[Fethan Bloodstar]
[Level 30] [Holy Power: 2.6] [Magic Power: 20.6] [Soul Power: 206]
Fethan spent six more days in the hospital. Using the basic soul cultivation technique granted by the system, he would slip into the castle's training room to meditate and return before the nurses made their rounds. His Soul Power slowly but steadily increased.
He tried cultivating in the real world, but it yielded nothing. Still, the gradual rise in stats and Soul Power started changing his body. His once-thin frame became more defined. His reflexes sharpened. His ability to focus extended far beyond normal.
He now sat in a hospital room across from a middle-aged male doctor with a white beard and worn face—resembling Colonel Sanders if he'd lived in a psych ward. The man glanced from Fethan to the computer monitor.
"You seem normal, Mr. Fethan."
"Why would I not be?" Fethan smiled playfully. He already knew the answer: Everyone else who returned from the Nameless Forgotten City had died—except him and Shiel. The psychiatric patients had succumbed to fear while strapped to hospital beds. Heart failure. Suffocation from their own tongues.
The public believed Shiel was the sole survivor. Fethan's identity was protected, thanks to the Sterling family. But Colonel KFC here clearly knew better.
He was one of the few who realized Fethan was among the chosen survivors. Everyone else had perished. The only reason Fethan and Shiel still had their minds was because of Shiel's final written instruction—delete their memories using advanced neural tech. Permanent brain damage in exchange for sanity.
It was too late for the others.
"Your brain suffered damage during treatment. You may experience hallucinations, auditory distortions, or attention lapses. With continued therapy, you'll improve. Avoid isolation or emotionally intense activities. You're showing early signs of depression. Watch films. Listen to music. Stay active."
"Thanks, Doc. I'll follow your advice."
"You'll need to return next month. Don't worry about cost. The hospital will cover it. Just let us monitor your progress."
"Understood."
After ten days of hospitalization, Fethan was discharged. He'd missed the New Year celebrations. The January weather had warmed slightly. Wearing the same white dress shirt and black scarf he'd worn on Christmas Eve—freshly laundered by a sweet nurse—he left.
With no relatives to collect clothes from home, he had no choice but to wear what he'd arrived in.
NeoCaster Military Hospital was filled with wounded soldiers, police, and hunters. Fethan glanced into rooms full of near-catatonic patients—alive but soulless. Some missing limbs. Some broken in spirit. Many trembled endlessly.
This place felt more like a psychiatric hospital than a military one. A third of the patients suffered from mental disorders. Life inside a Hollow Gate ate away at sanity.
"You're gonna kill me! I know it! I'll kill you first! DIE! DIE! It's you or me!" one patient screamed, locking eyes with Fethan. He leapt up to attack—only to be yanked down by chains. An orderly rushed in to restrain him.
"Get out of here!" the nurse shouted at Fethan.
'If I'm not careful, I'll end up just like them,' Fethan thought grimly.
He left the hospital and spotted the grand cathedral of the Holy Church. Its pristine flower garden and paved walkway glimmered in the sun. A bell rang—a sound so enchanting it lured him forward unconsciously.
Fethan wasn't religious. But now, he understood why people sought faith.
He walked into the church mid-service. Only then did he realize it was Sunday.
He stayed until the end, listening to the priest's teachings. His heart calmed, as if some of his burdens had lifted. He gazed at a white stone statue bathed in rainbow light through stained glass. A divine being—man or woman—cloaked in grace. Angelic wings. Gentle eyes carved in crystal. Hands clasped in the shape of a heart.
As if any sin could be forgiven there.
"Mother… would you forgive me?" he whispered to the statue.
Then the world shattered.
The divine face twisted into a demonic grin. White wings blackened. The angel's form overlapped with that grotesque statue from the Nameless Forgotten City beneath the yellow ocean sky.
Fethan nearly collapsed. He blinked furiously, and the vision returned to normal.
'This is bad.' Unease crawled through his skin.
Without realizing it, he exited the church with the other congregants—all heading in the same direction as he. Most were military hospital patients. He noticed one man smoking by the gate, leaning against a wall.
"Didn't expect someone like you to be familiar with churches," the man said.
Fethan approached. The smoker lit another cigarette.
"I used to come with my mom. She was a holy mage."
"I know. Still weird. I've never seen someone like you walk into a church."
"Someone like me?"
"If you get too close to churches, your dark powers weaken. You should feel sick. But you walked in like it was nothing. Funny—and interesting."
Shiel tossed him a wooden baseball bat bag. Fethan caught it and froze. The weight was unmistakable.
"Why give this back?"
"I didn't give it to you. I'm just returning what's yours. Don't worry—it won't get traced. I swapped in a replica. Unless a grandmaster inspects it, no one'll know it's real."
They walked the street side by side.
"Any leads on who used Lumi's belongings to cast the Soul Larva Curse?"
"Sadly, no. She died too soon—trail went cold. But it takes years to process those materials. We might still find something. That's not your concern anymore, though."
"It is my concern. I'm Lumi's boyfriend. I'll make them pay."
"What're you gonna do, you powerless fool? Stay quiet. Don't get in the way. Maybe you'll survive long enough to be useful someday."
Fethan's face darkened at the insult.
"Fine. If I'm so useless, you won't see me again."
He shouldered the bat case and ran across the street, parting ways with the man who had once fought beside him in hell.
He'd meant to share what he'd learned from the Reaper. But clearly, Shiel didn't want his help.
"Didn't even reach him," Shiel muttered, barely audible.
Fethan returned to his childhood home—not far from the Nameless Forgotten City gate. A black-painted, two-story wooden house, it looked pulled from an old photo. Mesh-wrapped balcony. Huge windows. Weathered with age.
His mother had died in a red-tier Hollow Gate accident fourteen years ago. His father vanished soon after, leaving ten-year-old Fethan to survive alone. No inheritance. He was kept alive by his mother's friend, working as a dishwasher in exchange for scraps.
The only thing his father left was this antique-stuffed house. Fethan hated the clutter, but cleaned regularly. Still, he loathed the place.
As soon as he entered, a dark aura slammed into him. His vision blackened. He instinctively donned Ninetails.
"Who's there?! Get out of my house!" he shouted.
The death energy was dense—like the Werewolf's. His Deathseer Eyes activated, but showed nothing.
'No system window? Did Pharaoh Black send another Reaper after Lumi's soul?'
He couldn't breathe. The pressure crushed his lungs.
But then his vision adjusted. Nothing moved. Slowly, he followed the aura to its source: the old storage room packed with useless heirlooms.
He cleared the room, piece by piece.
Then he found it.
An Egyptian-style sarcophagus.
He pried it open. No mummy inside—just junk he'd shoved in to save space. But one item radiated immense darkness: a bronze-steel box. He placed it on his lap and opened it.
Inside were:
A leather-bound bookA ring shaped like a keyA map
[Ring of Keys (???): A magical item with unknown power. Reveals true abilities only to a worthy heir.] [Map of the Dead (S): A high-level dark magic artifact. Displays soul locations, travel routes, cursed zones, rituals, and dark dungeons.] [Dark Magic Notes of Gamo J.K. Hedison (S): The personal notes of Gamo, Lord of Dark Magic. Contains curses, rituals, and forbidden knowledge. Grants rightful succession to Gamo's legacy.]
[Magic Attack +100] [Magic Penetration +5%] Traits: [Magic Boost +50%] [Dark Authority +10] [Curse Resistance +5] Special: Required for class change to Lord of Dark Magic (S-rank hidden class)
"Gamo's notes! And they're personal!" Fethan nearly dropped the book. Gamo was infamous—the most destructive Dark Mage in history. Blamed for terrorism and global disasters. Executed twenty years ago.
There was a rumor that Gamo was the only Dark Mage in history to resurrect a human without flaws.
'How the hell is this in my house? If the Inquisitors find this, Shiel will behead me on sight. Was my dad or grandfather connected to Gamo? That can't be! My mother was killed by a Dark Mage!'
Fethan panicked. He'd never known what his father or grandfather actually did. He barely remembered either of them.
'Even if I have Gamo's relics, there's no proof my family served him. I just need proof of innocence…'
But a voice inside screamed:
He was terrified.
Terrified to know the truth.
He shoved the doubts down. Pretended not to see them.
He opened Gamo's book. It held evil techniques, rituals, secrets. A 4-inch thick tome of horror. Reading it made him sick.
[You do not meet the requirements. Intelligence too low to change class to Lord of Dark Magic.]
He ignored the message. He only wanted one thing: a clue to resurrect Lumi.
He found nothing.
"Worthless rumors," he muttered, disgusted. Though the item was valuable, something told him it would bring disaster.
He placed it in the oven and incinerated it at 500°C. Minutes passed. The timer dinged.
He opened the door.
The book was unharmed. Not a scorch mark.
His face darkened.
This cursed thing would never leave him.
He would have to hide it—forever.
Because if anyone ever found it, his peaceful life would be over.