is order."
Then, with a calm gesture, he nodded.
Varn finished it.
A single thrust.
A short cry.
Then silence.
Gunlaug turned back to the crowd, voice resonating across the hall.
"This," he said, "is the price of dishonor. The cost of greed. Peace is maintained not through mercy — but through fear."
The people bowed their heads. No one spoke.
I just kept eating.
My bread was soaked red from the stew — or maybe from something else.
Aiko looked at me with disgust. "You do know that guy's blood is on your bread, right?"
I took a bite. "So?"
Kai pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sometimes I forget you literally drink blood. Hopefully, I forget again."
Effie just stared at me. "You're impossible."
I swallowed, then grinned. "No. I'm practical."
Gunlaug's speech droned on, but I wasn't listening anymore. My eyes drifted to his armor — and that blank, shining surface.
He reflected everyone else in the room.
Every face, every flicker of movement.
Everyone but me.