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[Messages]
[Darius Thornevale]
| It doesn't matter what you're doing—at least answer when I call. |
| Mikael, the Academy entrance exam begins in two weeks. Hurry back. |
| I know you're not dead. I'd feel it if you were. So stop being a child and respond. |
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Sitting on the train headed back to the mansion, I scrolled through the messages, my thumb pausing on each one longer than I cared to admit. The scenery outside blurred past in streaks of green and gold, but I barely noticed. I leaned back in my seat, stretching my legs as far as the cramped space allowed, and bit into the bread I'd pulled from my ring.
It wasn't fresh, but after four months of surviving on nothing but sheer willpower and pain, it tasted like a luxury.
Strangely, despite technically not having eaten for four months, my body felt fine—like only a single day had passed. No weakness. No signs of malnourishment. Another gift from that hellish trial, I supposed.
Two weeks. That's all I had before the Academy's entrance exam. Not much time, but enough to prepare and position myself before the main story began.
I scrolled further through the messages. Most were system notifications, generic updates, or attempts by the family's staff to reach out on trivial matters. But the personal messages stood out for a different reason.
The original Mikael hadn't built any connections—no real friends, no allies. Most people either avoided him or outright despised him, whether because of his restricted talent or his cold, spiteful attitude.
Even his father and brother hadn't written often. And yet… they were the only ones who'd tried to reach out at all.
A faint scoff left my lips. "What a pathetic life you lived," I murmured under my breath, not that I'm truly better.
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~ [ Mikael Thornevale ]
I'm back. I'd like permission to acquire a skill—two, if possible.
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I sent the message without hesitation, shamelessly hoping Darius would approve. If I was going to survive, I needed every edge I could get.
It still surprised me how the old Mikael hadn't acquired any skills. Then again, if his father never approved the requests, there was little he could've done.
In this world, skills were rare commodities—treasures born from sheer luck. You could find them in the corpses of mana beasts or deep within the collapsing rifts that connected to other universes. More often than not, those rifts were overrun with monsters, entire worlds crumbling as forgotten civilizations turned to dust. But for those with the strength—or luck—to survive, ancient relics and skills beyond comprehension could be found.
Humanity had paid a steep price for those discoveries. Over the centuries, countless lives had been lost exploring rifts and claiming their riches. And yet, despite everything, the origin of it all remained shrouded in mystery.
Even in the novel, the truth was never clear.
No one knew for certain how this world had become what it was—or why the rifts appeared.
The only constant across all universes was the name of the being at the center of it all: the God of Beasts.
A god whose presence was as undeniable as it was terrifying
A chill crawled down my spine the moment my thoughts lingered on that being.
In the novel, its presence was only shown a handful of times—subtle glimpses, mere shadows of its true nature. Yet even those fleeting moments were enough to convey the suffocating, oppressive weight it carried. A predator so vast and alien that the world itself seemed to hold its breath in its presence.
That thing doesn't belong to any universe. It's above them all.
Shing—
The train screeched as it came to a halt. The sharp sound jolted me from my thoughts, and I felt the weight of staring eyes.
Passengers rose from their seats, gathering their belongings as they filed out. I followed them, keeping my pace measured. As I stepped off the train, I caught a few people glancing in my direction—curious, almost wary eyes.
It was probably the state of my clothes. The once-plain tunic and trousers were smeared with dirt, frayed at the edges.
But no one said anything. No derisive whispers. No looks of contempt.
I supposed it made sense. In this world, people had seen far worse than a boy with tattered clothing. Monsters. Blood. Rift-borne horrors. My appearance was barely worth noticing.
I scanned the station briefly, the warm afternoon sun spilling over the cobblestones.
There.
A familiar car waited near the exit. The driver from before was leaning against the hood, arms crossed. I'd messaged him a few minutes before arrival.
When his gaze met mine, he gave me a stiff nod. No questions, no words. Just professional acknowledgment.
Good.
I opened the car door and slid into the back seat. The leather was cool against my skin.
As the engine rumbled to life, I kept my expression still, my eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside.
Stoic. Calm. As if nothing had changed…
---
We arrived at the mansion after what felt like hours.
During the drive, I'd asked the driver if anything major had happened while I was gone. He'd shaken his head at first—just the usual rift outbreaks here and there, though they'd been contained quickly enough.
But one piece of news had caught me off guard.
Darius Thornevale had returned to the mansion three days ago.
Great.
That was going to be… awkward.
How should I act around him? I wondered. Should I play the part of the arrogant original Mikael, brimming with spite and entitlement? Or should I just… be myself? Quiet. Cautious. Observant.
Maybe I'll just improvise… see how he behaves first.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion's gates.
"Thanks for the drive," I said, my voice calm as I pushed the door open.
"You're welcome, sir," the driver replied automatically—but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected gratitude.
I hesitated a moment before stepping out, giving him a short nod. The door shut behind me with a soft click.
The Thornevale mansion loomed above, its towering spires casting long shadows over the courtyard. A maid stood by the entrance, hands folded neatly in front of her apron. Her gaze swept over me briefly, as if assessing for injuries.
"The Guild Master is waiting in his office for you," she said evenly.
So Darius wasn't wasting any time.
"Good to know," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "I'm on my way."
She gave a small nod and pulled the door open, stepping aside. Without a word, she began leading me through the mansion's winding halls.
Good thing too, I thought. I have no idea where his office even is.
My boots tapped softly against polished marble floors as we ascended a wide staircase to the second floor. Chandeliers glittered overhead like frozen constellations, but I barely spared them a glance. My mind was too preoccupied.
One step at a time. First: get a skill. I'll need it if I'm going to survive what's coming.
The maid stopped in front of a simple wooden door at the end of the hall.
"This is the Guild Master's office," she said, bowing slightly before stepping aside.
I stood there for a heartbeat, my hand resting on the doorknob.
Calm down, I told myself. It's just a conversation…
Then I pushed it open.
The first thing I saw was him.
A man in a tailored black suit, sitting behind an ornate oak desk. His posture was perfect, his hands folded neatly in front of him. And his eyes—deep crimson, like polished rubies—fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a blade pressing against my neck.
No emotion. No warmth. Just pure, unreadable calculation.
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