"Survive," I murmured to myself.
I had to survive. Save this world from the Calamities — even if it killed me.
But for that, I needed strength.
Guillen was seventeen. Two years older than me. Stronger. But he hadn't awakened yet. And in this world, power only truly began after awakening.
I didn't even know how to do it. I hadn't gotten that far in the game.
I exhaled slowly, a sigh lost in the dusty air of the barn.
The door slammed open.
He stood there, jaw tight, eyes burning with hatred.
Guillen Frest.
"You piece of trash."
Every time he saw Atlas — saw me — that same rage boiled up. The stoic face, the memory of a father who never loved him or his mother. To him, it was all my fault.
He lunged.
I moved before I could think.
His fist cut the air where my face had been, and I slipped to the right, twisting my shoulders into a boxing stance. My left hook connected cleanly with his jaw.
Smack.
Guillen staggered back, pain flashing across his features. He barely had time to recover before two more blows cracked against his ribs and nose, blurring his vision.
He wasn't a fighter. Not really.
"Help!" he screamed, his nose bleeding.
But the punches kept coming.
Soon he was on the ground, my fists raining down, my expression cold and unreadable. It wasn't rage. It wasn't triumph. It was just necessity.
Blood splattered our clothes. Guillen went limp.
The screen flashed before my eyes.
Ding.
Quest Complete
Side Quest: Beat up Guillen Frest — Completed.
A sudden rush flooded through me, warm and electric, like my veins had been set alight.
I opened Character Information.
Character Information
Name: Atlas Frest
Level: 0 (47%)
True Name: None
Strength: D
Speed: E
Agility: E
Intelligence: A
Mana: 0
Passive Skills: Visual Replication — Copy any action witnessed once, Understanding — Instantly comprehend anything seen.
Receptive Skills: none
Spells: None
Store Currency: 2
My lips curled into the faintest smile. I immediately purchased the Ring of Atlas — a spatial storage artifact.
I slipped a pair of gloves from my pocket. The moment they neared the ring, they dissolved into a shimmer of light and vanished inside.
Perfect.
The barn door splintered. A flash of metal—a knight in full plate armor stormed in, his shadow swallowing the thin shafts of light.
He saw Guillen, glanced at me, and then vanished, reappearing right in front of me like a shadow.
I barely had time to register the movement before pain exploded across my skull.
Darkness swallowed me.
I woke with a gasp. My wrists burned. Rope bit into my skin. My abdomen ached from the blow that had knocked me out.
I was tied.
I forced myself upright.
"How dare this parasite lay a hand on my son," a woman spat. Brown hair, eyes full of fury — Amelia. Guillen's mother.
Guillen wasn't here. Still unconscious, probably.
I didn't care. Not anymore.
My stoic gaze swept the room.
Across from me stood Lord Fredric Frest. Hollow black eyes. Cold. Calculating.
The knight stepped forward, sword drawn, ready to strike.
I ignored him and looked directly at Fredric.
"It looks like you favor your eldest," I said flatly.
For a moment, his expression flickered.
Fredric was pride itself. With three mana cores, he could pulverize a boulder with a single punch. But his search for a perfect heir had turned to ash. His eldest son lusted after women and weakness; his youngest was a curse.
Even when Amelia had thrown the boy into a barn, Fredric had done nothing. His wife's cruelty, his son's hatred — he allowed it all.
Because deep down, he hated the child before him. The child who bore the eyes of demons. The child who had killed the only woman he'd ever loved.
And that stoic face. Always that stoic face.
He raised his hand. The knight froze.
"I do not favor the weak," Fredric said, voice like ice.
Amelia seethed beside him, her anger a silent blaze.
I held his gaze. "Then show it."
His brow creased. "You cursed child…"
The words landed like a blade. I'd once wanted recognition from a man like this. But that was a lifetime ago.
Fredric straightened.
"Since you ask for a chance," he said slowly, "I will give you that chance."
He remembered his own weakness once. His own climb to power. And the trial that had shaped him most.
"Send him to the frontlines," he ordered coldly.
Amelia's lips curved. She looked almost pleased.
And I understood then.
It was the same here as it had been in my world. Everyone against me. Even family.
But I wouldn't let them win.
I never had.
I would fight. I would grow. I would get my wish and return home.
Alone, as always. It was a feeling as familiar as the scars on a body I'd left behind. Fine. Let them be my enemies. They would all become stepping stones. For my wish. For my revenge.