[Reward earned: +300 Supremacy Points]
[+1 System Shop Gemstone]
[New Attribute Unlocked]
[Strength 10/20]
[Willpower 10/20]
A rush of invigoration surged through Devon's veins like a blazing tonic. His pulse quickened; warmth spread from his chest to every limb, igniting a sense of vitality that nearly eclipsed the pain of his wounds. He drew in a sharp breath; every inhale felt fuller, deeper, as if the air itself had thickened with power.
He clenched his fists. So this is what growth feels like…
His lips twitched into a brief grin, almost boyish, before he murmured inwardly,
'So… I gain attributes the harder I push myself. Quite a strict system. Then I'll give it reasons to reward me.'
A new glimmer appeared across his sight.
[New Skill Unlocked: Duck Under]
[Best for one-on-one combat. Points are earned if the skill is used as a last resort.]
[Cool down: 1 minute]
[New attributes are always unlocked with the previous rank level. Would you like to upgrade?]
"Upgrade? Not now, I feel good enough." Devon said out loud.
The sting in his arm was still vivid; blood had dried against his sleeve, skin tight and sore. Despite that, he pressed forward, eyes focused on his previous destination. His footsteps echoed faintly down the stone corridor.
Devon stopped before a door, its frame splattered with long blood trails. The scent hit him first: iron and rot.
Blood seeped beneath the door, dark and thick. He pushed on the door, shoulder first, then elbow, then knee, but it refused. A snarl cut across his face. He took a step back, pivoted, and slammed his leg into the wood.
Crack.
The hinges banged, and the door lurched open.
The room beyond was dimly lit. A flickering lantern cast uneven shadows across walls lined with stacked barrels and shelves. His gaze locked instantly on the far end, where a man lay sprawled, pale and almost nude, his lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Devon's throat tightened, but his focus shifted, scanning corners, shadows, and every pocket of movement.
Then memory brushed him. This room. The kitchen store. He had played here as a boy. The large nine-foot shelf against the wall… He remembered using it to hide during his mischief days.
He stepped closer, pressing his palm to the wood. The shelf's weight resisted, yet he felt something hollow behind it. His muscles flexed, and he pushed harder, sliding the massive structure aside with a deep grunt.
Wood scraped stone.
Behind it—three frightened servants huddled together, eyes wide, bodies trembling in silence.
[Subjects Identified: Traventis Servants.]
[No Threat Detected.]
[Your presence has eased the minds of the servants. +90 Supremacy Points.]
Devon exhaled, lowering his hand. "Just my presence, huh?" he mused with a faint smirk. "Guess I give off the hero vibe."
He knelt slightly, his voice calm but firm.
"You're safe now. Come out."
One of the women shook her head, her eyes darting toward the door. "Th-there's still more of them out there… armed men. Please, my lord, don't go."
Devon's brow furrowed. "Stay here. Don't come out till I return."
They nodded reluctantly—fearful, but they trusted the command in his tone.
He turned sharply and left.
The hallway stretched ahead, littered with shattered glass and fallen lamps. Each of his steps was measured. His senses sharpened the silence between heartbeats louder than any noise.
The system glowed.
[memory restoration 44%]
"Are we still on this? This system can't be serious," he murmured.
He reached a half-open door. From inside came the faint rustle of fabric and the soft clink of metal. Devon nudged the door wider.
A man in tattered bandages crouched by a table, stuffing small sack bags with glittering antiques and silver plates marked with the Traventis crest. When the man noticed him, he froze mid-motion. The bag slipped from his hand with a dull thud.
"Ah, uh, hey there. I was just, uh… finishing up. I'll be out of your hair soon," the man stammered, his eyes darting toward a broken window big enough for escape.
Devon's tone was low and controlled. "You've killed honorable guards and stolen from nobles. Why should I let you walk away?"
The man spat, face twisting. "You're not a guard. Why do you care?"
Devon's jaw tightened. "Because someone has to."
The thief's expression shifted from panic flickering into reckless defiance. With a desperate cry, he lunged forward, swinging a small wooden axe.
[New Threat Detected, Foul Knave]
[Rank: Serf Level.]
[Goal: Vanquish Threat.]
Devon sidestepped, instincts flaring. The axe sliced through air. He caught the man's wrist, twisting, then shoved his knee into the attacker's gut. A guttural oof escaped as the thief crashed backward toward the door.
Footsteps. Another figure burst in, wild-eyed and panting.
[New Threat Detected: faul Knave]
[Rank: Serf Level.]
[Goal: Vanquish Threat.]
Devon muttered, "Guess it's a party now."
The second man yelled, "Let's finish this meddler and run with the loot!"
Devon raised an eyebrow. "You can try."
They charged uncoordinatedly, shouting battle cries that barely qualified as tactics. Devon ducked under a swing, the new skill flickering in his HUD. His movement was smooth and instinctual. He caught the first man's arm, spun, and rammed him against the wall.
A wooden axe clattered to the floor. Devon grabbed it mid-roll, spinning low and striking the second man, not with the blade, but with the flat edge, smacking his stomach, then his backside in quick succession.
Thwack! Thwack!
The men yelped in shock, tripping over each other. Devon couldn't help a smirk. "You two fight like barnyard drunks."
Pain flared in his arm as he straightened, but he held firm. His breath came in short bursts, chest rising and falling as adrenaline thrummed.
Before he could speak, a third man stumbled into the room, out of breath and wide-eyed. Unlike the others, he didn't raise a weapon. He dropped to one knee.
"Wait! Please, don't kill me!" He gasped. "I didn't want this. I only came for the art pieces! The guard was alive when we found him. I told them to tie him, not kill him! My name is Olto, my lord. Spare my life, I beg you."
His tone wavered with honesty. The other two froze, exchanging uncertain glances.
Devon, still gripping the axe, stared down at them. His silence was heavy and deliberate.
Then, both thieves followed Olto's lead—falling to their knees.
"Mercy, my lord," one whispered. "We surrender."
[Enemies Have Yielded.]
Devon exhaled slowly. "For common thieves, you're surprisingly smart."
He motioned toward the corner. "You'll stay here till morning."
He bound their wrists, not cruelly, but tightly enough to prevent escape. They didn't resist; their shoulders slumped in defeat.
[Olto and Two Others.]
[Trust +50% Each.]
[Loyalty +10% Each.]
[The Intruders Are Grateful for Your Mercy. +150 Supremacy Points]
The room went silent with only the faint chatter of the three thieves.
Devon headed towards the door and sighted a large wooden door-like frame that covered a hole close to the Manor's fence. "I have to say that the effort is commendable." Devon commented as he crouched beside the hole.
***
the outside night air brushed against his face as he mounted a waiting horse. The creature neighed softly, hooves shifting against gravel.
[New Skill Unlocked: Horse Riding]
Devon's grip tightened on the reins. He rode toward the front of the Traventis manor, the moon bathing the path in cold silver light. The great walls loomed, once a symbol of security, now a reminder of vulnerability.
A lone guard approached, helmet tucked under his arm. "My lord, we…"
Devon cut him off, voice calm but stern. "There's a surprise waiting behind the manor. You'll find three men tied up. By dawn, the security of this place will be reviewed. Understood?"
The guard hesitated, bowing deeply. "Y-Yes, my lord. I'm sorry for—"
"Save it," Devon said, turning away. "We'll talk in the morning."
He dismounted, exhaustion crawling into his limbs. His arm throbbed, the cut reopening slightly under the strain. He needed rest. He needed warmth.
He entered the manor.
***
The corridor lights were dimmed. Warm amber glows spilled through translucent drapes in his room, painting golden ripples across the floor. The faint scent of lavender salve drifted in the air, familiar and calming.
Devon unfastened his cloak, breath slow, body heavy with fatigue. He turned toward the bathing chamber.
And froze.
Steam curled through the air. Valia stood there, her back to him, unaware and searching. Draped in a sheer transparent nightgown that revealed her perky C-cup breasts that jiggled as she moved. The nipples persisted proudly as a sign of her possible heat. Her petite figure traced her subtle ass cheeks that curved her puffy labia.
Beside her stood a brunette woman draped in a bathrobe that barely contained the audacity of her figure.
The fabric clung to her ass, clearly revealing its rounded glory; it jiggled as she made a sharp twitch to rescue a falling bottle.
When she turned, the robe shifted, revealing the dark areolas on her tanned breasts.
Devon's hardness stood erect at the sight.
The brunette gave a faint, sleek smile, knowing the effect of the wardrobe malfunction; her fingers traced Valia's shoulders, slow, deliberate, and bold.
She had the kind of face that didn't chase youth; it embraced experience. She stood like a woman who no longer asked to be noticed but expected it.
"My lord," the brunette said, voice low, smooth, and mature, "you must be tired. Allow us to tend to your wounds."
[New Subject Identified: Miranda Chase-Milf]
[Noble Lineage.]
[Occupation: Head Stewardess]