The deck of cards refused to leave Julien's mind.
Not the power.
Not the status screen.
The cards themselves.
Black.
Gold-lined.
Silent.
They felt… older than they should be.
That afternoon, Julien found himself standing before Helior's private study.
He knocked once.
"Enter."
The room smelled faintly of old paper and steel.
Weapons lined one wall—trophies of wars long finished.
Books filled another.
Helior stood near the window, polishing a simple sword with a cloth.
"You came quickly," he said.
Julien held up the deck.
"These."
Helior paused.
For the first time since the incident, his expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
"…So they awakened," he murmured.
Julien stepped inside.
"They were yours?"
Helior nodded slowly.
"Long before they were mine, they belonged to a dwarf."
He gestured for Julien to sit.
Then, after a moment's thought, he began.
"It was during the Northern War," Helior said.
"The year the dwarves first descended from the sky."
Julien listened.
"Their ships fell like iron comets. Most came as traders. A few came as warriors. And one came… as a gambler."
Julien blinked.
"A gambler?"
"He introduced himself as Brann Goldfinger," Helior said.
"A master artificer. Terrible soldier. Excellent card player."
Helior smiled faintly at the memory.
"In the camps, when morale was low, he would gather soldiers and teach them games from his homeland. He said war should not steal laughter."
Julien imagined it.
A dwarf among human soldiers.
Laughing.
Shuffling cards.
"The cards you hold were forged by him," Helior continued.
"Each one reinforced with runes. Not for combat. For durability. For chance. For fun."
"So… they're not a weapon?" Julien asked.
"They were not meant to be."
Helior's gaze sharpened.
"Until the final battle."
Julien leaned forward.
"The vampire vanguard broke through our left flank. Brann saw my men collapsing. He threw those cards into the air and poured mana into them out of desperation."
Helior closed his eyes briefly.
"For a moment, the battlefield was filled with spinning black and gold. They cut. They deflected. They blocked spells. Crude, uncontrolled—but enough to save a hundred lives."
Julien swallowed.
"After the war," Helior said, "he left us. Returned to the dwarven realm. Before leaving, he gave me those cards."
Helior stood, walked to the shelf, and touched the empty space where the case once stood.
"He said: 'For a man who protects others, even tools of play can become weapons.'"
Silence followed.
Julien looked down at the deck in his hands.
"So… why me?" he asked quietly.
Helior turned back.
"Because artifacts do not synchronize with power alone."
He pointed to Julien's chest.
"They synchronize with intent."
Julien frowned.
"I didn't want power."
"Exactly," Helior said.
"You did not seek dominance. You did not seek fame. You did not seek revenge."
Helior's voice lowered.
"You sought to protect someone weaker than you."
He approached Julien.
"The cards were created for chance. For improvisation. For adaptation."
He placed a hand on Julien's shoulder.
"And your class is Jester."
Julien let out a breath.
"So they chose me because… I'm suitable?"
"Because you are unpredictable," Helior corrected.
"And because you do not fight to win."
Julien looked up.
"You fight so others can live."
Something stirred in his chest.
Not pride.
Responsibility.
He hesitated, then spoke.
"Grandfather."
"Yes."
"I want training."
Helior studied him.
"What kind?"
"Not to become the strongest," Julien said.
"Not to become a hero."
He raised the deck slightly.
"I want to learn how to control this… properly. So I don't hurt the wrong people."
Helior's eyes softened.
"You fear yourself."
"I fear accidents," Julien replied.
A faint smile appeared on Helior's face.
"Good."
He walked to the weapon rack and took down a simple wooden staff.
"Then your training will be different from others."
Julien straightened.
"No brute force. No obsession with ranks."
Helior tossed him the staff.
"First lesson: control before power."
Julien caught it clumsily.
Helior continued.
"You will train your body lightly. Your reflexes heavily. Your mana precisely."
He glanced at the deck.
"And you will learn three things before you learn how to attack."
Julien asked, "Which three?"
"Distance. Timing. Restraint."
Helior turned serious.
"Your class is dangerous, Julien.
A Jester who loses control becomes a calamity."
Julien nodded.
"I understand."
Helior paused.
Then said:
"And one more thing."
"Yes?"
"You will not train alone."
Julien blinked.
"Who—"
"Alicia will oversee your control training," Helior said.
"David will teach you situational awareness.
And I…"
He lifted the wooden staff.
"I will personally teach you how not to die."
Julien laughed.
"That's… reassuring."
Helior allowed himself a small chuckle.
Training would begin the next day.
As Julien left the study, he glanced once more at the deck in his hand.
Black.
Gold.
Once a toy.
Once a miracle.
Now—
His responsibility.
'Looks like… my life just became a game of cards.'
And for the first time since transmigrating—
He felt something close to anticipation.