The pungent odor of sweat and dust clung to my clothes, a second skin more familiar than the fleeting softness of the sheets I folded for Ser Klemens. Another day was drawing to a close in the wearying monotony of service. My hands, rough from thankless tasks, moved mechanically, smoothing imaginary creases on the immaculate tunic of the knight saint. A title that sounded like a mockery in my ears, so absent did kindness seem from the heart of that man.
Here, in the imposing manor of Ser Klemens, my life was but a long succession of chores and humiliations. Orphaned, with no true name to claim, I was a "lesser being," a vague and dehumanizing category under which all those not blessed with the title of knight saint were relegated. Every knight in the kingdom possessed a right of scrutiny, a tacit veto over our existences. We were tolerated, provided we remained unseen and silent, shadows in the service of self-proclaimed light.
Ser Klemens, in particular, seemed to take a perverse pleasure in reminding me of my place. His sharp remarks, his orders given in a condescending tone, his sometimes-brutal gestures—all contributed to maintaining this oppressive atmosphere of submission. Today, it was the memory of a slap, received for misplacing a buckle on his belt, that still burned my cheek. One humiliation among so many, which I endured in silence, eyes lowered, resentment smoldering within me.
Yet, today… today something had shifted. A dull irritation, long contained, had turned into an incandescent ember. Perhaps it was the accumulation of petty cruelties, perhaps the fatigue that dulled my capacity to endure. Whatever the case, when Ser Klemens ordered me to fetch his sword, lying nonchalantly on the massive table in the dining hall, a flash of defiance had crossed my mind.
The sword, heavy and cold in my hands, seemed to thrum with a power I could only imagine. It symbolized everything I was not: strength, authority, respect (or rather, fear). As I carried it to my master, I felt the weight of my inferiority, the abysmal distance that separated us.
He stood by the window, the evening light casting harsh shadows on his arrogant face. He was speaking to another knight, a Ser Alaric, whose coarse laughter filled the room. They exchanged jests about the peasants, about our stupidity and uselessness. Each word was a prick, each laugh a wound.
"Konrad, you dolt! You took an eternity," Ser Klemens growled without even turning to me. "Put it there and disappear. Let me not see your rat face again."
Something within me snapped. Perhaps it was the term "rat face," perhaps the contemptuous tone, perhaps simply the weight of all those years of servitude. For the first time, instead of lowering my eyes, I looked at him. Straight into his cold blue eyes.
Surprise briefly flickered across his face. A silence descended, heavy with tension. Ser Alaric stopped laughing and stared at me, a cruel amusement in his gaze.
"What the…" Ser Klemens began, a frown darkening his brow.
The next words died in his throat. A flood of anger, frustration, despair—all that I had suppressed for years—surged within me. Without thinking, in a gesture my mind had barely anticipated, I raised the sword.
The cold metal sliced through the air with a sinister hiss. Ser Klemens didn't have time to react, his surprise morphing into frozen disbelief. The blade sank into his chest with a dull, sickening thud.
The shock jolted through me like an electric current. My hands trembled, my fingers clenched on the bloodied hilt. Ser Klemens staggered, his eyes widening in pain and incomprehension. A raw gurgle escaped his throat as his knees buckled.
Ser Alaric, petrified for a fraction of a second, roared in rage. He drew his own sword, the metal gleaming in the fading light. But it was too late.
Ser Klemens collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud, his blood spreading in a dark pool on the stone flags.
Panic overwhelmed me. What had I done? I had crossed an invisible line, broken a fundamental law of this world. I had killed a knight saint. The sentence would be inevitable: a slow, painful death, preceded by unimaginable tortures.
As Ser Alaric lunged at me, sword raised, a strange notification appeared in my field of vision. Luminous words, floating in the air, that only I seemed to see:
[Greed exercised! You have absorbed a minute essence of "Martial Power" and "Domination" from Ser Klemens.]
[Greed Points gained: 5.]
I was terrified, confused. What was this strange apparition? Was I going mad?
I didn't have time to wonder further. Ser Alaric's blade whistled towards me. In a desperate reflex, I brandished Ser Klemens's sword, parrying the blow with a violent metallic clang. My muscles protested under the impact, but the sword held firm.
Another message appeared, more specific this time:
[Skill "Basic Sword Handling" acquired (Level 1). Automatic integration due to urgency.]
Instinctively, my body moved. It wasn't mastery, far from it, but a vague understanding of how to hold and wield the weapon. I stumbled backward, using surprise and confusion to my advantage.
Ser Alaric, furious, pursued me. I knew I couldn't defeat him in a fair fight. He was a trained, powerful knight. My only chance was to flee.
I scrambled towards the door, leaving behind the lifeless body of Ser Klemens and the fury of Ser Alaric. Each step was a plea to fate, a silent prayer to escape the implacable vengeance of the Knights Saints.
I knew my life, as I had known it, was over. I was a fugitive, an outcast. And a strange light, both frightening and intriguing, had just ignited within me. Greed… what was this greed the mysterious message spoke of? I had no idea, but in the shadow of my flight, I sensed it would change my life forever.
My legs burned, my lungs ached.
The forest, plunged into the deepening shadows of twilight, blurred past like an indistinct veil. Every cracking branch, every distant hoot made me jump, the echo of Ser Alaric's fury still ringing in my ears. I had no idea of the time, nor the distance I had covered. The only thing guiding me was the primal instinct to survive, the imperious necessity to get as far away from the cursed manor as possible.
Finally, out of breath, I collapsed at the foot of a solitary tree, its rough bark biting into my palm. Ser Klemens's sword, still clutched in my trembling hand, felt like both a burden and an illusory protection. I was a simple servant, untrained in combat, wielding the weapon of the man I had killed.
The absurdity of the situation struck me, mingled with a deep anguish.
As night thickened, the memory of the strange messages returned to haunt my mind. "Greed exercised… essence… Greed Points…" What did it all mean? Was it a figment of my imagination, a hallucination due to stress and fear?
Mechanically, I brought my hand to my chest, where the notification had appeared. Nothing. No scar, no mark. Yet, the memory of the luminous words was so vivid, so real.
Out of morbid curiosity, I concentrated, trying to recall the sensation, the precise moment the messages had appeared. And suddenly, faintly, like an ember beneath ash, a new line of text manifested in my field of vision:
[Grand Grimoire of Avarice (Fragment)]
Blinking, incredulous, I stared at the words. They were there, translucent, superimposed on reality, like spectral writing. Panicked, I shook my head, but the words persisted.
Seized by a curiosity mixed with apprehension, I focused more intently on the title. And then, as if a page turned in an invisible book, other information appeared below:
[Name: Konrad (Undefined)]
[Title: Fugitive (Former: Servant)]
[Level of Greed: 1]
[Greed Points (GP): 5]
[Base Stats:]
[Vitality (VIT): 10]
[Energy Flow (ENF): 5]
[Mental Acuity (MEN): 8]
[Assimilation Voracity (ASV): 1]
[Acquired Skills:]
[Basic Sword Handling (Lvl. 1)]
I stood there, speechless, my breath catching in my throat. It was like… some sort of record, a description of myself, but with strange terms. What was "Level of Greed"? Did these "stats" represent my physical strength, my magic (if such a thing truly existed), my intelligence? And this "Assimilation Voracity," was it related to how I had absorbed something from Ser Klemens?
My mind reeling, I recalled the first notification: "You have absorbed a minute essence of 'Martial Power' and 'Domination'." Was that what had increased my stats or given me this rudimentary sword skill? And these 5 Greed Points… what could they possibly be used for?
With palpable hesitation, I stared at the line of Greed Points, wondering if it was possible to interact with this strange interface. Almost inadvertently, my thought focused on the number "5," and a new option appeared below:
[Use Greed Points? (YES/NO)]
My heart beat faster. So it was real. But use them for what? No other options were visible. Perhaps I needed a specific idea of what I wanted to do.
I thought back to my desperate flight, to the fatigue that was overwhelming me. If only I were faster, more enduring. Then, with intense concentration, I thought of my "Vitality." And to my surprise, a new option appeared under the Stats section:
[Enhance Vitality? Cost: 3 GP (Current Max: 1)]
The information was laconic, but the implication was clear. I could use my Greed Points to become stronger. Three points for one enhancement… that meant I could only do it once for now.
Hesitation gripped me again. Was it wise to spend these points when I didn't yet fully understand this system? But the prospect of becoming stronger, of having a better chance of survival, was too tempting.
With a sudden resolution, I thought "YES" to the option of enhancing my Vitality. A strange sensation coursed through my body, like a wave of gentle warmth spreading through my tired limbs. The words on my vision flickered briefly, then displayed:
[Vitality (VIT): 11 (+1)]
[Greed Points (GP): 2]
I felt… a little less exhausted. Not a spectacular difference, but a subtle improvement, as if a light weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Wonder and fear mingled within me. What was this strange power? Was it a blessing or a curse? And how would it change my life now as a fugitive? One thing was certain: my life as a simple servant was well and truly over. I was Konrad, the fugitive, and it seemed I possessed something extraordinary, a "Grand Grimoire of Avarice" whose potential I was only beginning to glimpse.
The night was dark, danger was omnipresent, but a new light, that of discovery and a faint glimmer of hope, had just ignited in the shadow of my flight.