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[Name]: Sethius Von Nevermore
[Race]: Royal Vampire
[Status]: Incomplete Soul -(Progress: 23%)-
[Age]: 14
[Rank]: F+
[Class]: Swordsman
[Legacy]: One Who Likes To Cut (C+)
[Traits]: Unity of Sword and Body (SSS+), Maniac of Slaughter (S+), Eye of Mimir (S+)
[Laws]: Sharpness, Darkness
[Masteries]:
Intermediate Swordsmanship ★★★★☆ -(Progress: 93%)-
Basic Mana Manipulation ★★☆☆☆ -(Progress: 67%)-
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[Skills] [Quests]
The red screen hovered menacingly in the void, silently mocking the life I just left behind.
I looked at it.
Then I stared at the mirror.
Then back at the screen.
It was gamified. Simplistic.
But the contents were anything but simple.
My crimson eyes scanned the data, lingering on the trait that glowed with a terrifying golden hue.
Unity of Sword and Body (SSS+)
A dry chuckle escaped my lips, the sound echoing hollowly in the opulent room.
"This bastard..."
I clenched my fist, feeling a strength that shouldn't belong to a fourteen-year-old course through my veins.
"...I mean me, yes me, was supposed to be pretty strong if he lived to tell the tale, huh?"
I muttered the words, feeling their strange weight on top of my tongue. To have such stats at this age...
He was a prodigy.
A true monster.
And yet, he died.
Sethius Von Nevermore.
I remembered him.
In one of the novels I read, that garbage hobby that kept me sane while my lungs were steadily turning to dust, this fucker wasn't the protagonist nor the antagonist.
He was a plot device. A stepping stone.
In the original story, Sethius was a background character with huge potential who met a tragic, meaningless end.
It happened during the first joint dungeon exploration.
A professor, a man consumed by a fanatical hatred for the 'impure' races, rigged the dungeon core.
He hated vampires more than anything, seeing them as leeches upon the world.
He didn't care about the collateral damage.
He didn't care about the human students who would get caught in the blast.
So he did what any sane man would do.
A dungeon explosion.
It wasn't a heroic death. Sethius didn't die saving anyone. He didn't die fighting a monster.
He died because the ceiling collapsed on him, crushing his prodigious talent under tons of rock and mana instability.
And the professor?
When the Headmaster confronted him, when the truth came out, he didn't beg for mercy.
He just quickly slit his own throat with a smile, thinking he'd done the world a favour by killing a monster.
'And then...'
My eyes narrowed, the crimson glow within them intensifying into a dangerous slit.
The Moros Vampire Empire didn't take kindly to their prince being murdered by a xenophobic teacher.
They demanded justice for their kin.
Humanity offered apologies, but sadly, it wasn't enough.
The Emperor, Sethius's father, declared war and sided with the Outer Ones.
And that was the catalyst. The beginning of the end.
The war that served as the catalyst for the protagonist's rise in power.
"I died in a construction accident while trying to save two idiots... and now I'm in the body of a guy who will die in a dungeon collapse. Great, truly great!"
*Crack.*
My hand gripped the edge of the mahogany desk, the wood splintering under my fingers like wet cardboard.
A normal person would be terrified of all that war.
A normal person would try to stop it.
"Heh."
A low chuckle escaped my throat.
Stop it? Why would I do that?
"I refuse to die like a bug again. That much is certain."
I would survive. I would crush that professor's skull before he could even detonate the core.
But the war? The slaughter? The oceans of blood that would paint The Tower red?
"Why shouldn't I let it happen?"
A twisted, feral grin spread across my face, shattering the polite, aristocratic mask.
The thought of it... the chaos, the screaming, the beautiful, unadulterated violence... it made my blood sing.
It made me... excited.
I turned my gaze to the corner of the room.
There, resting against the wall, was a long, sleek black case.
My body moved towards it on its own.
I walked over to it, my fingers slightly trembling, not out of fear, but from anticipation, as I undid the latches.
*Click. Click.*
I opened the case.
Resting on red velvet was a sword.
It wasn't a broadsword, the weapon of choice of most. Nor was it a rapier or a katana.
It was a Miao Dao. (Image in the comments)
Long, slightly curved, with a handle that allowed for a two-handed grip.
The blade was pitch black, drinking in the light of the room like a hungry abyss.
"Beautiful."
The word escaped my mouth before I could even stop it.
I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the hilt.
*Ziiiing—!*
The moment my skin touched the weapon, I felt it.
The power of my trait.
It wasn't just a fancy name.
It felt like an electric current snapping through my nerves, connecting me to the steel.
The sword wasn't an object; it was an extension of my arm.
I could feel the balance, the weight, the sharpness as if it were my own bone and skin.
I lifted it, the movement fluid and effortless.
*Swish!*
I swung it. The air parted with a high-pitched whistle.
"Haa..."
A shiver ran down my spine.
My breathing hitched. The resistance of the air against the blade, the slight strain on my muscles, the anticipation of cutting through flesh and bone.
It felt... intoxicating.
[Maniac of Slaughter (S+)]
'Ah.'
I realised it then.
The polite facade was just that, a facade.
Deep down, this body, this soul I now inhabited, was broken. It craved for war. It craved for struggle.
It was a masochistic desire to be pushed to the limit, to feel the edge of death, and to cut through it.
"I can work with this."
I looked at the mirror again. The reflection looked back, the eyes full of a strong, chaotic madness.
"I'll play the part of the perfect noble. I'll smile, I'll bow, I'll be the model student."
But underneath?
I would make sure the war happened. Not because of a misunderstanding, but because I wanted to see the world burn.
Because I wanted to test this cutie of a sword against the throat of every strong being in this Tower.
'I hate losing.'
The thought popped into my head unbidden, tasting like bile.
Adam was used to losing.
Adam lost against his loan sharks.
Adam lost the battle against his illness.
Adam lost against gravity.
But Sethius?
Sethius would rather die than lose.
The mere thought of defeat left a foul taste in his mouth, like spoiled milk.
"Perfect."
I sheathed the blade, the sharp click echoing in the silent room.
I had a plan.
First, survive the Academy.
Second, manipulate the pieces so the war starts regardless of my survival.
Third...
My eyes narrowed as a specific image flashed in my mind. A weapon. A long stick with a pointy end.
"Spears."
Just the thought of them made my lip curl in disgust.
"If I see a spear user... I'm going to chop their gorgeous hands off."
*Grumble.*
Suddenly, a loud, unignorable sound erupted from my stomach.
I paused, blinking.
The hunger hit me like a truck.
I expected a craving for blood.
I expected the thirst that vampires in novels always whined about.
But the image that flooded my mind wasn't a goblet of crimson liquid.
It was fluffy, golden disks. Drenched in syrup. Topped with butter.
"Pancakes."
My mouth watered.
"I need pancakes."
I straightened my clothes, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt.
I would maintain the facade. I would be the polite, goody two-shoes son.
I would plunge the world into a bloody war because it sounded fun.
But first...
I walked towards the door, composing my face into a mask of indifference.
"Breakfast."