He spotted her weaving through the market, steady steps, sharp eyes. Torchlight flickered across her light armor, and for one disorienting second he forgot how to breathe. The necklace was already in his hand. Now or never.

“Excuse me…”

She stopped cold, turning toward the voice. Her gaze locked onto him, trained, unwavering, and pinned him in place. For a moment, he froze. Then he forced his arm forward, offering the necklace.

“This… belongs to you.”

One eyebrow arched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said, struggling to keep his tone even. He raised one hand in reassurance while the other still held the necklace. “But I saw you from a distance and… I just knew. I felt like this was meant for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. She stepped back, suspicion plain on her face. “You must be confusing me with someone else. I’ve never seen you before.”

“I know,” he answered, forcing a faint smile. “But even so… it feels like it’s yours.”

She hesitated. He thought she was about to turn away, but she didn’t. She stayed.

“Do you always approach women on the street like this?” she asked. The tone was mocking, but the color rising in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Only you,” he shot back, quicker than common sense would have liked.

Her gaze darted away, nervous. Is this actually working?

“May I… put it on you?” he asked, lifting the necklace slightly.

A long beat of silence.

“If… that’s all… fine,” she murmured.

He stepped around her carefully, brushed her hair aside. His fingers shook badly, but he managed to fasten the clasp.

Click.

“You don’t seem nervous,” she said softly.

In reality, he was panicking. His heart thundered so hard he barely heard himself answer. She turned to face him again, her eyes meeting his. He didn’t blink. She didn’t know who he was, yet she hadn’t walked away.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“James. And yours?”

“Zoey.”

At that moment, a sound rolled across the square.

“The curfew bell… I have to go,” she said, glancing away. “If I don’t get back now, I’ll be punished. I can’t afford to be late again. But… I liked the gift.”

“It’s all right,” he said, brushing his fingers lightly against her hand. “I don’t want to cause you trouble. I just wanted to give you what was yours.”

Her face went red instantly, eyes wide. The bell tolled again, deep and heavy.

“U-unfortunate… that you said all this right at curfew,” she stammered.

‘Because the bastard timed it!’ Artemis screamed in his head.

He watched her vanish into the crowd, heading straight toward Bastion’s fortress. Zoey, one of the city guards, just about to switch shifts. Once she was gone, he slipped into an alley and dropped onto a crate.

“Holy shit…” His chest heaved, heart hammering.

He dragged a hand over his face. “Why is this harder than fighting a Beast Lord?”

“You’re a damn scoundrel,” Artemis spat. “I went through your memories, and all your little tricks are ripped straight out of spy movies.”

“Scoundrel?” He pushed himself to his feet. “My goal is to free everyone from this tutorial. I’m doing this for a good cause, for my plan.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you’re still a scoundrel,” she shot back.

Luke took a long pull from his canteen. “Lucky me… I’m James now. Blond guy with an eyepatch, nothing to do with Luke. If I had to pull this off as myself, I don’t think I could.”

“Does it get easier when you pretend to be someone else?” Artemis asked.

“A little,” he admitted. The truth was, even when he used his wraith form to terrify enemies, slipping into another role had always come naturally.

“Congratulations, scoundrel. You’ve discovered your hidden talent for acting,” she said with mock applause.

Luke ignored the sarcasm. “I sort of channel James Bond. Honestly, I think that’s the only role I’d ever be able to play.”

He lingered near the square, watching soldiers file back into Bastion as the curfew bell summoned them. The city’s rhythm was complicated: day-shift patrols being replaced by those who would keep watch through the night.

Over the past few days, Luke had made friends with several of Bastion’s soldiers… mostly women. It was the only safe way to build a convincing alibi while marking someone.

“You’re overly cautious. Just start branding random people,” Artemis teased.

He walked through the night market. It never really closed, hunters returning from the Wild Zone at dusk always needed to sell their spoils or restock before morning. As he drifted toward a cluster of merchants, he switched to silent thought.

I need to mark specific soldiers. Ones who move deeper into the fortress.

He pretended to browse a stall of trinkets, edging closer to Bastion’s looming gates. And I can’t risk drawing attention if someone notices the mark.

“So your master plan is just… play the charming rogue?” Artemis asked in his head.

He couldn’t deny it.

There were other options. Like telling a Bastion soldier the truth about the mechanisms and having him help me map the place. Trustworthy? Of course not. I could easily be betrayed. That’s why this is the safest alternative, both for me and for them. I can slip away and disappear into the Wild Zone, but a soldier has family here and on top of that, Bartholomew could kill him without a second thought. I’d rather take on all the risks myself.

Luke’s gaze rose to the fortress.

“How touching,” Artemis murmured. “You’ve found a noble excuse for being a scoundrel.”

On the walls, Zoey’s silhouette glowed faint red through his vision. Luke pulled a battered notebook from his pocket and started sketching quick, crude lines before anyone could notice.

Bastion and the second fortress are identical on the inside. That’s what Angelica told me before she died. This isn’t about flirting. It’s about my plan. I just need the map.

“No need to explain yourself. I won’t judge you… much. Maybe just a little more than usual,” Artemis answered. “And of course, I’ll make sure to tell Princess Charlie all about it.”

Hey! We agreed you wouldn’t tell her, as long as I kept feeding you.

He shoved the thought aside and focused again.

Bit by bit, Luke had managed to map Bastion through the female soldiers, who had greater access to different areas. But when he’d tried the same trick on a laundress by the river, he’d been met with an overwhelming wave of hostility. The women working there weren’t harmless servants, they were disciples of Erza Grimhart. They were assassin maids.

Those women wore classic maid outfits, they were supposed to be delicate, pure, and perfect. But they were murderous psychopaths… this world really is insane.

“Your fault, really. You and your maid fetish,” Artemis said dryly.

Stop digging through my browser history.

Once he finished sketching the last pieces of his map, Luke headed toward a different destination: an inn.

“Good evening, we have rooms avail…” The clerk’s smile vanished. “Oh. It’s you, James…”

“Hey, I can still come here as a paying customer. I’d rather you keep the smile.”

“My smile doesn’t come cheap,” she replied.

Luke leaned toward the potted plant sitting on the counter. “I wasn’t talking to you, Layla. I meant this little lady here. She’s kind of standoffish, but I have a feeling we’ll be friends soon.”

Layla ignored the remark and pointed toward a side door. “Your food’s ready. It’ll get cold if you dawdle.”

“Thanks, Layla.”

Luke was working under Eddie, a lumber merchant who also owned an inn in Bastion. The fruit vendor, the same one Luke had met on the day he’d tried to buy an arrow from Oswald, had been the one to recommend him.

He hadn’t taken the job for the pay. The real reason was information. Blending in. Being paid in Bastion’s own currency. And, most importantly, gaining Eddie’s trust. With Eddie’s recommendation, Luke would finally be able to buy the arrows he wanted, while maintaining the perfect cover: James, the man with the eyepatch.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

The eyepatch itself was the centerpiece of his disguise. Odd enough to stick, yet believable. His alternative had been pretending to be blind, his perception allowed him to walk with his eyes closed, after all. A part of him loved the idea, some kind of super monk, blind but more capable than the sighted. Still, it was too much. Too theatrical. Better to just play the eyepatch guy.

Eddie’s business was close to Bastion’s fortress. Families who wanted the safety of its shadow often rented rooms for weeks or months at a time, and the place was busier than Luke had expected.

Bartholomew’s tribute had officially ended, but of course nothing had really changed. The only way to live near Bastion was to rent, and Eddie simply passed the cost down the chain. In the end, the tribute was still being paid, whether directly or not. Bartholomew’s protection covered the entire Safe Zone, but everyone knew that the fortress’s perimeter was the safest place to be during an invasion. That privilege came with a price.

Luke earned his keep by chopping wood for Eddie, in exchange for food and a roof over his head. But he didn’t have his own room. Instead, he slept in a communal dorm with Eddie’s other hired hands.

As for Princess Charlie, she had to remain sealed inside his soul. Walking around the Safe Zone with her would cause problems. In her old armor, she would be instantly recognized by people from the Haven. And in her new armor, the helmet and chestplate of the Midnight Warden would raise even more questions. Luke had no choice. In the Safe Zone, she had to stay hidden.

He stepped into the mess hall and spotted a few pots laid out on the table. Scattered across the room, people sat eating in silence, each minding their own business.

Luke served himself, even though his personal stash was overflowing thanks to the event chests he’d looted. Still, sometimes it paid to act like just another ordinary face in the crowd.

The table he chose sat directly across from a bulletin board plastered with wanted posters. Bartholomew’s idea of order. And, Luke had to admit, it was almost impressive. The same posters could be seen across the main shops in the city square: sketches of criminals, thieves who’d broken Safe Zone law, deserters, known renegades… and, of course, his own face staring back at him.

Every night, he ate while looking at his own portrait. Officially branded a renegade. The bounty promised a full year of housing inside Bastion, with food, lodging, and even healing potions included.

“One year of free meals and a roof? I could turn you in,” Artemis quipped.

I’d almost like to turn myself in…

Luke kept his eyes on the sketch as he chewed.

“You’re basically Monkey D. Luffy.”

“Very funny,” he muttered under his breath.

He continued eating, pulling up his System interface as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.

Name: Luke

Level: 45

Race: Half-Demon

Rank: F

Class: [Demonic Predator (Lvl 56)]

Profession: [Guardian Botanist of Mother Freya (Lvl 54)]

Titles: [Dark Lord]

Bloodline: [Bloodline of the Dark Demon]

Health Points (HP): 3710/3710

Mana Points (MP): 3930/3930 (3980)

Stamina: 2413/2450 (2650)

Soul Fragments: 68/1000

Stats:

Strength: 566

Agility: 422 (472)

Endurance: 245 (265)

Vitality: 371

Perception: 420 (430)

Intelligence: 393 (398)

Free Points: 50

Class Skills: [Advanced Blade Handling (Uncommon)], [Profane Knife Throwing (Uncommon)], [Twin Blade (Common)], [Basic Dark Dash (Rare)], [Basic Blood Regeneration (Rare)], [Predator’s Mark (Rare)], [Demonic Blade Dance (Rare)], [Wraith Form (Ultra-Rare)], [Force Infusion (Rare)], [Advanced Stealth (Rare)], [Assassin’s Tracking (Rare)], [Mana Infusion (Rare)], [Basic Archery (Common)]

Profession Skills: [Herbology of Mother Freya (Ancient)], [Precise Extraction (Common)], [Basic Potion Crafting (Common)], [Corrupted Plant Growth (Rare)], [Plant Sensor (Uncommon)], [Botanical Bond of Mother Freya (Rare)], [Seed Conversion (Rare)], [Plant Manipulation of Mother Freya (Rare)], [Corrupted Blood of Mother Freya (Ultra-Rare)], [Thorn Mutation (Uncommon)], [Soil Analysis (Uncommon)], [Botanical Purification (Uncommon)]

Race Skills: [Identify (Common)], [Demonic Perception (Uncommon)], [Dark Blood (Uncommon)], [Meditation (Common)], [Demonic Endurance (Uncommon)]

Bloodline Skill: [Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)]

Servants: [Princess Charlie (Skeleton) – Lvl 27], [Servant Slot Available]

In the days that had passed since he put his plan into motion, he racked up a surprising amount of profession experience points, thanks to the seeds he had pulled from the Wild Zone chests. Even simple crops like potatoes gave him bonus points, just for cultivating something new. And those event chests had been packed with variety, more seeds than he knew what to do with.

Every level in his Guardian Botanist profession came with steady rewards: +5 Strength, +3 Agility, +4 Vitality, +4 Intelligence, and +12 Free Points.

By the time he was done, he had stacked up forty-eight free points just from climbing four profession levels, plus another two from his racial level-ups. It hadn’t been easy, not by a long shot, but progress was progress.

His goal was clear: reach profession level sixty before making another attempt on the second fortress. By then, his crops would be grown, his supply of arrows secured, and he’d be ready. That would be the moment to kill the damned Warden Captain.

Meanwhile, his eyes were always on Bastion, dissecting its rhythms and routines, every little detail feeding into the larger plan. Because when the time came, Bartholomew would die, worse than Paul had, and Kruger, his loyal hound, would follow.

***

Morning had come. Luke made his way to the work site, only to find a long line already formed.

“Name?” asked Conrad, one of the soldiers managing the area.

“James. I’m with Eddie’s group,” Luke replied.

Conrad scribbled something on his ledger. “Payment in Bastion notes or food?”

“Bastion notes.”

He was waved through.

Inside, people were chatting over breakfast, while a few soldiers lounged around trading banter. The place itself was a stretch of forest bordering the Wild Zone. Plenty happened here: small farms, training grounds for professions, and most importantly, controlled logging. The entire area was overseen by Bartholomew’s soldiers. Merchants like Eddie paid a hefty fee to use the land. Why? It was close to the Safe Zone, and the added layer of Bastion’s military presence made it far safer than venturing out into the Wild Zone alone. No sane person would risk swinging an axe in monster territory. Here, at least, you wouldn’t get eaten.

“You already know the drill,” Eddie told the group. “Grab the damned axes, stack the logs, and don’t screw around.”

Straight to the point.

Even the axes belonged to Bartholomew and couldn’t leave the site. Eddie wasn’t truly the owner here, more like Bartholomew’s business partner. Still, he had the freedom to hire workers and send them out to cut timber, though only within the guarded zone. Nobody was crazy enough to drag laborers deeper into the Wild.

“James, you’ll see. Getting paid in Bastion notes is the best deal,” Jack muttered nearby.

Luke stuck close to him. Jack worked for someone else, but he was also a steady source of information.

Luke’s pay only started once he exceeded the quota. Food and shelter were already guaranteed, so every log he cut and carried beyond the bare minimum was actual profit.

“Better than hauling home a pile of fruit or bread that’ll rot in three days. Bartholomew came up with something genius” said Rhett, shaking his head.

Rhett was a newcomer, barely two days on the job, and he’d already started hovering around Luke and Jack.

Luke studied him. “Let me get this straight. Paying people with fruit or food doesn’t work, because if someone already has enough, they don’t want more. So you’d need to find someone who not only has what you want but also happens to need exactly what you’re offering. Right?”

“Exactly!” Rhett lit up. “That’s why business owners are hauling their surplus, fruit, food, even gear, straight to Bastion. They dump it into one of those dozens of dimensional storage chests, and the administrator gives them notes equal to the value of what they deposited. With those notes, someone like me can pay others without forcing them to take my rotten apples or busted tools. They just get the value. And later, if they want, they can exchange the notes for whatever they need. Brilliant, right?”

Jack and Luke exchanged a look, then sighed almost in unison.

“That’s called money, you idiot,” Jack muttered.

He went back to his work, while Luke quietly shifted his attention to the soldiers. Watching their routines, their interactions, their level of discipline, or lack of it. He was already picking out which ones might be dumb enough to target, another way to extend his map of the fortress. Risky, but necessary.

Hours crawled by in the same monotonous rhythm. Until the sharp trill of a whistle cut through the noise. A signal. Everyone dropped what they were doing.

“I’ll be back,” Luke whispered to the tree he’d been working beside, before stepping away.

He had been making friends with the forest, in his own strange way. When he reached the gathering point, a squad of fresh-faced soldiers stood waiting for them.

“I need your attention,” one of them barked.

The workers exchanged uneasy glances.

“In the past few days, a dangerous criminal has been spotted. I want you to memorize his face.”

When the soldier lifted the paper, an unmistakable face was on it.

***

Allison studied her bloodline skills. There were two kinds, and she happened to carry both. The first was exclusive to nobility, but not every noble had it. Only families with roots that stretched back millennia, like hers. After all, the System had only existed on Earth for a century. Allison’s family was different because their draconic ancestors didn’t come from Earth at all. They had crossed over from another universe, dragons of noble stock who once ruled a kingdom of their own.

She read the first of her inherited skills.

[Heart of the Ice Dragon (Ancient)]: A bloodline skill passed down through the Rhiannon clan, one of the oldest among the Ice Dragons. Upon awakening this power, the heir’s heart cools, transforming into a core of eternal winter that fuels every frost-bound spell with the cruel, lethal force of draconic cold. The bearer inherits both the nobility and the ruthless chill of their kind, amplifying their magic and becoming a true heir to the legacy of the Ice Dragons.

It was the right of every Rhiannon to awaken this skill at birth. For nobles like Allison, born of ancient families, bloodlines were more than tradition, they were destiny. Yet the lineage lay dormant in each child until someone of true strength within the family awakened it for them, recognizing them as kin. That recognition usually happened immediately after birth, ensuring every heir carried their legacy from the very beginning.

Thanks to that bloodline, Allison could wield even the most basic skills with terrifying efficiency.

[Ice (Common)]: You can condense a shard of winter into your palm, a modest but steady core of frost, like a visible breath of frozen air. It radiates a subtle chill, cold enough to bite skin, freeze thin layers of moisture, and mark the first step into the path of glacial magic. This skill is empowered by [Heart of the Ice Dragon].

She had earned that skill at level 3 as a Swordsman. But her lineage had twisted it into something greater. Every frost skill she learned became sharper, colder, deadlier under the weight of her bloodline’s power.

[Freezing Slash (Uncommon)]: The Swordsman delivers a strike that inflicts a wound coated with frost, freezing the area around it for a short duration through the power of [Ice]. If the cut lands on vital parts of the body, the chilling effect can gradually slow muscles, weaken attacks, and reduce the target’s speed. This skill is empowered by [Heart of the Ice Dragon].

The next skill was one of her favorites.

[Iceball (Uncommon)]: The caster forms a compact sphere of solid ice in their hand using [Ice], further amplified by [Heart of the Ice Dragon]. When hurled at a target, the sphere detonates on impact, releasing explosive damage and a cloud of frost-laden snow that reduces visibility and hampers movement. In naturally cold environments, or areas already affected by frost skills, the spell’s power and explosion radius increase, making it significantly more devastating.

All those skills were beginner-tier, weak on their own. But with her bloodline reinforcing them, they became something far greater. That was the edge nobles held over everyone else. Mason, for example, carried a bloodline gift of his own. His allowed him to amplify his fire skills, the flames turning a blazing yellow whenever he invoked it.

Of course, constantly weaving bloodline power into skills carried a price. The toll came in mana and in mental strain. Every cast cost a little more when infused with bloodline energy. Still, the payoff was worth it.

There was, however, another kind of bloodline, far rarer, far stronger than anything tied to noble heritage. This one wasn’t inherited at birth. It was forged. When a being strong enough ascended within the System, reaching a divine-level power,, they could create a bloodline of their own and pass it on. But such a gift could only ever go to one chosen heir. It could not spread through generations, could not multiply like the legacy of ancient noble houses. And it carried with it unique skills that existed nowhere else.

Allison knew Luke well enough to understand what that meant for him. He hadn’t been born into nobility like she had. Which left only one possibility: some being of immense power had given him their blood, marking him as heir. Only him, across the entire multiverse. The weight of such a thing was immeasurable. A god had looked at him, seen him as a son, and adopted him.

And like Luke, Allison too had claimed that second kind of bloodline. Which meant she carried not one, but two legacies within her veins.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep