“Right now, you are thinking as if you were in an ordinary class, like an assassin or a warrior. But you are a Splintered One.” Her words sliced through his frustration, each syllable resonating like the sharp edge of a blade. The weight of her voice settled over him, heavy yet demanding attention.

There was a thick silence that stretched between them, the kind that filled the air with unspoken tension. Jagger paused mid-motion, the hastiness of his thoughts grinding to a halt as he slowly sat up, the adrenaline that had fueled his frustration ebbing away. He looked at Ophilia, his brow furrowed in confusion. “…What does that mean?”

Her gaze was piercing, almost condescending. ‘You really are fucking dumb, aren’t you?’ Ophilia said, her voice dripping with irritation, a bitter edge cutting through the air around them.

“Hey, I’m just trying to figure things out here. Cut me some slack,” he replied defensively, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone.

The sharpness of her demeanor softened for a fleeting moment, her frustration wrangling with the remnants of patience she had for him. But then, she swiftly reclaimed her curt bravado. ‘Read your class description, imbecile,’ she snapped, the bite in her words punctuating the gravity of his ignorance.

“Right~.” Jagger sighed, the mix of defensiveness and resignation clear in his tone. “Class description.” His status window closed, and a new window appeared in front of him.

–

[Class: Splintered One]

Description: A being of many within one, forever walking the edge between harmony and collapse. Fractured yet whole, you are a vessel where countless entities converge, their wills threading through your own. No single path defines you, your form and power shift with the voices that dwell inside. Every heartbeat is a negotiation, every breath a test of control. To balance them is to transcend limits; to falter is to be consumed.

Stability is your salvation. Corruption, your awakening.

–

Jagger stared at the class description projected in the space before him, the glowing letters suspended like ethereal wisps in the dim light of the room. Each word pulsed softly, its luminescence casting an otherworldly aura that intertwined with the shadows draping over the walls.

“A being of many within one…

No single path defines you…

Stability is your salvation. Corruption, your awakening.”

He scrutinized the lines intently, the weight of the words pressing down on him like a solid presence. The faint smirk he had worn earlier vanished, replaced by a deep furrow of thought across his brow. “…That sounds chaotic,” he finally murmured, almost to himself.

Leaning forward, Jagger propped his elbows on his knees, fingers intertwined in a loose grip. The flickering lantern on the coffee table transformed the room into a sanctuary of muted amber light, illuminating the damp strands of hair that fell across his forehead. The atmosphere thickened, the air feeling almost electric, as if the very essence of the class description had rewoven the fabric of the space around him.

He read the description again, drawing each syllable deeper into his consciousness. Then a fourth time, as if seeking a hidden truth amid the carefully chosen words. The more he read, the less it felt like a description and the more it felt like a warning. Not a title. Not a role. A condition. A sentence. Something alive had already taken root inside him, and the system had simply given it a name. As he did, he felt an unsettling shift within himself. His gaze narrowed, crystallizing with irrevocable clarity.

“Countless entities converge,” he murmured, the idea slithering into his mind like a serpent. “Their wills threading through my own… power shifts with the voices that dwell inside…” His eyes wandered, suddenly distant and unfocused, as if some part of him had stepped beyond the confines of the room. “So my class isn’t built around one singular role.”

‘No.’

“It’s built around whatever is inside me. So, you are my class.”

‘Correct.’

Jagger rose slowly, tension pooling in his muscles like a coiling spring. He began to pace the room, his bare feet gliding silently over the plush carpet. Three measured steps forward, a sharp turn, and three steps back—each circuit tightening the invisible grip around him, as if the four walls conspired to close in on his restless thoughts. The atmosphere grew dense and quiet, pregnant with unspoken possibilities.

For a fleeting instant, he sensed her presence, cold and watchful, looming just beyond the edges of sight. A shudder ran down his spine, but before he could linger on it, she spoke.

‘An ordinary class grows along a defined line. A swordsman sharpens the body and blade. A mage refines mana and control. An assassin hones speed, precision, and lethality.’ Her voice resonated in the silence: low, steady, and mercilessly clear. ‘Their path is narrow, but stable. Yours, Jagger, is not.’

His eyes remained fixated on the glowing panel, a mixture of trepidation and newfound understanding crystallizing within him. ‘You are not meant to become one thing,’ she continued, her tone unwavering. ‘You are a vessel. A convergence point. Your strength will not emerge from pursuing a singular path and mastering it; rather, it arises from enduring the collision of many paths without being torn apart by them.’

Her words sank into him like iron hooks. Enduring the collision of many paths. That was not growth. That was survival under pressure. It meant his future would not be clean or structured like everyone else’s. No neat class progression. No reliable path to mastery. Every step forward would come with the risk of being dragged apart from the inside.

Jagger halted, his pacing giving way to stillness. He turned back toward the class description, yet his eyes were no longer simply scanning the text. He was listening deeply, instinctively attuning himself to an unseen melody that reverberated around him.

“There are more of you out there,” he whispered, the words escaping his lips like an incantation. The realization was not a question but an understanding, a resonance. “Other entities, like you.”

‘Yes.’

“How many?” he asked, the query curling in the air, heavy with expectation.

A pause followed, deliberate and measured.

‘Enough.’

He exhaled softly, a quiet breath that might have turned into a laugh, yet the humor eluded him. “That’s reassuring,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair, the cool strands sticking to his skin. He breathed again, slower this time, seeking composure. “So what? I just… collect them?” He levied a hesitant glance at the mirrored surface of the lantern’s glow. “Stuff more voices into my head and hope I don’t go insane?”

The thought settled badly in his stomach. One voice was already enough to keep him on edge. One presence was already enough to make sleep uncertain, and silence feel crowded. The idea of more of her with different minds, different hungers, different wills made the room feel smaller.

‘If you were that fragile, you would already be dead.’

“Alright, no more questions,” he asserted, bolstered by the urgent pulse of resolve brewing within him. He strode over to the coffee table, where gears shimmered in his view, and he placed his hands onto their surfaces. As he did, they disintegrated into motes of light, swirling and dancing before reforming into their rightful places. The Bone Rattlers settled onto his knuckles like a second skin, the vambraces clung to his forearms with an intimate familiarity, and the wristband clasped snugly around his wrist. He flexed his fingers, adjusting to their weight, feeling an integral connection to his newfound strength.

“Time to get stronger,” he declared, a determined glint lighting up his eyes as he made his way to the stairwell. The wooden steps creaked softly under his weight, each deliberate move drawing him further from the sanctuary of the room. The air chilled with every step he took downward, whispering secrets of the night that awaited him.

Once at the bottom, he paused, one foot perched on the last step while the other lingered in midair. The salon lay silent, shrouded in darkness. Hairdresser chairs sat empty, their mirrors reflecting not just images, but the very void of the place. Scissors and combs lay scattered across the floor like forgotten tools of war.

“Before we go hunting…” Jagger muttered under his breath, grounding himself in the present. “Ophilia, are we on the same page? Can I count on you when the fighting starts? Will you fight with me or against me?” The hint of caution edged his voice as he posed the question.

‘I will ensure you live,’ she responded, her voice forever anchored in uncertainty. ‘The rest is irrelevant.’

“Good enough for me,” he said, a flicker of confidence sparking in his tone.

With a determined stride, he moved toward the front door. The metal handle sent a shiver through his palm as he grasped it, the chill a stark contrast to the warmth of the room he left behind. He unlocked it; the click of the bolt reverberated through the cavernous silence, echoing like a distant drumroll heralding the challenge ahead.

As he pulled the door open, it creaked softly, like a breath before the plunge into darkness. Jagger stepped back out into the broken city, the air now cool against his skin. The mist that had once clung to the streets had finally lifted, revealing a world that lay waiting—raw, uncertain, and rife with untold peril.

“Wait.” he turned around to the door and pressed a small button on the keypad beside it, locking it again. “There is nothing wrong with being careful.” He then turned and walked into the night.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep