The week of suspension passed without incident—or rather, without witnesses.
Kain locked himself in his room.
Servants whispered. Siblings avoided his wing entirely. Even Irelia hadn't come to gloat. Whatever rumors they imagined—broken pride, wounded ego, humiliation—they were comforting lies.
Because inside his room, something
monstrous was being born.
Kain tested everything.
He couldn't activate Plunder without a fresh kill, but he could dissect what he'd already taken.
Three assassins. Three distinct fighting styles. Three muscle memories whispering through his body like echoes on steel.
He practiced their stances in the mirror. Their dagger throws. Their footwork. Not just mimicry—replication. His body moved on its own, guided by instincts not his own.
One of them had known how to climb buildings with clawed gloves. Now Kain could scale the stone walls of his estate in twenty seconds flat.
One had known how to suppress breath, heartbeat, and presence. Kain could sit in a corner and vanish from a servant's awareness.
And one had known pressure points.
That one was dangerous. Kain could drop a man in six moves. Make him scream with two fingers.
But he needed more.
So he called for Aldane.
"I need a magic beast."
Aldane didn't even blink. "How strong?"
"Strong enough to test something. But not so strong it'll flatten me."
That was… a vague request.
But Aldane understood. And a day later, a caged ogre was delivered to the estate's training hall, under the cover of darkness. The brute was bound in chains enchanted with binding glyphs, its body covered in slashes from a battle it hadn't won.
Ogres were monstrous humanoids—three meters tall, muscle-packed, slow-witted but ferocious. The worst part was their regeneration
.
Normal weapons did nothing.
Only holy steel could counter their constant healing.
Kain didn't have holy steel.
But he had a plan.
He tricked it into tearing its own throat open on a conjured spike trap.
Then, as its body thrashed…
He stabbed it in the eye with a dagger enchanted of an explosion spell and whispered, "Let's see what you've got for me."
The ogre's body was completely eviscerated. The daggers cost 1000 gold coins, which was literally all of Kain's savings, but it was worth it. It was the only other way to kill an ogre.
The moment its life ended, Plunder activated.
And everything changed again.
His body burned—bones cracking, muscles spasming, skin tightening.
But when the pain cleared…
He felt stronger. Healed instantly from the ogre's claw swipes. A shallow cut on his hand closed in seconds.
And then, the mirror confirmed it.
Kain could shapeshift into the ogre.
Not just look like it—become it. Skin. Size. Strength.
He transformed back, breathing hard. Face pale.
That ability… wasn't in the original novel. Nowhere.
"Plunder" was not just power theft.
It was total assimilation.
If he could become what he killed…
Then he could fake his own death.
He sketched it out that night in his notebook.
The Nameless Blades will come for me. They always do.
But now… even if they kill me, they won't know I can come back.
I regenerate.
I shapeshift.
I vanish.
They'll think I'm dead.
And I'll walk away as someone else.
Easy, right?
Not really. Because Kain knew what came after chapter 42.
After his death in the original timeline, things got worse.
A political purge.
The academy's massacre arc.
Lucas's corrupted evolution.
The invasion of the Red Churches.
And eventually, the demon descent.
One day at a time, he reminded himself. Survive the flags.
Everything else… he'd fix as it came.
Imperial Academy
He stepped out of his family's carriage and crossed the golden-etched gates of Imperial Academy.
Even before he made it to the courtyard, he could feel them.
Eyes. Whispers.
"Isn't that him?"
"I heard he pulled a dagger on a commoner."
"Did you see his face? Looks paler. Like a ghost."
"Probably got beat so bad he forgot who he is."
I didn't forget, Kain thought, keeping his gaze forward. I just stopped pretending I cared.
Battle Magic 101
He entered the coliseum-classroom. Tiered stone seats circled a broad dueling pit. Crystalline panels projected theoretical diagrams mid-air. A few students practiced wand glyphs or stretching before sparring.
At the front row sat two silhouettes.
Lucas Orlenhart.
And beside him… the girl.
She looked plain. Commoner robes. Simple bun. Soft smile.
But Kain felt it now. That faint shimmer in the air. The illusion.
He paled.
Oh… shit.
The girl Lucas beat him over last week. The "commoner" he threatened.
She wasn't.
She was the Imperial Princess.
Kain nearly stumbled.
That scene. That memory. He remembered now. The original Kain didn't just harass her—he tried to bed her. He backed her into a corridor and offered coin. Said she'd enjoy it.
He tried to buy the fucking princess.
And she didn't execute him.
Why?
Plot hole. He groaned mentally.
He hadn't wanted her to be important yet. Just needed a cheap inciting incident to show Lucas's virtue.
Execution would've been too big. Too early. So he hand-waved it.
Now he was stuck with the fallout.
He slunk into a seat in the middle rows, keeping his head down. He scanned the classroom.
Main cast.
Marcus Revion – blond, cocky heir to the Revion duchy. Secretly a traitor in the later arcs.
Delia Corbin – the silent lightning prodigy. Neutral now, but ruthless later.
Fennir Blaque – cursed swordsman. One of the few side characters who doesn't die horribly.
Anais Wren – healer, secret necromancer. Foreshadowed in three scenes. None of them friendly.
All here. All future threats, allies, or corpses.
The classroom quieted.
A shadow walked in.
Irelia Norigusho.
Her silver hair was tied back like a blade. Her voice sliced clean through the room.
"Good morning, degenerates."
No one laughed.
"Welcome back. I trust no one got themselves stabbed or expelled."
She glanced directly at Kain.
He didn't flinch.
"We'll begin this semester with something simple: Combat Sparring."
Murmurs erupted.
"It's mandatory," she said. "No substitutions. No cowards hiding behind noble titles. You fight. You bleed. You learn."
Her eyes gleamed. "Sparring begins this afternoon. Pairings will be drawn randomly."
She walked to the center of the arena.
"Oh, and one more thing." Her voice dropped into silk-laced venom. "If I catch anyone humiliating this academy with street-brawling or cowardice again… I'll make sure the only thing you're sparring with is a disciplinary sword instructor and two months of hard labor."
The warning wasn't subtle.
And neither was the smirk she wore when her gaze landed on her bastard brother.