One Week Later — The Ledger
Kain sat by candlelight, cross-legged, wrapped in silence.
No magic tonight. No blood. Just ink.
He flipped through his business ledger—organized, detailed, precise.
Each entry was tied to a transaction passed through dummy networks. All tied back to one name:
Seraphix Solutions – Underground Division.
Current Net Worth: 237,000 gold marks.
• 80,000 from high-end enhancement potions sold to mercenary bands.
• 45,000 from custom healing injectors bought by black market adventurers.
• 90,000 from private nobles paying absurd amounts to get "regeneration enhancers" for their bastard sons in dueling rings.
• 22,000 from selling chemical formulas to shady alchemists.
And that was after expenses.
It had started as a side project.
Now? It was an empire in the shadows.
He looked over to a second notebook. Labeled:
PMC Development
He didn't just need wealth. He needed muscle. Bodies. Presence. And eventually, an army.
⸻
Phase One — The Birth of a Blade
He named it:
"The Blackthorn Company."
Officially, it was a private security contractor. Established legally through the Norigusho name (Aldane helped forge just enough paperwork).
Unofficially? It was a mercenary syndicate that answered only to him.
• Core hires: 12 former adventurers, 4 beastkin warriors, 2 half-demons, 1 disgraced battle mage.
• Monthly overhead: 6,200 marks.
• Expected profit margins from contract work: 30%.
• Motto: "Cut the root. Burn the tree."
They didn't just take jobs.
They took targets Kain assigned—people who might one day become threats. He was building a filter of death—if they passed through it alive, they were worth his attention.
Otherwise?
Another cut root.
⸻
The Visit — Eliette Comes Too Close
Kain was reading in his dorm when she entered without knocking.
Eliette Grail. Silver-trimmed robes, wet hair from a recent duel, eyes sharp as ever.
She dropped a vial on his desk.
"A gift."
He raised a brow.
It was filled with black ice—magic condensed to its densest form. Rare. Volatile. Illegal outside sanctioned zones.
"Where did you—"
"I made it," she said.
She stepped forward. Close.
"I want to work with you."
"You already are."
"No. I mean—in this. Your company. Your work. Your secrets."
She leaned in.
"I see you, Kain. You're not like them. Not pretending. Not desperate for approval."
He watched her, carefully.
"You don't want to be with me," he said flatly.
"You think I want love?" she laughed, low. "I want truth. And you're the only one honest enough to let it rot."
She touched his cheek.
"I want to help you burn this world."
Then she left. Silent.
Kain stood still for long minutes after.
She didn't scare him.
But she did worry him.
⸻
The Special Match — A Trap in the Open
The next day, a notice came from the Academy Tournament Council.
"Due to high sponsor interest, Kain Norigusho will duel Varek Ul Ordyn, representative of the Eastern Dominion."
A foreign noble. A war-clan prodigy. Not even a student.
This wasn't a test.
It was an execution attempt.
Kain arrived on the obsidian dueling floor dressed in full Norigusho combat black.
Varek stood seven feet tall, plated in obsidian-scale armor, wielding twin waraxes.
Kain had no blade.
The crowd murmured.
⸻
The Fight — Golem Meets God
Varek charged. No warning. No formalities.
Just a bladed avalanche.
Kain didn't run.
He sidestepped. Blinked. Shadow Step.
The first axe missed.
The second sliced air—barely.
Kain danced between death.
Then he struck—not with a weapon, but with magic.
Flameburst + Shadow Coil.
The fire forced Varek back. The shadows wrapped around his left ankle.
Kain used that moment to enhance his body with Ogre Fleshbind and slammed a punch into the man's ribs.
CLANG.
Armor dented.
Not enough.
Varek roared, slammed a waraxe into Kain's shoulder—shattering bone.
The crowd screamed.
But Kain… didn't fall.
He smiled, blood dripping from his lips.
"Too slow."
His shoulder cracked back into place mid-motion.
He grabbed the axe as it retracted.
Used it to pull Varek forward.
And drove a Plundered Dagger into the side of the man's helmet seam.
Sparks. Blood. Screaming.
Then—silence.
Kain stood over the barely-conscious warrior.
He dropped the axe.
"Get this walking relic off my field."
The crowd was stunned.
Even the professors couldn't speak.
Above them all, Whispers folded her hands in her sleeves.
Confirmed, she thought.
He's not just surviving. He's rewriting.
⸻
The Final Scene — Kain Ascends
That night, in his hidden estate warehouse, Kain walked among his mercenaries.
They saluted him now.
They didn't ask who he was.
They asked who to kill.
He stepped onto the blackwood stage he'd built at the center.
Looked down at them.
"You've taken jobs before," he said. "You've bled for men who didn't remember your names."
"I remember."
"I created this world."
They blinked.
Laughed a little.
But then they saw his eyes. Violet fire. Cold fury.
And they listened.
"I'm not a king," he said. "Kings fall."
"I'm not a hero. Heroes die."
"I'm the hand that writes the story."
He raised one clenched fist.
"And anyone who threatens my ending?"
He grinned.
"They die before the chapter ends."
⸻
TO BE CONTINUED…