"A guide to choosing the best soul art?"
"And awakening ancestral bloodline? Are you serious?"
"And what exactly is a Merit Tree supposed to be?" Wensley muttered, still a little dazed.
The gold framed panel hanging in front of his eyes was unmistakably real. Its background showed a six-winged cross wrapped in holy fire, the old emblem of House Fauce that he had seen on dusty banners and forgotten seals.
[ Merit Value ]
He tapped the number that showed his current Merit. A thin golden border appeared around that part of the panel, and a short explanation slid into view.
Merit is gained by fulfilling the duties of House Fauce, or by causing emotional fluctuations in main characters in the storyline.
"Duties? Emotional fluctuations of the main characters…?"
Main characters. In other words, those walking calamities.
The thought landed, and what little color remained in his face vanished.
The second condition might as well not exist. Did he look like someone who wanted to poke at the so-called chosen ones right now?
If he tried very hard to be optimistic, there was one bright spot: he did, in fact, have a system.
The problem was obvious. This particular system felt like it fully intended to get him killed.
His instincts pushed him to ignore the second condition immediately. People naturally avoided danger. He had no intention of farming emotions from people who could erase him the way someone might swat a mosquito.
If he wandered into the heart of the main plot, then for Aisiefis and her future harem, his appearance would only be a small bump in their emotions. For him, a villain who had not even cleared his own name, that same bump would become a neat and tidy death flag.
As for this so-called Best Soul Art Selection Guide, did it not sound a little like a joke at his expense?
Everyone in the capital knew that the only heir of the once glorious Fauce line, blessed by angels in the past, had a soul aptitude of one star.
One star aptitude meant plenty of ordinary townsfolk with a touch of talent could run circles around him.
Among commoners, most people had no soul aptitude whatsoever. The number of one star talents lay somewhere in the same range as those born completely talentless. Above them stood the real elites, which included all the genuine prodigies from humble backgrounds.
Even by ordinary standards, Wensley occupied the most unremarkable place on the chart.
No matter how perfect this soul art selection guide might be, it could not rewrite the basic fact that his aptitude sat at one star.
And one star aptitude usually led to the worst class of soul arts, the kind with almost no proper ranged effects or flashy battle techniques. People still called them soul arts, but most of what they did in practice looked more like simple support skills.
As for awakening the family bloodline…
The Blessed Angel inheritance of House Fauce had already reached the end of the line by his grandfather's time.
A dead lineage. That was what people called a sage bloodline that had lost its divine favor.
In the ancient age, those touched directly by gods had shaped human civilization. Later generations named them sages. Their descendants inherited a portion of their power and could call upon a divine force that bent the rules. This gift was called divine favor.
Titles such as sage family usually followed such lines. The royal house of the Carmella Kingdom, the Peony family, was one example. Their blood bound them to the wrathful golden dragon. Through their divine favor, they could manifest the dragon's strength, which earned them the title of the Wrathful Golden Dragon.
House Fauce's own divine favor, the Blessed Angel, had completely vanished during his grandfather's lifetime. No new sage awakened. The family lost its voice in the Dawnglow Church, first slowly, then all at once.
That alone had not been enough for expulsion. Even without divine favor or a current sage, House Fauce still carried the name of the goddess and had once stood as the symbol of the Dawnglow Church, devoted to the Goddess of Dawnglow and respected across the continent.
The official reason given for their expulsion was a grave mistake committed by his grandfather. The church used that as an excuse to discard a family that had already lost its power and to treat them like an old emblem that no longer matched the décor.
By the time his father came of age, House Fauce had drifted all the way to the Carmella Kingdom. The king then on the throne, out of lingering respect for the Goddess of Dawnglow, granted his father a viscount title, partly so the family would not starve on foreign soil.
His father fought like a man born for battle. Even without divine favor, he carved out achievements with his own hands. Because of that, Wensley had once been able, as a child, to meet Princess Mirielle Peony.
If that road had continued in the same direction, House Fauce would probably never have regained its former glory, but it might at least have survived in a rough but stable way.
Misfortune, however, rarely arrived alone.
His father died on the battlefield. His mother followed him soon after, unable to bear the loss. The Dawnglow Church took advantage of the chaos and grief, marched into the slowly recovering Fauce estate, and stripped it bare.
In the aftermath, rumors began to spread that Wensley was not a true descendant of the goddess but an imposter, and that the real Fauce bloodline had already vanished from the world.
There was no way to counter that sort of rumor. As someone people already considered finished, Wensley had no ability to prove his own blood. He could only watch while the accusations spread further.
Another noble family in his position might still lean on maternal relatives once the main line fell apart. His father, however, had been a pure war fanatic who refused political marriage and instead chose a village girl with no background at all.
He knew how to fight. He did not know how to manage wealth, and he understood almost nothing about the games of court.
That was one reason the Dawnglow Church had felt bold enough to break open their doors and plunder them in broad daylight. House Fauce was a dried weed, with no noble in-laws and no powerful extended family to give them shelter.
Not that such ties would necessarily have helped. Even grand dukes and crowned kings hesitated before opposing the Dawnglow Church directly. Lesser nobles had even less room to move.
What remained for Wensley was simply rubble.
A sage family that had once led the Dawnglow Church and held the faith of tens of thousands had been reduced to one living heir.
As direct descendants of the Goddess of Dawnglow, House Fauce had been driven out of the church. The Dawnglow Church now had no sage leading it, only a pope.
At the starting line of this game, both heroines already disliked him. One of them shared a bond of life and death with him and could not wait to see his head fall of his sholders. In the eyes of society, he was a rat creeping through a gutter.
"What an amazing starting point," he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Was there any path that did not lead straight into disaster?
His gaze settled on the words awaken ancestral bloodline and unlock the Merit Tree.
Trying did not cost him anything immediately. That option was also his second method for growing Merit.
He could certainly stir strong emotions in the chosen ones. The problem was that most of those emotions belonged under the category of wanting to cut off his head.
Compared with favorability, emotion value was much more dangerous. Joy, excitement, anger, killing intent; all of these counted as emotions. Stirring them was simple. Living through the aftermath was the difficult part.
He could infuriate the heroines and watch the emotion scores jump. What would come next? Most likely a funeral.
As for awakening the Fauce bloodline, would that simply mean restoring divine favor?
He could not bring himself to believe it would be so easy.
If that awakening also happened to make him look a little more handsome, he would not complain. He knew better than to pin his hopes on that sort of bonus.
When he returned to the worn courtyard, he found that almost all the servants had already gone. After the master and mistress passed away, their wages dried up, and people scattered one after another. Only one old servant, Dak, remained.
"Young master, you have returned," the old man said, pausing in the middle of sweeping fallen leaves.
"Mm." Wrapped in his own thoughts, Wensley gave only a faint response and walked past him into the house.
Dak's eyes flickered at the boy's calm and quiet expression, as if something had surprised him. The look vanished so quickly that anyone else might have wondered whether they had imagined it.
The Fauce residence itself was not small. The two story house had decent bones, but long years of neglect and a lack of staff had left dust settled into every corner. It had the air of a place already halfway abandoned.
As soon as Wensley stepped across the threshold, a sharp smell of cheap liquor from the cellar reached his nose. He frowned without thinking.
The original Wensley had turned to drinking when depression and apathy swallowed him. Since he had no money for proper wine, he bought the cheapest brew from roadside stalls, nameless liquor that stung the throat and cost only a few copper coins.
Whenever he felt miserable, he would come home and drink until he blacked out. Combined with a complete lack of physical training, this habit had left his body thin and hollow at an age when he should have been sturdy.
Wensley shook his head slowly.
If you cannot be bothered to care about yourself, how are you supposed to care about anyone else?
I should find a day to throw all this garbage liquor away, he thought. There is no reason to let it sit here and poison the air.
Evening light slid down the peeling walls and painted them a tired orange. Wensley went back to his room, shut the door, and sat at the edge of the bed, watching the fading light creep across the floorboards.
In truth, he was not watching the sunset or the floor.
His attention rested on the golden panel that only he could see.
[ Merit ]
Even if he wanted to attempt awakening his bloodline, he first needed enough Merit to redeem that option. The problem was that the panel gave only the vaguest hints about how to earn it.
Aside from giving a coin to a beggar, what else counted? Surely gathering Merit was not as simple as doing good deeds at random.
Since that part remained unclear, he turned his mind back to what he could control.
He dragged a leather suitcase out from under the bed. Inside lay the last savings of House Fauce, which looked even smaller now that they were sitting in his lap.
Spending a copper coin for one point of Merit already felt extravagant given his situation. Even so, this was a cost he had to accept. If he truly managed to awaken his bloodline, he would not have to worry about food and rent later.
For the moment, he had no other choice. If he relied only on this small pile of coins and did nothing else, he would probably go bankrupt before Aisiefis even took serious notice of him.
He headed for the door, only to pause when he heard hurried footsteps in the corridor.
After a brief moment, he opened the door. Dak stood just outside, slightly bent at the waist in a respectful posture.
"Do you need something?" Wensley asked.
"Young Master Wensley, dinner is ready," Dak said in a quiet voice.
"No. I am not hungry. You should eat."
"This…" Dak hesitated, looking at him with concern. "Young master, whatever has happened, your body still needs food. If this continues, your health—"
"I do not need you to lecture me," Wensley cut in, forcing a hint of impatience into his tone. "My mood is bad. I am going out to clear my head."
"…Yes, young master," Dak replied, bowing slightly lower.
Wensley gave a short, dismissive sound and walked past him toward the stairs.
At the front gate, he paused and looked back at the old mansion for a long moment.
Very interesting.
He had once assumed that Dak remained only because he had nowhere else to go and was willing to accept a meager salary along with the old memories of the house.
He had not expected to find a pair of eyes quietly observing him from that close.
So who was being so cautious about a useless one star aptitude person with a dead bloodline?
Thinking of his strangely rotten reputation in the original story, Wensley narrowed his eyes.
Even now, it seemed that someone was still watching him from the shadows.