After finally escaping Rachel's iron grip—both metaphorically and literally—I was able to meet my family.
As much as I wanted to be annoyed at her for keeping me locked in the Creighton estate for a month, she had at least allowed them to visit while I was in a coma. So, small victories, I supposed.
The moment I stepped into the sitting room, my mother was on me.
She moved fast—faster than I thought a woman in heels should be able to—and wrapped me in a hug that was only slightly suffocating. Her warmth was familiar, grounding, but also held that distinct motherly pressure that warned me she would be scolding me later.
Behind her, my father stood with his arms crossed, giving me the look. The one that said, You're lucky you're alive, but we will be having a conversation.
And then there was Aria.
My one-year-younger sister, who had inherited all the worst parts of being the youngest child and none of the restraint.
She stood a few paces behind, watching the scene unfold, arms folded, eyes sharp.
"So," she said, her voice sweet, too sweet, "I hear you decided to be reckless. Again."
I sighed, already feeling a headache forming.
"No, no, I insist." She stepped forward, tilting her head. "You nearly died. Do you know what happens when normal people nearly die, Arthur?"
I exhaled through my nose. "They try not to do it again."
"Exactly!" She waved a hand. "But you, dear brother, seem to be under the impression that death is just a minor inconvenience."
"Aria," my father finally spoke, voice calm but firm. "Give your brother some time to breathe."
Aria made a hmmph sound but backed off slightly.
Meanwhile, my mother was still gripping my arms like she was checking for structural damage.
"Are you eating properly?" she asked. "You look thinner."
"Yes, and yet I know Rachel has a personal chef—did they not make sure you were properly fed with nutrient infusions? Honestly, I should have supervised—"
This was going to take a while.
I talked to them, carefully weaving a version of the truth that wouldn't send my mother into another spiral of 'Why does my son keep fighting people who can kill him?'
According to my account, I had been unfortunately caught in the middle of a Redmond incident involving a cultist Bishop. A terribly inconvenient and mildly traumatic experience, of course. Nothing to worry about.
My mother, to no one's surprise, worried anyway.
"I can't believe it," she said, pressing a hand to her chest like I'd just admitted to something truly scandalous. "A Silver-ranked guild, corrupted… and you had to fight a Bishop?"
"Technically," I said, choosing my words carefully, "I didn't go looking for a fight—"
"And yet," Aria cut in, folding her arms, "a fight somehow found you."
I resisted the urge to sigh.
Well, she wasn't wrong.
Of course, the real truth was that if Carrie hadn't worn the Bishop down, I wouldn't even be standing here right now. Even after pushing myself to the absolute limit, I had still barely managed to tip the scales.
Eventually, after a long series of reassurances, careful dodging of certain details, and the occasional knowing glare from my father, I managed to finally calm them down.
Then, I escaped back to my room.
Rachel wasn't here—thank the stars—so I could actually think.
I collapsed onto the bed, stretching out my limbs, staring at the ceiling. My body still ached, a dull, lingering exhaustion settling deep into my bones, but my mind was far too alive to sleep.
Because, for all the things that had gone wrong, something had changed.
I was close to reaching low Integration-rank.
And, more importantly—
Same as Jack and Lucifer.
That fact alone sent a strange thrill through me.
The only one in existence.
I frowned, tapping my fingers against the mattress.
"Yeah, it's weird," she agreed without hesitation.
Soul-aspect Gifts weren't supposed to manifest the way Mind and Body-aspect Gifts did. They weren't direct, weren't something tangible you could just use.
They were more of a balancing force between the two.
Which made the fact that I had one… utterly ridiculous.
The first ability allowed me to copy someone's attributes or powers—so long as they were physically close to me.
The second ability let me store one of those copies for later, like a single-use ability waiting to be deployed.
The first ability was already broken. With Luna's soul always near me, I could activate Qilinification at will, tapping into her overwhelming power whenever I needed it. That alone gave me a massive boost in strength.
And I could still keep an extra copy of something else on standby.
The only drawback was that I couldn't use two different abilities at once. Not yet, anyway.
Maybe that would change when I surpassed the Wall and hit Ascendant-rank.
I exhaled, closing my eyes.
I had failed to expose the Red Chalice Cult. They were still out there, hidden, waiting.
But I had saved Reika.
And, whether she fully accepted it yet or not—
She was now a part of Ouroboros.
Just as I was beginning to finally rest, my door swung open.
I sighed. "Rachel, please—"
Then I actually looked.
And immediately sat up straight.
I was suddenly, deeply awake.
"...Your Majesty," I said, bowing instinctively as I took in the fierce look in his eyes.
Alastor Creighton wasn't just any ruler. He was a Radiant-rank powerhouse, a living legend, and a man who carried himself with the kind of authority that made the very air tense in his presence.
And right now, he looked furious.
"Arthur Nightingale," he said, his voice like a sharpened blade. "I entrusted you with my daughter's future. I trained you. I gave you the Arch Lich's skull. All so you could free Rachel from the fate of being shackled to the so-called Hero when she did not want to be."
I swallowed. "Yes..."
His shoulders twitched. A muscle in his jaw ticked.
I had exactly one second to react before his aura surged and—
"HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY DAUGHTER, YOU BASTARD!"
I flinched, barely resisting the urge to throw myself off the bed.
"You—YOU—" Alastor pointed an accusatory finger at me, looking like he was seconds away from setting the entire estate on fire. "Because of you, my SAINTLY, INNOCENT daughter used the seven-circle mage I stationed at Mythos Academy JUST TO DANCE WITH YOU!"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried very hard to figure out which part of that sentence I was supposed to respond to.
"AND THEN—" Alastor actually looked pained as he continued, "she brought you BACK here! And proceeded to sleep next to you EVERY NIGHT! WHILE CUFFING YOU!"
"STOP PUTTING YOUR KINKS ON MY PURE DAUGHTER!"
I raised my hands in surrender. "EXCUSE ME, SIR, IT IS NOT MY FAULT—!"
King Alastor was breathing fire.
Not literally, though given his mana rank, I wouldn't have been surprised if he could.
His presence filled the room, pressing down on me like a force of nature, his sheer disbelief and paternal outrage radiating off him like an active battlefield.
Meanwhile, I sat there on the bed, hands still raised, desperately trying to figure out how my life had reached this point.
"Your Majesty," I started carefully, choosing my words with the same delicacy one would use when handling a live grenade, "I swear—I swear—this is not what it looks like."
Alastor let out a slow, measured breath.
Then he exploded again.
"NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE?!"
The entire room shook.
"MY DAUGHTER—MY SWEET, INNOCENT, SAINTLY DAUGHTER—CAME TO MY ESTATE AND KEPT YOU CAPTIVE LIKE SOME SORT OF DERANGED PRINCESS WITH A HOSTAGE?! AND YOU'RE TELLING ME IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE?!"
"That's exactly what I'm saying!"
"YOU WERE CUFFED TO HER BED FOR A MONTH!"
"I didn't ask for that!"
"SHE REFUSED TO LET THE OTHER GIRLS VISIT YOU!"
"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT EITHER!"
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a slow, suffering breath, as if he were trying to hold on to the last shreds of his sanity.
"This," he said through gritted teeth, "is precisely what I feared when I sent her to that academy."
"Again, Your Majesty, I had zero part in this. I was unconscious."
He leveled a stare at me that made me reconsider all my life choices.
"So," he said slowly, "you mean to tell me that my devoted, reserved, angelic daughter just so happened to wake up one morning and spontaneously decided to keep you imprisoned here for a month? And that this had nothing to do with you?"
Considered my odds of survival if I answered incorrectly.
Alastor dragged a hand down his face, exhaling like a man who had seen too much.
Then, as if the universe itself was conspiring against me, the door creaked open.
And Rachel peeked in.
"Arthur~!" she sang, completely ignoring her father's looming fury, "Do you want to have dinner together?"
Alastor turned to look at her.
Then turned back to look at me.
Then turned back to look at her.
His eye twitched so hard I thought he might ascend to another plane of rage entirely.
Rachel blinked up at him innocently, clasping her hands behind her back. "Yes, Father?"
Rachel tilted her head. "Explain what?"
Alastor slowly turned to me. "I will kill you."