The shockwave reached them like a giant's breath.
The forest shuddered. Leaves tore free from branches, birds burst screaming into the sky, and the ground beneath their feet rolled hard enough to throw them down nearly. Leopold grunted as the tremor wrenched his injured shoulder; his arm tightened instinctively around the young man's neck to keep himself upright.
They had already put distance between themselves and the battlefield—deep enough into the forest that the sounds of steel and screams had dulled—but this was different. This was not battle noise.
This was annihilation.
They both turned.
Far beyond the treeline, rising above the jagged silhouettes of distant hills, a colossal mushroom-shaped cloud bloomed into the sky. Ash and dust spiraled upward, glowing faintly at its core before darkening into something vast and obscene.
The young man swallowed. "That… that wasn't—"
"Normal," Leopold finished, voice low. "Yes. I know."
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing with something between awe and unease. "That might be Peonome's doing."
The young man stared, unable to look away. "Are Keepers… all like that?"
Leopold let out a short, humorless breath. "No. Most of them are merely exceptional."
He glanced back at the cloud. "She's a monster."
They moved again, slower now. Leopold's shoulder wound was not deep, but it bled steadily, each step pulling pain through his frame. He masked it well, but the weight he leaned onto the young man grew heavier with every minute.
From the camp to the forest, they had counted survivors without meaning to.
Half a dozen. No more.
The rest had vanished into steel, fire, and indifference.
Leopold's gaze kept drifting backward—not to the battlefield, but to its edges. To the routes a hunter would take.
Hevert would not let this go.
That explosion meant victory. And once the battle was decided, the hunt would begin.
"We keep moving," Leopold said quietly. "Find somewhere to disappear."
The young man frowned. "Shouldn't we run? As far as we can?"
Leopold shook his head. "Running only delays the inevitable. Hiding changes the rules."
The answer clearly confused him, but he nodded and followed without argument.
Fate—or perhaps sheer cruel irony—made the decision for them. Not five minutes later, the forest opened just enough to reveal a narrow break in stone. A cave, half-hidden by roots and creeping moss.
Leopold studied it, eyes sharp despite exhaustion. Wind direction. Depth. Footing.
"This will do."
They slipped inside, moving deeper until daylight thinned to a pale smear behind them. Leopold gestured to a flat stretch of stone. "There."
They sat.
The cave was cold, damp, and quiet enough that the young man could hear Leopold's breathing—slow, measured, but heavier than before.
"What are we doing here?" he asked softly.
Leopold was silent for a long moment.
Then he turned, eyes clear despite the blood soaking his sleeve. "Will you help me get my wife and daughter back?"
The question landed without warning.
The young man did not hesitate. "Of course."
Something in Leopold's expression shifted—not softened, but steadied.
"Then answer me this," Leopold continued. "Will you help me take my revenge?"
The young man paused this time. Not out of fear—out of thought.
Instead of answering, he asked, "Why?"
Leopold nodded once, as if that had been the correct response.
"You asked me before if I could give you a name," he said quietly. "The answer is yes. But names carry weight. Blood. Obligation."
He met the young man's eyes. "Promise me this—help me reclaim my family."
"I promise."
Leopold did not mention revenge again. He didn't need to. Once a man stepped into this path, there was no clean way out.
He placed his palm on the young man's head. The touch was firm, deliberate.
"No backing out, kid," Leopold said. "Let's begin."
The young man nodded.
Leopold straightened as much as his injury allowed and spoke with sudden gravity, his voice resonating unnaturally within the cave.
"By the authority granted under the Almighty God, Tharion—
I, Leopold de Vedre, bestow my blessing."
Power stirred. The air tightened.
"From this moment forth," Leopold continued, "this man stands as an adopted son of House de Vedre."
He smiled—faint, weary, but genuine. "Your name is Klaus de Vedre."
Light surged.
Klaus gasped as warmth flooded through his body. Symbols flickered into existence before his eyes—clear, structured, impossible.
"What—what is this?"
Leopold snorted. "Where are your manners? Is that how you talk to your father? By the way, you're staring at your future now."
A transparent screen hovered before Klaus, pulsing softly.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Page 1/2
Name: Klaus de Verde
Race: Human
Age: 19
Class: Reaver
Level: 1
Party: House de Verde
Coalition: None
Description: The Adopted Son of House de Vedre. A wanderer seeking revenge for his fallen house.
Status:
Health: 300 / 300
Mana: 100 / 100
Stamina: 150 / 200
Attributes(Free Points: 0)
Strength: 8
Agility: 10
Endurance: 7
Intelligence: 8
Dexterity: 8
Charisma: 4
Coins
Gold: 0
Silver: 0
Bronze: 0
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Next Page>>
Klaus frowned at the translucent screen hovering before his eyes. It pulsed faintly, as if aware of his attention.
"What are these?" he muttered, tapping Next Page with tentative curiosity.
The list of skills unfolded, lines of text sharp and undeniable.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Page 2/2
Basic Skills
Trap Master Lv1 –
Create an explosive trap on any object held by the caster. The caster can manipulate the complexity of the trap. Explosion power scales with casting duration and the caster's dexterity.
Cost: 50Mana, 1 Silver
Unique Skill
Reaver Graver –
Permanently copy one basic skill of choice from a defeated foe. The level of the basic skill copied scales with the caster's intelligence.
Cost: 50 Mana, 5 Gold
Passive Skill
Mindforger(Passive) –
Manifest any weapon based on the user's perception and understanding.
Weapon form, stability, and effectiveness scale with mental clarity and combat experience,
Ultimate Skill
Power of Gold(Ultimate) –
Convert gold directly into raw power.
For every 1 Goldcoin spent, all attributes increase by +1.
Effect last for 30 minutes.
Gold consumed cannot be recovered.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
< Leopold watched him, one arm pressed to his wounded shoulder. Despite the pain, his lips curved with mild amusement and pity. He knew Klaus was a slave from the beginning, and slaves don't have the privilege to learn and study. "Of course, you look lost," he said lightly. "I doubt you even know how to read half of that. The first one—"
"I can read it," Klaus cut in, brows knitting. His tone held no offense, only honest confusion. "Clearly. What I don't understand is this." He pointed. "Why do my skills cost mana and coins?"
Leopold stiffened. The humor drained from his eyes. "Coins?" He pushed himself straighter despite the ache. "That's not normal. Skills demanding mana are expected. But coins?" He shook his head once. "That's the first I've ever heard of."
"How do I know what any of this means?" Klaus asked.
"Tap Party," Leopold said after a moment. "You should see my name. Allow me access."
Klaus did as told. Two names appeared—his own—and Leopold de Vedre.
He noticed the two bars beneath their name, painted blue and red. Each is labeled with mana and health, respectively. Leopold's health bar lost almost a fourth of it. Then—
His breath caught. Leopold's level was already eighty-six.
"Level… eighty-six?" Klaus whispered. His eyes darted up. Leopold's health hovered at barely seventy percent, while his mana bar sat untouched and full. "Then the Keepers—?"
"At least two hundred," Leopold replied flatly.
Klaus stared. "That's… absurd."
Leopold snorted. "Welcome to reality."
He studied Klaus's screen with a narrowing gaze. "This is all wrong. Your class. Your skills. Even that so-called passive." A dry chuckle escaped him. "Coins. A rich man's power system shoved into a penniless slave. Cruel irony."
He leaned closer. "Try it. Your passive. That's the only skill we can practice. Think of a weapon that suits you."
"How?" Klaus asked.
"Just think," Leopold said simply.
Klaus closed his eyes.
Darkness pressed in—and then a memory cracked through.
A book, worn at the edges, pressed into his hands. A man stood before him, face blurred yet warm, golden hair tangled, and clothes smeared with dirt. The man smiled tiredly.
Happy birthday, son. Here's the book you wanted.
A carefully drawn revolver pistol, every line precise, every mechanism labeled.
Klaus felt the weight settle into his palms.
When he opened his eyes, cold metal rested there—a compact, unfamiliar weapon, solid and real.
"…Thank you, Dad," he whispered before realizing where he was.
Leopold blinked. "Why are you thanking me?"
"I—" Klaus swallowed. "I saw something. A memory. I think."
Both of them stared at the weapon.
"What in the gods' name is that?" Leopold asked.
Leopold turned the revolver over in his hands, curiosity briefly eclipsing caution. The metal was cold, unfamiliar, too smooth in places where a blade ought to have edges. He lifted it closer to his face, squinting.
"Hm. No runes," he muttered. "No visible mana channels either."
He peered into the barrel, angling it toward the dim cave light. "Empty," he concluded, tapping the side with a fingernail. "If this is a weapon, it hides its teeth well."
Before Klaus could object, Leopold raised it higher—far too high—and pointed it directly at his own eye, thumb curling around the trigger.
"Wait—" Klaus started.
Click.
Nothing happened.
Leopold blinked, unfazed. He clicked it again. And again. The sound echoed faintly in the cave, hollow and meaningless.
"…Strange," Leopold said. He tossed the revolver upward without warning. It clattered against stone and slid across the ground. He waited, watching carefully, half-expecting it to fly back to his hand or dissolve on its own.
It didn't.
"It neither responds to mana nor obeys recall," Leopold concluded, faint disappointment creeping into his voice. "No recoil, no enchantment, no spirit bound within it. By all logic, it's dead iron."
Klaus stood up, picked the revolver, and closed his fingers around the grip. The moment his palm settled, the weapon dissolved into motes of light, fading as though it had never existed.
Leopold looked disappointed, "Useless—for now. You need focus on different weapon.".
"I will," Klaus said quietly while staring at his palm.
A notification chimed.
You received 20 Silver from Leopold de Vedre.
Klaus turned his gaze to the old man.