The gym stayed quiet long after Azhareth left.

  Not the normal kind of quiet that came after training—after sweat and laughter and someone complaining about sore shoulders. This was the kind of silence that filled a room after a blade had passed close enough for everyone to feel the wind of it.

  Maidservants arrived in a neat line. They didn’t look at the cracked mats. They didn’t look at the overturned bench or the scattered ingredients still glinting on the floor. They moved like they had done this before—like they had been trained to step into places where the air still held fear.

  Aldrean guided them in with a tilt of his hand.

  He looked different.

  Not just younger—though the youth was the most obvious. His features were sharper, his posture straighter, his presence… heavier. As if the space around him had learned to respect him.

  He did not speak.

  He simply ushered Azhareth toward the door.

  Azhareth walked like someone carrying a headache the size of a planet. One hand pressed against his forehead, jaw tight, eyes narrowed at nothing in particular. Squeak perched on his shoulder, tiny claws gripping fabric, emerald fur bristling whenever anyone shifted too close.

  No one dared say a word.

  Rina had swallowed the urge to apologize again. Astra kept her mouth sealed, shoulders tense. Bromm looked like he wanted to mutter something rude just to reclaim control—but even he didn’t risk it. Eris’s gaze followed every micro-movement in Azhareth’s posture like she was watching the edge of a cliff for falling rocks.

  Azhareth didn’t look back.

  He stepped out.

  The door shut.

  And for a heartbeat, the entire gym forgot how to breathe.

  Then the room exhaled as one.

  Rina’s shoulders sagged. Merrin let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. Dael sat down hard like his legs had only now remembered they were allowed to stop holding him up.

  Bromm leaned against the wall and rubbed his face with both hands.

  Kira, pale, whispered, “I really thought we were dead.”

  No one contradicted her.

  It hadn’t felt like surviving a fight.

  It had felt like surviving judgment.

  Astra took a step toward Rina, eyes narrowing as her mind tried to snap the world back into order.

  “What the hell just happ—”

  “HAHAHAHA!”

  Dael’s laugh exploded through the gym like a firecracker in a funeral.

  Every head whipped toward him.

  He was on his feet, eyes wide and bright, holding up both of his Empty Skill Books like trophies stolen from fate itself.

  “Spending my entire fortune for this was WORTH IT!” he shouted, voice trembling with manic joy.

  Bromm stared at him like Dael had lost his mind.

  Eris’s eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious, because Dael didn’t laugh like that unless something real had happened.

  Rina moved before her brain caught up.

  Her hand was already in her inventory. Her own Empty Skill Book flashed into existence—bound in plain leather, deceptively simple.

  Her fingers flipped it open.

  Light shimmered across the page.

  A prompt floated in clean, indifferent lettering:

  New Records Detected.

  ? Crimson Investiture (OR)

  ? Verdict of Red (OR)

  Rina’s throat tightened.

  She read the effects without meaning to. The words were calm. The implications were not.

  Crimson Investiture (OR)

  Effect: Grants the target a blood-defined transformation.

  Result: Converts the target into High Bloodkin.

  Requirement: Superior Bloodkin.

  Verdict of Red (OR)

  Effect: Materializes blood into a reinforced execution construct.

  Condition: The construct will not break unless the caster’s will falters.

  Requirement: Bloodkin.

  Rina closed the book slowly.

  Those weren’t just skills.

  They were sentences.

  Dael’s grin widened, as if he could taste the shock.

  “Well for me,” he said, lifting his books higher, “I got four.”

  Rina snapped her head up. “Wait—how?”

  Dael’s laugh turned smug.

  “Unlike you, Rina,” he said, tapping the cover of one ESB, “I set mine to record S-rank and above.”

  He flipped his first ESB open and held it out proudly.

  Crimson Pride (SS)

  Effect: Forces surrounding creatures to bow to the caster’s authority.

  Requirement: Bloodkin.

  Crimson Investiture (OR)

  Effect: Converts the target into High Bloodkin.

  Requirement: Superior Bloodkin.

  Verdict of Red (OR)

  Effect: Materializes an execution construct of reinforced blood.

  Condition: Unbreakable unless the caster's will falters.

  Requirement: Bloodkin.

  Dael’s second book shimmered.

  Serpentune Lightning (S)

  Effect: Generates controlled lightning shaped to the owner’s desire.

  Damage: Scales with mana and intent.

  Special: Can be tuned for stimulation, disruption, or neural reset.

  Astra’s face went very still.

  “Wait,” she said slowly, voice measured in the way people spoke when trying not to panic. “You’re saying he used multiple S-rank and above skills… and none of us even noticed?”

  Bromm barked a humorless laugh. “Because he didn’t bother showing us. He just… did it.”

  Eris’s gaze slid back to the door Azhareth had exited through, as if expecting it to open again.

  Rina swallowed hard.

  “It’s not just S-rank,” she said quietly.

  All eyes turned to her.

  “Some of them are… Origin Rank.”

  Bromm blinked. “Origin Rank? What the hell is that? I’m SSS and I’ve never heard of it.”

  Rina hesitated.

  Then she opened her ESB again, fingers careful now—like the page might bite.

  “Everhart has been researching it,” she said. “Origin Rank skills are… different.”

  She turned the book outward.

  Several recorded entries glowed faintly, like a constellation too bright for mortal eyes.

  “Every Origin skill is either uniquely unreplicable,” she continued, “or fundamentally stronger than its category allows.”

  She pointed to one entry, letting the name sit on the air like a promise and a warning.

  Alchemize: Ithil Perfect Craft (Origin Rank)

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Effect: Instant synthesis of alchemical products without preparation.

  Output: Purity exceeds known theoretical limits.

  Cost: No catalyst loss. No degradation.

  Note: Can produce regenerative compounds in real time.

  Rina reached into her inventory and produced a single pill—the last remaining Elixir of Regrowth.

  It looked ordinary.

  Small. Pale. Smooth.

  Bromm’s expression didn’t change.

  “It’s a pill,” he said flatly. “Regrowth stuff exists. Rare, but—”

  Astra crossed her arms. “There are legendary crafters. Some can—”

  Eris cut them off by pulling out her analyzer.

  The device unfolded with a soft click. A beam of light skimmed over the pill.

  Eris frowned.

  Then her frown became a stare.

  She scanned it again.

  Her eyes widened.

  “…No.”

  She turned the analyzer toward them.

  The screen displayed the pill’s composition, density, and regeneration coefficient.

  Numbers rose off the scale.

  Limits weren’t just exceeded. They were treated like suggestions.

  Bromm’s mouth opened, then closed.

  Astra’s posture stiffened.

  Even Dael’s grin faltered.

  Rina watched their faces, feeling something cold settle in her chest.

  This is what my teacher keeps hidden.

  Not because it was rare.

  Because it was unfair.

  Astra moved.

  In a single step, she reached out and grabbed Rina’s ESB.

  Rina reacted instantly, fingers clamping on the cover.

  “Hey—!”

  For a moment, there was a real struggle. Not violent. Instinctive.

  Astra didn’t yank harder. She leaned in slightly, voice low.

  “Just give me a second.”

  Rina’s jaw clenched.

  Then she let go.

  Astra flipped pages quickly, eyes scanning names and ranks with practiced efficiency.

  Minutes passed in an uneasy hush.

  Then Astra spoke.

  “Fletcher.”

  She turned a page.

  “Ithil.”

  Another.

  “Zandquar.”

  Then she paused on the last entry. The one that lacked a clean identity.

  “…Crimson,” she said slowly. “This one doesn’t have a proper designation. No lineage. No historical anchor.”

  She lifted her gaze to Rina.

  “Are these men your teacher?”

  Rina shook her head immediately. “No. I never met them.”

  She hesitated—just enough to betray the thought she didn’t want to admit.

  “But… Teacher might know them.”

  Kira exhaled, sharp and shaky.

  “Or,” she said, voice thin, “he is them.”

  The words landed like a stone dropped into deep water.

  Eris nodded slowly. “That would explain the incompatibility spread.”

  Bromm looked like he wanted to deny it, but his face refused to cooperate.

  Kira lifted her head and forced herself to meet Rina’s eyes.

  “Let’s stop lying to ourselves,” she said.

  Rina’s throat tightened.

  “You saw it too,” Kira continued. “You saw him change.”

  Her hands shook, but her voice steadied as she spoke, like she’d decided fear wasn’t allowed to stop her anymore.

  “One version saved us,” she said. “One nearly killed us.”

  She swallowed.

  “I think the green-haired one—Damian—is the Demon Lord the turtle talked about.”

  Rina blinked hard, stunned.

  “How can you know?” she demanded, voice cracking at the edges.

  Kira flinched. “Because I have eyes, Rina.”

  Then softer, immediately:

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  She gestured weakly.

  “It’s the way he was. Soft. Gentle. The way he held that mouse.”

  Kira’s gaze flicked to Azhareth’s absent shoulder, as if she could still see Squeak there.

  “That mouse is the same one from the dungeon,” she said quietly.

  The room went still again, but this time the silence was heavier—because it carried a new truth.

  Bromm rubbed his face, voice low.

  “So the Demon Lord… isn’t the angry one.”

  Eris’s eyes narrowed.

  “That’s worse,” she murmured.

  Astra exhaled slowly through her nose.

  “A merciful god is scarier than a cruel one,” she said.

  Dael stared down at his ESBs.

  “And we recorded all of them,” he whispered, suddenly not laughing at all.

  Astra handed Rina’s ESB back carefully.

  Then she turned to Dael.

  “Let me see yours.”

  Dael stiffened. “No.”

  Astra’s expression didn’t change. “You already saw what happened when I acted without permission,” she said. “So I’ll do it properly.”

  She straightened.

  “I swear on my family name,” Astra said, each word deliberate. “I will not steal it. I will return it intact.”

  Dael’s eyes narrowed.

  That oath wasn’t pride.

  It was an inheritance.

  Dael exhaled and handed the ESB over.

  Astra opened it.

  Her brow furrowed.

  Then tightened.

  “All three crimson skills,” she said, “require Bloodkin.”

  Eris’s head tilted. “Bloodkin? Like the vampire we fought last year?”

  Astra didn’t answer immediately.

  She summoned her World Encyclopedia.

  The tome appeared with a weight that made the air feel thicker—ancient, bound in layered sigils.

  World Encyclopedia (SSS).

  A family heirloom.

  Astra placed a palm on it.

  “Search entry,” she said. “Bloodkin.”

  The pages flipped on their own, humming softly.

  A cold, neutral response formed in shimmering text.

  Bloodkin

  A superior lifeform that survives by consuming blood and manipulates blood as instinctively as breathing.

  Astra narrowed her eyes.

  “So vampires are Bloodkin?” she asked.

  The World Encyclopedia responded at once.

  Clarification:

  All Bloodkin may manifest as Vampires.

  Not all Vampires qualify as Bloodkin.

  It continued, indifferent as it drew a line through reality.

  Vampire: A creature that absorbs blood to enhance capability.

  Bloodkin: A lifeform whose physiology and authority are blood-defined.

  Then it began listing known records.

  Low rank vampires. Names that barely mattered.

  Varos. Lenrik. Sotha. Mirel. Kaith. Durn. Ilve. Rakk. Oshen. Belm.

  Then Vampire-class entities.

  Valcren. Noctra. Heskal. Morvain. Selreth.

  Then—

  High Noble Vampire: Drace.

  The words sat heavy on the page.

  Bromm’s face tightened.

  “That bastard,” he muttered.

  Everyone in the room knew Drace. A dungeon raid boss so brutal it had taken five SS-rank teams to kill him.

  The Encyclopedia added one more line beneath his entry.

  Classification Override: Bloodkin

  The room went silent.

  Bromm’s voice came out rough.

  “Wait…” he whispered.

  His eyes widened.

  “That means your butler is—”

  He didn’t finish.

  No one did.

  Astra looked down at Dael’s ESB again.

  “Crimson Investiture converts someone into a High Bloodkin,” she said slowly. “What’s the difference between Bloodkin and High Bloodkin?”

  The World Encyclopedia hesitated.

  Pages slowed.

  The glow dimmed, like the book itself disliked the question.

  Then, after a few long seconds, a response appeared.

  High Bloodkin:

  Calculated equivalence to one hundred standard Bloodkin.

  Current Recorded High Bloodkin: Aldrean Everhart

  Rina’s stomach dropped.

  Aldrean.

  Her butler.

  Now comparable to a raid boss.

  Astra’s fingers tightened on the edge of the tome.

  Then she asked the question no one wanted answered.

  “Then what about… Superior Bloodkin?”

  The World Encyclopedia went silent.

  Its pages stopped turning.

  Its glow shifted.

  Red bled into black.

  Ink seeped from the margins like blood.

  Then the prompt appeared—dripping, obscene.

  TO KNOW ABOUT DEMON LORDS, ONE MUST PRESENT A PROPER OFFERING.

  REQUEST INFORMATION: Demon Lord — Polun

  REQUIREMENT: Ten Virgin Lives

  No one breathed.

  Kira made a small sound—half disbelief, half nausea.

  Bromm’s hands clenched into fists.

  Eris’s eyes narrowed, but even she didn’t speak.

  Astra snapped the book shut instantly, as if closing it could keep the prompt from existing.

  For a moment, she simply held it, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing.

  Then she exhaled once.

  “…That’s enough.”

  She returned the ESB to Dael carefully.

  The room didn’t move. No one laughed. No one argued.

  Even Eris—who usually leaned forward when knowledge appeared—stayed still.

  Her gaze flicked once toward Fletcher’s notebook in Rina’s hands.

  Interest flickered.

  Then died.

  “I was curious,” Eris admitted quietly.

  A pause.

  “…Not anymore.”

  Astra straightened.

  “We’re leaving,” she said.

  No one challenged her.

  Not Bromm. Not Eris.

  This wasn’t authority.

  It was survival instinct.

  Bromm forced a rough laugh that didn’t land.

  “Yeah,” he said. “This is beyond my pay grade.”

  He glanced around the gym, at the cracks, at the spilled ingredients, at the empty doorway.

  “Actually,” he added, voice lower, “it’s beyond anyone’s pay grade.”

  Astra looked at Rina.

  “We’ll talk again,” she said carefully. “But not today.”

  Rina nodded.

  She didn’t ask them to stay.

  She understood.

  The SSS-ranks left quietly.

  No teleport flares. No dramatic exits.

  Just footsteps fading down the corridor.

  The same door Azhareth had walked through earlier.

  But now it felt heavier.

  When the last sound vanished, only Rina and her team remained.

  Rina stood with Fletcher’s notebook pressed against her chest, her ESB held in her other hand.

  The gym felt too large and too empty at the same time.

  Kira rubbed her arms like she couldn’t get warm.

  Dael stared at his books like they might start bleeding.

  Merrin sat down slowly, eyes unfocused.

  Slyph touched her nose carefully, remembering the pain she couldn’t name.

  Rina looked toward the doorway again.

  The question had changed.

  It was no longer—

  Who is my teacher?

  It was now—

  Which one is watching me right now?