Fin stepped out of the room, his hand still pressing against the hole in his chest.
The corridor outside was wide, lined with tall pillars and slashed paintings that must have once been expensive.
'This isn't a house... it's a mansion.'
And it was a graveyard.
Bodies littered the floor, servants, guards and people in nightclothes. They were twisted in unnatural angles, blood pooled and dried on the white tiles. It smelled like meat that had been left out in the sun too long.
He had expected ruins, maybe an abandoned building, but this was a slaughterhouse.
'I don't get it... why did she put me here? In the middle of a massacre?'
He stepped over a guard whose armor was cleaved clean through, just like his own chest.
'Fixer-upper my ass. This is a crime scene.'
He leaned against a cracked pillar, catching his breath as the notifications from earlier blazed in his vision.
[Quest: Path to Power]
[Objective: Form a 1-Star Core]
[Time Limit: None]
[Rewards: ??, ??]
He stared at it, reading the objective again and again.
'Form a core... how? You just told me my reconstruction probability is near zero!'
'How the fuck am I supposed to do that?'
He swiped the window away in frustration, bringing up his status screen instead. Hopefully, the "fallen noble" had some lingering strength he could use to survive this mess.
[Name: Fin]
[Race: Human]
[Core Rank: Destroyed]
[Star Energy: Dispersed]
[Body Condition]
[Physique: Crippled (Mortal)]
[Spirit: Weak (Mortal)]
[Masteries]
[None]
[Skills]
[High-Speed Regeneration (Lv. 1)]
[Unique Skills]
[None]
He looked at the status screen, the word "Crippled" standing out even without the red text.
He had no strength, agility or any magic. Just a broken body and a healing factor that was working overtime just to keep him standing.
'So I'm in a mansion full of dead people, with killers likely still around, and my stats are worse than a dog's.'
He laughed, 'good luck, she said. I'm going to need a lot more than luck.'
He started walking, dragging his feet through the corridors, checking room after room. He walked for what felt like hours, passing opulent bedrooms, dining halls, and servant quarters, but every single one was the same.
He couldn't find a single person alive.
'Guess whoever killed the family wasn't thorough enough, they missed one... bad time so such a joke.'
He pushed open a set of heavy double doors, expecting another scene of carnage, but instead, the smell of paper greeted him.
It was a library.
Massive shelves climbed from the floor to the high ceiling, packed with leather-bound books. There were no bodies here or blood, just dust and the smell of knowledge.
He walked around the room, trailing his fingers over the spines. Each shelf had a category carved into the wood: History, Geography, Politics, Lineage.
He stopped at one near the back.
[Mana Theory & cultivation]
'This is it.'
He grabbed a pile of books, not bothering with a table, and sat down on the floor right there.
He spent the next few hours reading, flipping through pages about cores, stars, and the flow of energy. He learned about the 20-star ranking, about how mana moved through the body's pathways, and how a core was formed by condensing that mana into a solid sphere.
He was absorbed, his mind soaking up the information like a sponge, distracting himself from the pain in his chest and the smell outside.
He only stopped because his stomach gave a loud, angry rumble. It was a deep, gnawing hunger that made his hands shake even more than before.
'I need to find a kitchen.'
He stumbled back into the hallway, following the layout he saw on a map in the library.
The kitchen was worse than the rest of the house.
Pots and pans were scattered everywhere, food trampled on the floor, and blood... so much blood it coated the counters like paint. Two cooks lay by the stove, their white aprons dyed red.
He gagged, covering his nose, forcing himself not to look.
He scanned the room, looking for anything edible that wasn't covered in death.
'There has to be a storage room or a pantry around here somewhere.'
He found a narrow door in the corner, half-hidden behind a overturned table. He yanked it open and went inside. It was dark, cool, and surprisingly clean.
Sacks of flour, barrels of wine, and on a shelf near the back, bread. It was a bit stale, hard as a rock, but to him, it looked like a feast.
He grabbed a loaf, ready to bite into it right there, when he heard a noise. A small whimper, coming from the corner of the room.
He froze, his heartrate rising.
'A survivor? An enemy?' He crept forward, holding the bread like a club.
There was a huge barrel in the far corner, its lid slightly askew. The noise came from inside, a soft, terrified breathing.
'Hmm, could it be?'
He reached out and lifted the lid.
Inside, curled into a tight ball, was a young maid. She was shaking violently, her hands clamped over her mouth to stifle her sobs.
She flinched when the light hit her, shrinking away, eyes wide with terror, expecting to be killed.
"Who are you?"
She froze at his voice. Her eyes, filled with tears, slowly focused on his face. The terror melted away, replaced by a wave of relief so strong she almost collapsed.
"This voice... Young Master?"
She didn't wait for an answer or check if he was a ghost or a hallucination. She scrambled out of the barrel, kicking up a cloud of flour, and launched herself at him.
"You're alive!"
"Wait-"
He didn't have the strength to catch a fly, let alone a sobbing maid. Her weight overwhelmed him and his legs folded instantly.
They went down hard, her elbows digging into his ribs, pressing right into the hole in his chest.
"ARGHHH!"
The scream ripped out of his throat. Pain exploded in his chest, radiating out to his fingertips, blinding him. It felt like someone had shoved a hot poker into the wound and twisted it.
"M-Master?!"
She solidified, realizing what she had done, and scrambled off him, her face pale as a sheet.
"I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"
He curled into a ball, clutching his chest, his teeth gritted so hard he thought they might crack.
'Damn it... damn it all...'
"Water..." he wheezed, "Get... water..."
She scrambled up, stumbling over her own feet, and ran to the wine barrel. She grabbed a wooden ladle, plunging it into a bucket of water sitting next to it, her hands shaking so bad half of it splashed onto the floor.
"Here! Here!"
She dropped back to her knees, bringing the ladle to his lips.
He drank greedily, the water was warm and tasted like wood but it was the best thing he had ever tasted, it soothed his dry throat.
"Cough! Cough!"
He drank too fast, choking on it.
"Slowly! Please, slowly!" She rubbed his back, her hand moving in frantic circles.
He pushed the ladle away, gasping for air, "I'm... I'm okay."
She looked down at his chest and her hands flew to her mouth.
"Young Master... your... your chest..."
She reached out, trembling fingers hovering over the wound but too scared to touch it.
"It's fine," he lied, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain washed over him, "It looks worse than it is."
"Fine?! Young Master, please look at yourself! You are missing a part of your chest!"
She was hysterical, tears streaming down her face again, mixing with the flour on her cheeks to create a messy, white paste.
"We must summon a doctor immediately! I shall go and-"
"No!" He grabbed her wrist, his grip weak but firm. "No doctors."
"B-But Young Master..."
"If anyone finds us... they'll finish what they started."
Her eyes went wide, the realization sinking in. She looked at the hole, then back at his face, and heavily nodded. She wasn't stupid, she knew what happened to everyone else.
"I... I understand, Young Master."
She sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
"Then... what are your orders? We cannot remain here..."
"We have to," he leaned his head back against the barrel, closing his eyes, "Just for a bit. Until I can walk."
The adrenaline was fading and the pain was settling down a bit. He was so exhausted, his new body already at its limit.
'Sigh, what a mess.'