[Successfully stole skill Crimson Finger Thread]
[Skill stored in 'Memory of the World']
Silas's grin deepened as the system's confirmation flashed in his mind. Shifting his gaze to the charging bully, he didn't hesitate this time. Instead of cowering, Silas surged forward to meet Orin head-on.
Orin's brow furrowed in confusion as Silas closed the distance without fear. He tried to summon his blood threads, willing the familiar crimson strands to coil around his fingers—but nothing happened.
What the…? He shook it off quickly. Who needs blood manipulation to crush this weakling anyway?
But as they collided, something impossible unfolded. Silas stretched out his hand, and blood threads erupted from his fingertips. Before Orin could process the sight, the threads slammed straight through his chest.
The clash sent Orin staggering back, mouth twitching in shock.
He barely had time to steady himself before Silas's boot snapped upward and slammed into his cheek. Blood burst from Orin's mouth as the impact folded him in half. He staggered, gasping, the world spinning.
It wasn't just Orin who was stunned—the entire crowd froze in disbelief. Eyes darted between the two fighters, mouths hanging open as whispers turned to outright exclamations.
"This has to be a dream," one student muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Someone pinch me."
Orin shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but another fist rocketed into his face, forcing him to bend lower. His knee buckled, nearly touching the stone. He pushed up desperately—only for Silas's next punch to drive him even further down.
Not satisfied, Silas raised his foot and stomped down on Orin's head with brutal force. The impact echoed like thunder, flattening Orin against the stage.
"You've gotta be kidding!" a spectator shouted, voice shaking.
Another clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "Wasn't he supposed to have no skills? What the hell was that?"
"Get up, Orin! Don't you dare lose now!"
Silas, meanwhile, flexed his fingers, letting tiny blood threads leap playfully from one fingertip to the next. His smile widened with each flicker, a rush of power surging through him.
The hateful glares from the crowd only fueled it. He sneered right back, then turned his attention to Orin, who was still face-down in a growing pool of his own blood.
Orin pushed weakly against the ground, trying to rise, but his arms trembled and gave out every time. He collapsed again and again, a broken mess.
The translucent screen shimmered into view once more.
[Condition Fulfilled: Target's Fortune Weakening Complete]
[Fortune Points Eligible for Acquisition: 60]
Finally, Orin hauled himself up, swaying like a drunkard. His body was a wreck—bruised, bleeding heavily from multiple wounds. How did this happen? he thought. Everything had flipped in an instant.
He thrust his hand forward, desperate to form the skill he had performed over a thousand times before—but there was nothing. No warmth. No spark.
Shaking his head in defiance, he tried channeling it through his legs. Still nothing. Terror gripped him.
Something was horribly wrong.
His eyes locked on Silas, who stood there in trance-like calm, casually weaving blood threads between his fingers like it was a toy.
Veins bulged on Orin's forehead. "What did you do to me?" he roared, voice thick with fury.
He could use the skill just moments ago, but now, no matter how hard he tried, nothing came. It was almost like he had never possessed the bloodline element in the first place.
And there was Silas—who had no talent, no skills, no house bloodline—wielding it effortlessly. It had to be theft. Some forbidden, twisted taking of what was rightfully his.
"You demon!"
[Eliminate Target to Claim Fortune Points]
Silas snapped out of his daze at the outburst. Ignoring the insult, he strode to the edge of the stage where a rack of training weapons stood. He plucked a simple sword from the lineup, twirling it experimentally in his grip. With a controlled breath, he tightened his hold. Blood seeped from his palm, thinned along the blade, and hardened into crimson threads that spiraled around the sword like living veins.
"Holyyyyy shit!"
"Didn't everyone say he had no skill?" one student stammered, voice trembling. "Look at him now! Who spread that lie? I lost everything betting against him!"
"You know how perfect your control has to be to do that?" another whispered in awe. "That's not beginner stuff."
Regret and shock colored the crowd's murmurs as they watched the impossible unfold.
Orin's eyes widened at the sight of the thread-wreathed sword. He stumbled back a step, horror twisting his features. Now he was the one scanning for an escape, eyes darting desperately—but the ring of students blocked every path, just as they had trapped Silas earlier.
Before he could bolt, Silas blurred forward in a burst of speed. His gaze devoid of emotion, he drove the sword straight through Orin's abdomen.
"Ahhh!" Orin screamed as the blade pierced him. He felt the threads twisting inside his organs, every nerve alight with agony.
He could only watch as flashes of his life passed before him—the previous arrogance, the cruel laughter—all gone. All that remained was deep remorse.
Mustering every ounce of strength, his mouth opened and a weak plea escaped. "Please… don't kill me." Orin gasped. "I was only playing around. I wasn't going to harm you."
Silas didn't flinch. He remembered how fists had rained down on him mercilessly. If this was the cruelty the world demanded, he was ready for it. He drove the sword deeper, watching impassively as Orin's knees buckled.
Slowly, life drained from Orin's eyes, and his body slumped to the ground.
A second later, the screen appeared.
[Target Eliminated]
[Fortune Points Gained: 60]
[Total Fortune Points: 60]
The crowd's shocked chatter faded into background noise for Silas. He ignored it all, his gaze flicking to the system's store interface as another screen materialized.
"How can this be?" a thunderous voice boomed from the edge of the courtyard. "What in the heavens have you done?"