Chapter 137 – Renewed
"Before this, I already informed your father, so we can head straight to your home now."
...
The black carriage swayed as it departed from the cathedral district. Inside the carriage, Zachary—dressed in a pristine white tailcoat—sat upright across from Charles. Seeing the young man's slightly dazed expression, he assumed Charles hadn't fully recovered yet and offered a reminder:
"The post-advancement stabilization period lasts about a week. During this time, it's best that you drink plenty of water and eat lightly—especially avoid meat. Absolutely do not eat it."
Charles nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
To be honest, he didn't feel the so-called stabilization phase all that strongly. Aside from a faint, lingering ache throughout his body and a slightly accelerated heartbeat, there wasn't much discomfort—certainly nothing that would unsettle him mentally.
The real reason for his distraction lay elsewhere.
His attention was firmly fixed on his status panel.
...
[Name]: Charles Cranston
[Age]: 16
[Health Status]: Brimming with Vitality
[Life Tier]: Second Circle
[Talents]: Eye of Reality, Seven Gods' Sigil (Sealed), Child of the Sun
[Skills]: Necromancy, Holy Light, Fire, Magical Rituals, Item Crafting
[Gate of Traversal]: Fully Charged — Remaining Time: 25 days, 7 hours, 31 minutes
...
With this advancement, the information displayed by the Eye of Reality had undergone a noticeable transformation.
After coming into contact with higher-tier power, it seemed to have become more refined and streamlined.
At a glance, the interface was clean and concise. Yet when Charles focused on a specific category, detailed information would automatically expand into view, while the rest faded into the background.
For example, his newly acquired talent—Child of the Sun.
As he concentrated on it, the words enlarged before his eyes, and lines of fine text gradually appeared beneath them.
...
[Child of the Sun]: Where light reigns, darkness shall not endure. Inheriting the ancient Sun God's renown, your existence is destined to strike terror into all evil beings.
...
[Trait 1]: When a target develops hostile intent toward you, it will be struck by solar radiance and suffer brief blindness.
...
[Trait 2]: Solar Golden Flame scorches all dark-aligned creatures within five meters of you. If the creature harbors hostility toward you, the burning effect is intensified.
...
[Trait 3]: When using a bow, your arrows draw in solar light, inflicting a blinding effect upon impact.
...
[Trait 4]: You gain increased affinity and potency when casting fire- and light-based spells.
...
[Warning]: The Child of the Sun talent only functions under sunlight.
...
The talent certainly looked impressive—its four traits were undeniably powerful.
Yet that final restriction severely diminished its overall value.
It was only truly formidable during the day.
Just as the Archbishop had said, the so-called Sun God inheritance was, in essence, a specialized class or bloodline—powerful, yes, but far from omnipotent.
Strong, but not absurdly so.
If he'd been given a real choice, Charles honestly wouldn't have picked this path.
Sure, this "class" seemed to lean more toward the physical than the spiritual, so in theory it wouldn't clash with the path of a necromancer later on.
But…
He couldn't guarantee that would always remain true.
After all, this kind of special profession was practically without precedent—there was no history to consult, no examples to follow. It was a one-of-a-kind anomaly.
That aside, Trait Two alone gave him a headache.
A necromancer who couldn't let undead get close?
That was ridiculous.
"Or maybe the two were fundamentally incompatible from the start…"
...
While he was lost in thought, Zachary—seated opposite him in the carriage—continued speaking in a steady voice:
"Once the stabilization period ends, you'll be eligible to engrave a Holy Mark. Your status is special, so the Church will grant you one engraving free of charge—but only once. After that, you'll need to rely on your own merits."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"The higher-ups intend for you to join an exorcism squad. It'll be very beneficial for your growth."
That snapped Charles out of his distraction.
"Wait—what exactly is a Holy Mark?" he asked.
He'd first heard the term back in Pita City, from Elliot, and it had been bothering him ever since. Now that he'd advanced, surely he was allowed to know.
"Do you remember the spell I used while tracking Gallorin?" Zachary asked.
"Of course."
"That was a Holy Mark," Zachary replied. "It's engraved directly onto your bones. When needed, you activate it instantly."
"So… like a permanent runic spell etched into the body?"
Zachary nodded. "More or less. But it's more convenient—and it doesn't require incantations."
Charles nodded slowly, deep in thought.
"The engraving process can be very painful," Zachary added as a final reminder. "Prepare yourself mentally."
"Pain?"
Charles thought, How bad could it really be? Still, since Zachary emphasized it, he didn't brush it off and nodded seriously.
But the priest wasn't finished yet.
"Regarding your arrangements, most of the decisions have already been made. As for Pita City, we've sent people to retrieve your sister, so you don't need to worry."
"Will she receive proper treatment?" Charles asked at once.
Despite having no blood relation and knowing her only briefly, he still cared deeply about that unfortunate girl.
"I believe so," Zachary answered. "But we'll know for certain only after she arrives. Bloodline curses are… peculiar. They aren't like ordinary ailments."
Charles nodded.
The topic ended there, and silence fell between them.
Zachary had said everything that needed saying. Charles, on the other hand, had countless questions—but none that he could clearly put into words. In the end, he remained quiet.
Time passed.
The only sounds were the rolling of carriage wheels, the noisy streets outside, and the priest's occasional cough.
Through the window, the true face of the White City drifted by—beautiful and ugly, elegant and filthy all at once.
By Charles's standards, it was still backward.
Yet it possessed a unique charm, like standing inside a grand historical painting brought to life.
...
As the carriage continued forward, the grime gradually thinned. The buildings on either side became neater, more refined.
"This is the Upper Tower District," Zachary said. "The Cranston estate is located here."
Halfway through his sentence, he realized something and chuckled softly.
"Ah—right. I forgot you're a native Dulin citizen. I keep thinking of you as someone from Pita City."
"Pita City…"
Charles sighed.
In a way, that place had become his true birthplace.
"Will I ever be able to go back?" he asked absentmindedly.
"That depends on the final arrangements from above," Zachary replied.
A puppet on strings…
Charles shook his head and fell silent again. Not long after, their destination came into view.
In the distance stood a sprawling estate. To match the city's palette, the buildings were constructed from white stone.
The residence had three stories—not tall, but wide and rectangular. Compared to the cathedral, it looked more refined, yet lacked that overwhelming sense of grandeur.
A vast lawn stretched before the estate, enclosed by black iron fencing. Within the courtyard, lush green grass spread out, and faintly visible white-clad figures patrolled the grounds.
As the kingdom's Minister of Finance, Turner Cranston's personal safety was naturally of utmost importance.
At the estate gate stood a single elderly man, upright and motionless, gazing toward the approaching black carriage.
Just one person?
Zachary glanced at Charles.
"Looks like you're not exactly popular at home."
"Seems so," Charles shrugged.
He wasn't surprised. He'd been driven out, after all—what kind of welcome could he expect?
Even knowing there had been "other reasons" behind his exile didn't change much.
The carriage came to a gentle stop before the gate. Without waiting for instructions, the greeter stepped forward and opened the door.
Charles climbed out.
Zachary didn't follow. After signaling the driver, the carriage departed directly—they'd already agreed on a time to meet later.
Watching the carriage disappear, Charles turned to the man who had come alone to receive him.
"Welcome home, Young Master Charles," the man said, bowing deeply.
Dressed in a spotless black gentleman's tailcoat, the elderly man straightened after the bow. His silver hair was neatly groomed, posture impeccable—back straight, legs together, not the slightest hint of slack.
A textbook butler's stance.
Seeing him, Charles couldn't help but think of the old steward who had once accompanied him to Pita City.
They were brothers.
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