Noa inhaled deeply, the scent of blood thick in the air. His hands were still stained, the crimson drying in streaks across his arms and face.
"Status," he muttered.
A familiar shimmer pulsed before his eyes as the invisible screen flickered into place.
Name: Noa Itsuki
Level: 113
Class: —
Strength: 241
Speed: 289
Agility: 223
Stamina: 245
Endurance: 350
Active Skills:
• [Crown of Dread] – Opponents below your level feel unexplainable unease and creeping fear when they meet your gaze.
• [Tenebris (Living Darkness)] +
Passive Skills:
• [Devour] – Increased chance of acquiring skills from defeated enemies.
• [Demonic Vitality+] – Passive regeneration over time
• [Whispers of the Void] – Small chance to resist death or madness effects.
• [Night Vision] – See clearly in darkness.
Elemental Affinity: Tenebris
Noa stared at the line for a while.
"…Well, it's not completely useless," he said dryly. "Finally... I have an attribute."
"My regeneration leveled up too?... I guess that's what the plus sign means. That explains why my bleeding stopped already."
His eyes lingered on the next entry.
"…And… a skill too. Same name as the affinity"
"Tenebris?"
He blinked, and another pane unfolded beneath the name—responding to his focus, to his will.
[Tenebris (Living Darkness)]
Description:
A darkness not born from the world—but from within. Manifested from the abyss in Noa's soul, Tenebris is alive. It watches. It whispers. It remembers. Born of trauma, blood, and fury, it cloaks the wielder in a living veil. Defensive, reactive, and always hungry.
Though its power grows with each battle, excessive or reckless use may result in partial loss of control, deepening emotional detachment, or accelerated soul corruption. If left unchecked, Tenebris may one day stop serving Noa and begin controlling him.
Advised- Use only at higher levels of control and mental stability.
Unlocked Effect:
■ Living Veil
The darkness coats your body like a second skin.
Reduces physical and magical damage by 40–60%, scaling with bloodshed, fear, and proximity to death.
Reacts instinctively to danger—sometimes blocking attacks the user doesn't even perceive. The veil moves even when you don't.
Sealed Effects:
■ ???
■ ???
■ ???
■ ???
■ ???
Noa exhaled through his nose, almost a scoff.
"So the more death I bring… the stronger it gets?"
His reflection wavered faintly on the blood-slicked stone beneath his boots.
"...Tenebris," he repeated, quieter this time. His gaze darkened.
"I don't know what you are… but if you're part of me…"
A pause.
"…then I'll drag you with me to the end."
Noa closed his eyes.
Let's see how this works…
The moment the thought settled, something stirred. A presence—silent, eager—rose from within like ink blooming through water.
He felt it before he saw it. A pressure. A wrapping. Like shadowy tendrils coiling up his limbs, slick and cold—but not foreign. Not hostile.
Familiar.
His breath hitched slightly as the sensation crawled across his skin. When he opened his eyes, his hands were no longer bare.
They were cloaked in shifting, smoke-like darkness. Wisps of living shadow writhed over his knuckles and between his fingers, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm.
"…Wow," Noa muttered, watching the black veil slither and tighten as if responding to his awe. "This is… something."
He turned, boots crunching over dust and old bone as he stepped toward the carcass of the hive beast. Its massive body lay still, punctured and torn, steam still curling from the wounds he'd inflicted.
Noa crouched near its gaping maw and wrapped his fingers around one of the jagged fangs—thick, yellowed, and still coated in drying venom.
He pulled.
The tooth came free with a wet snap, bone and sinew giving way like paper.
His brows rose slightly.
Earlier, during the battle, that thing had nearly crushed him. He'd thrown everything he had just to pierce its hide. And now…
"…So it strengthens my body too?"
He turned the tooth in his hand, then, without hesitation, jabbed it against his own forearm—not enough to cause real harm, but enough to test.
The tooth sank forward… and stopped.
No blood. No pain.
Instead, the living veil pulsed. The shadow around his arm condensed where the tooth touched, thickening, absorbing the force. The fang barely pierced him, stopped not by flesh—but by the darkness itself.
Like a second skin.
Noa stared, eyes narrowing.
Then a smile—quiet, curious—curved his lips.
"...You're not just a skill," he murmured to the Tenebris cloaking his body. "You're alive aren't you?"
The shadows didn't answer.
But they didn't have to.
Something in Noa's mind pulsed—subtle, affirming. As if it understood.
Noa's grin deepened, something sharp flickering behind his eyes.
"…I'm gonna love this."
Noa stepped over the collapsed stone, eyes scanning the rubble-strewn floor of the half-sunken chamber. Something tugged at him—not a noise, not a sight. A feeling. As if the shadows themselves whispered where to look.
His boots scraped against grit and bloodstains. Then he paused.
"...There you are."
Noa spotted the familiar hilt of his sword jutting from the rubble, dark and worn. He stepped forward and gripped it firmly. Then he sheathed the sword with a faint click, the sound swallowed by the silence around him. The air still smelled of ash and old blood, but he no longer noticed. His footsteps echoed softly as he turned from the rubble and made his way toward the cracked stone archway leading out of the ruins.
But suddenly. Noa dropped to his knees.
A sharp pulse tore through his chest like a spear of ice, and Noa inhaled sharply.
"Agh—!" He clenched his shirt, heart pounding erratically beneath his ribs. The shadows writhed around him, no longer calm—twitching, almost panicked.
"I-Is this… the limit for now…?" he muttered, voice strained.
The veil of darkness shivered, then unraveled from his body like smoke on the wind. In an instant, it was gone—retreating back into the depths of his soul.
Silence returned.
Noa stayed there for a moment, kneeling in the dust, feeling the cold sweat on his brow and the lingering weight of Tenebris fading from his skin.
"Guess you're not free to rampage just yet," he muttered, half to himself, half to the presence that had just receded.
But even as the pain faded, something inside him buzzed—an awareness that the skill hadn't withdrawn out of weakness.
It had chosen to stop.
And that made it all the more dangerous.
Noa's breathing steadied, but his expression twisted—lips curling into a sick, almost amused smile.
"Heh… guess I need to be careful when I use that skill."
His eyes glinted—half warning, half fascination.
Because deep down, a part of him enjoyed it. The power. The way it wrapped around him like a second skin. The way it responded.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, still grinning faintly.
"Or maybe…"
His voice trailed off, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.
He wasn't afraid of the darkness.
He was starting to like it.
*****
Meanwhile in Nekros—the demon continent
Selene stepped through the velvet-draped doorway, her boots silent on the polished stone. From within the room, low, breathless moans echoed—a chorus of indulgence and exhaustion.
Moments later, Azmyra appeared behind her, bare as the day she was born. Her golden eyes gleamed with languid amusement as she stretched, unbothered by her nakedness.
""Selene~ you're baaack," Azmyra purred, stretching the words like honey dripping from her lips
With a lazy flick of her fingers, shadows curled around her form—spinning silk from nothing. In a blink, her revealing outfit materialized, clinging to her like sin itself
"So," Azmyra purred, stretching languidly, "how was he?"
Selene stood tall, her silver hair catching the faint glow as she crossed her arms. Her gaze was steady, unreadable.
"The sword is already bound to the other worlder," she said, voice calm but firm. She shifted her weight slightly, the faintest gesture of thoughtfulness crossing her face. "He may be able to wield the full power of a relic—because it seems the relic is also helping him."
Azmyra raised an elegant brow, a slow smile curling her lips. "Interesting. Relics of the monarchs usually do not serve anyone other than their original owners... the monarchs themselves."
Selene's eyes narrowed just a fraction. "That's what makes this unusual. The sword's resonance with him is... different. Almost as if it recognizes something in his soul."
Azmyra leaned forward, intrigued. "So, are you planning to help him harness that power?"
A pause. Selene's voice dropped just slightly, heavy with implication. "I don't see a reason not to."
Azmyra's smile deepened, her voice silk wrapped in steel. "If you intend to teach him, make sure he comes to our side. The sword is too valuable—and now that he's its master, we cannot afford to lose such a powerful ally."
She sighed, the sound almost wistful. "Here I thought I could finally claim an ancient relic of one of the strongest monarchs for myself."
Selene turned, her eyes cold but her tone almost teasing as she took a step toward the door.
"Your father asked about you."
Azmyra's gaze flickered.
Selene gave a curt nod, then turned without a word, her cloak trailing behind her as she disappeared into the shadows beyond the doorway.
Azmyra watched her go with a lingering smile, one fang just barely visible behind her lips.
When Selene left, Azmyra stretched lazily and turned back toward the curtained alcove.
Inside, the men stirred—breathless, eyes glazed with a blend of longing and fear.
Azmyra licked her lips.
"Okay, dears…" she cooed, her voice dripping with sin. She stepped forward, the soft glow of the crystals casting wicked highlights across her skin.
"Let's continue~"
*****
Back outside the ruins…
The harsh daylight stung Noa's eyes as he stepped beyond the cracked stone threshold. The air outside was cleaner, but the tension was thick. Dozens of adventurers had gathered—some bandaged, others wide-eyed, murmuring among themselves.
Weapons lowered as they saw him, but their gazes remained cautious, curious… and awed.
Then, a firm voice cut through the noise.
"Okay, okay, all of you—give him some space," came a calm, authoritative tone.
The crowd parted as a man in simple clothes approached. He wore no armor, carried no weapon, and yet the way others instinctively stepped aside spoke volumes. He moved with quiet authority—like someone who didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed.
His hair, a mix of dark brown and streaks of silver, was tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. A short, well-kept beard framed a weathered face—lined not by age alone, but by responsibility. His eyes, a sharp steel-gray, missed nothing as they scanned the ruins and the people around him.
Though likely in his mid-forties, his posture remained strong—like a man who'd spent a lifetime on the edge of battlefields, even if he no longer fought on them.
He gave Noa a quick, appraising glance before offering a small nod.
"Can you come with me?"
Noa said nothing, just followed.
They walked a short distance from the crowd, toward a cluster of large stones, serving as makeshift seating. The man turned, offering a hand.
"I'm the guild master of Ashvalen. Name's Halric."
Noa didn't take the hand, but gave a slight nod. "...I see."
Halric smiled faintly, unbothered. "Can I ask your name?"
"…It's Noa."
"Well then, Noa," Halric said, folding his arms with a sigh. "I'll be honest with you—when I realized we were dealing with a hive beast, I left to get reinforcements from the capital. Thought it was the only way anyone stood a chance."
He shook his head slightly, a trace of frustration in his voice.
"But before I could get back… some of the adventurers charged in on their own. I thought we were going to lose them all."
Halric looked Noa straight in the eyes, voice lowering.
"But thanks to you… most of them made it out. You didn't just kill that thing—you bought them time to survive. That means something."
He paused, gauging Noa's reaction.
"You have my thanks for that."
He exhaled. "Honestly… I thought I'd be returning to a massacre."
Noa's expression didn't change. "It's nothing."
Halric tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet curiosity.
"So that's done. Now, Mr. Noa… who are you, exactly? I've never seen you in Ashvalen before."
Noa met Halric's gaze without flinching, his expression unreadable. He let a brief silence hang before replying in a calm, level tone.
"I'm an adventurer from the Kingdom of Velmoria."
Halric blinked, then gave a short chuckle—half in surprise, half in realization.
"Velmoria, huh?"
He leaned back slightly, rubbing his chin.
"Well, that makes sense… Velmoria is a powerhouse. A whole continent under one banner—military strength, magic, resources. Adventurers from there are no joke."
He glanced sideways, clearly reevaluating Noa with a hint more respect—and a trace of caution.
"You've come a long way to end up in Ashvalen," he added. "Just passing through?"
Noa offered a slight shrug, letting the guild master fill in the blanks himself.
"Something like that."
And just like that, the mystery deepened—and the questions quieted.
Halric's polite smile didn't waver, but his eyes sharpened just slightly.
"Can I see your adventurer card?" he asked, his tone still casual—though there was now a hint of suspicion beneath it.
Adventurer card? Noa thought, inwardly cursing. He had seen others flash them before they went inside the ruin—engraved with magic, tied to the guild system, nearly impossible to fake without special means.
He didn't hesitate long.
"Sorry, Guild Master Halric," Noa said, his voice steady and laced with just enough regret. "I think I lost it in the fight earlier. Between the collapsing ruins and the swarm… I barely made it out with my weapon."
Don't think too hard about it, old man… or I might have to make you stop.
Halric narrowed his eyes, but only for a second. Then he sighed and nodded slowly.
"Well… these things happen," he said, though his gaze lingered on Noa a little longer than before.
"I'll have someone escort you to the guild later to issue a temporary replacement. If that's alright."
Noa gave a small nod, wearing the mask of a tired, disheveled hero.
"Of course."
They returned to the gathered adventurers, the murmurs quieting as Halric led Noa through the crowd.
From among the crowd, a figure stepped forward.
A young woman—likely in her early twenties—parted the adventurers with quiet dignity. She moved with the calm assurance of someone used to being obeyed, her blonde hair tied back with a pale blue ribbon. Her fine travel garments, dusted from the road, bore the unmistakable crest of the royal family across her chest.
At her side walked a male guard, not much older than her. He wore fitted steel armor and a dark cloak bearing the same crest. His expression was sharp, alert, and his hand rested near the hilt of his sword—ready, but measured.
Even Halric blinked in visible surprise.
"...Princess?" he muttered, his composed tone slipping for just a heartbeat.
He stepped forward, bowing slightly—not out of duty, but out of respect. "Forgive me, I didn't know you were arriving in person."
The princess gave a brief nod, her sapphire eyes scanning the scene before settling on Noa.
"So," she said calmly, "you're the one who slew the hive beast."