Selyse froze. Dalton's face was flushed red, almost like the pomegranate she adored.
But it wasn't for a good reason.
"What have you done?" Selyse's voice came out as a sharp bark, but it sounded more like spontaneous shock than hostility.
Dalton followed her gaze to what she was pointing at: a bottle of fermented wine his uncle had kept in a not-so-hidden corner.
It didn't even taste good. Its texture was thick, hard to swallow, and far too sour for his liking.
But Dalton had to drink it for one reason.
"You… drank alcohol?" Selyse stepped further inside, her eyes widening. "You're not allowed! We're not even of age yet!"
That was debatable. Dalton's true age was supposed to be twenty-eight, but there was no way he could explain regression to her.
""I was conducting an experiment. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Father—"
"What experiment?"
Dalton stiffened. In the years ahead, Selyse would abandon him for Adrian. But at least until then, she had never spoken harshly to him—though she'd never been tender either.
So… had Selyse hated him all along? Was it the Becker main family that had indoctrinated her to distance herself from Dalton?
If that were the case, trying to act close with her would only make him look like a pathetic fool desperate for attention.
"None of your business," Dalton muttered, then hiccupped. "Besides, what are you even doing here? Main family members are supposed to spend every moment training and cultivating themselves."
"Doesn't that apply to you too? You're a main family member!"
Dalton snorted and raised his book again to block eye contact. "Go," he said, more softly this time.
There were footsteps, stomping away in anger.
Dalton peeked through the gap of his book at Selyse's retreating back. Had he gone too far this time?
But it wasn't without reason. Staying close to Selyse would only invite unwanted attention.
Gossip traveled fast in this mansion, and his father, Reginald, was not a man who tolerated weakness—or anything that caused it.
That was also why Reginald separated them right after Selyse awakened her aura.
And, as he had said, Dalton really was conducting an experiment.
['Distill' successful!]
[The alcoholic effect of 'Wine' has been extracted into 2 Charges]
Taking in both Flavorless Poison and half-stale Wine in such quick succession was probably disastrous for his long-term health.
But Dalton didn't have the luxury of caution. Not with the Eternal Night drawing closer..
He had to cultivate what little he had—and that meant honing his [Misfortune].
[Current Charges: 4/3]
He had already exceeded the limit. So… what would happen now?
[Charge limit reached! Advancement available!]
Avatar may choose:
Dalton hesitated. The first option was tempting. But he had already spent twenty-eight years in his previous life saddled with a [Misfortune] skill that had been utterly useless.
Would anything really change this time?
The random evolution, on the other hand, was a gamble.
What could it turn into? Physical ability? Heightened senses? Or perhaps aura?
"Is there any clear detail about what counts as 'random' in option B?"
[The system forbids revealing specifics, but the Avatar is guaranteed to obtain a useful evolution.]
Dalton scratched his cheek. That only made him more uncertain.
Was something deemed useful by the gods also useful for him?
From his experience, the God of Nightmare who chose him was hardly generous.
After weighing it over, Dalton made his choice.
***
A day had passed since Milis had bound herself to Dalton with a Blood Oath.
Not the kind of oath she wanted, but at least this way her chances of joining the Brotherhood remained intact.
The good news? Her master didn't even bother strengthening himself.
Instead of going to the main training grounds to join the other Beckers in drills, Dalton stayed locked inside his room.
Ordering Milis to fetch all sorts of odd items.
Essence Mushrooms. A sack of rotten cabbage. Zunesh cucumbers.
Two of them reeked so horribly she had to invent excuses for the servants who asked questions—fortunately, she was good at that sort of thing.
The last one, however, grew in the Becker clan's own back garden.
Zunesh cucumbers. Once a household favorite. But because Erica—the maid Reginald Becker had taken as a mistress—loved them, the matron ordered every plant ripped out and burned.
If the cucumbers were Dalton's sentimental link to his late mother, then what possible use did he have for the other two?
"Just put them on the table," Dalton said when she entered.
Milis obeyed, then glanced at her master.
The young man was once again buried in a thick book on potions and alchemy.
Had he abandoned all thought of strength? Was he planning to live the rest of his life behind books?
"There's a message from Madam Charlotte."
Finally, Dalton looked up and gave her his full attention.
Charlotte Becker: the legal wife and matriarch of the Becker household. Dalton's stepmother.
Even when everyone else began to see Selyse as valuable, Charlotte alone stubbornly clung to her disdain.
Toward Dalton? Even worse. He remembered her spitting outright whenever forced to share a room with him.
So if Charlotte was now sending him a personal invitation… it could only mean one thing.
"She expects you to attend dinner tonight. There will be an important discussion about your father's return."
Of course. Emotion and image were two different things. Even if Charlotte loathed him with every fiber of her being, she had to appear the forgiving mother and gracious lady.
Dalton had been through this before. Back then, his naïve self thought the Becker family was finally opening their hearts to him.
And, as expected, it hadn't ended well. Charlotte mocked his mother, provoked him as a whore's child, and Selyse had to stop Dalton from making a scene at the table.
This time would be no different.
"Can I refuse?"
"I don't believe that would be wise."
Dalton bit his lip. "You may go."
Milis bowed respectfully and departed.
Dalton glanced at the items she had brought.
It would be risky to handle them all alone, especially the Essence Mushrooms.
A parasitic fungus that thrived only in damp, cold places. Its effects varied—migraines, nausea, drowsiness, disorientation.
But its real value in the black market came from its hallucinogenic properties.
At certain doses, processed Essence Mushrooms relaxed every muscle while sending false signals to the brain.
The user would drift in a state between dream and reality.
Whatever appeal that sensation held, Dalton valued the mushroom for something else.
Alchemy.
He had always thought true alchemical mastery would begin only once he entered the Academy, whose laboratory was among the finest in raw materials and equipment.
But even here, in the mansion, with cheaper ingredients, he could begin experimenting right away.
All thanks to his newly evolved [Misfortune].
[Misfortune Lv. 2]
Absorb debuffs from your surroundings and store them as charges. (Capacity: 0/10)
— Extraction: Debuffs may now also be distilled into specific forms.
Did this mean he could convert every absorbed debuff into potions?
Or channel them into objects, creating things like poisoned daggers—purely through his Gift?
The possibilities were enough to make Dalton smile.
He picked up three out of the fifteen Essence Mushrooms.
Even in such a small quantity, each was worth a thousand—and that was the cheapest rate.
He'd need to economize from now on if he didn't want to fail paying Milis her ten-thousand-a-day compensation, and risk her heart exploding.
A foul stench—like damp socks, ammonia, and rotting strawberries—hit his nose.
Dalton swallowed. Every inch of his skin protested the insanity of consuming such filth.
He hesitated three seconds, then shoved the Essence Mushroom into his mouth.