The holographic storefront hung in the stale air of my room, radiating a soft, sapphire light. It was a digital catalog of power, meticulously categorized into tabs: Bloodlines, Combat, Magic, Subterfuge, and Psychological. I dismissed the first three immediately. Raw power was an endgame necessity, but right now, I was a fragile sixteen-year-old playing against a world that was actively accelerating the Destined Hero's growth. I didn't need to punch harder; I needed to cut deeper.
I selected the Psychological tab.
"Call it what you will, System. Give me the tools."
A list materialized, scrolling past my eyes.
[False Truth (Active) – 400 CP]
Description: Modulates vocal frequencies to bypass a listener's logical centers. Lies are perceived as highly probable truths. Effectiveness scales with Target's intelligence.
[Empath's Scalpel (Passive/Active) – 600 CP]
Description: Passively highlights the immediate emotional state of those around you via color-coded auras. Actively consumes stamina to pinpoint a Target's core psychological trauma or immediate vulnerability.
[Weaver's Touch (Active) – 700 CP]
Description: Physical contact induces a fleeting sense of profound intimacy and trust, lowering psychological defenses by 30% for ten minutes.
I tapped my chin, weighing the options. Weaver's Touch was tempting for rapid seduction, but it required physical contact, which was too risky with high-difficulty targets who might cut off my hand before letting me touch them. False Truth was useful, but I didn't need a system to help me lie. I was already a master of that.
Empath's Scalpel, however... that was a game-changer. Information was the currency of control. If I could look at a person and instantly read the cracks in their foundation, I could break them—or bind them to me—in a fraction of the time.
"Purchase the Empath's Scalpel," I commanded.
[Ding!]
[600 CP Deducted. Current Balance: 100 CP.]
[Skill Acquired: Empath's Scalpel. Integrating with Host's visual cortex...]
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through my eyes, like a pair of ice picks being driven into my retinas. I clamped my hands over my face, gritting my teeth as my vision swam with blinding, kaleidoscopic colors. The agony lasted only a few seconds before subsiding into a dull ache.
When I opened my eyes, the world had changed.
The dull grays and browns of my room were the same, but as I glanced out the cracked window at the people walking in the muddy street below, faint halos of color clung to them. I saw a merchant radiating a sickly, anxious yellow. A beggar huddled in a doorway pulsed with a deep, despairing blue.
I smiled, my steel-gray eyes narrowing. "Beautiful."
I turned away from the window and picked up the dark wool tunic Valeria had brought me. I stripped off my ruined rags and dressed methodically. The clothes fit perfectly, the dark fabric accentuating the pale, aristocratic sharpness of my face and the striking white of my hair. I brushed the dust from my shoulders, standing tall.
The broken boy was gone. The Adjutant had arrived.
The garrison was a hive of frantic activity when I arrived at midday. The fallout from the morning's raid was still settling. Guards were hauling crates of confiscated lyrium ore into the secure vaults, and the air was thick with tension.
Two burly guards crossed their halberds as I approached the main keep.
"Halt. Restricted access, Warborn," the larger one grunted, his aura flashing a mix of irritation and arrogant red.
Before I could deploy a response, a familiar, commanding voice cut across the courtyard.
"Stand down. He is with me."
Valeria strode out of the keep, her presence instantly demanding obedience. The guards scrambled to part their weapons, saluting crisply. She looked me up and down, her icy blue eyes lingering on the new clothes. A faint, barely visible rim of soft pink—satisfaction and approval—outlined her otherwise cool, gray aura.
"Adjutant," she said, testing the title on her tongue.
"Captain," I replied, dipping my head in a shallow, perfectly measured bow. "I am ready to begin the audit."
"Follow me."
She led me through the stone corridors, ignoring the bewildered stares of her men, until we reached her private office. It was a spartan room: a heavy oak desk covered in ledgers, a map of the region pinned to the wall, and absolutely zero personal touches. It was the room of a woman who had no life outside her duty.
Standing by the desk was a tall, severe-looking man with a scarred jaw. He wore the insignia of a Lieutenant.
"Lieutenant Vance," Valeria said, her tone all business. "This is Kaiser Warborn. He will be acting as my civilian adjutant, effective immediately. Turn over the quartermaster's secondary ledgers to him."
Vance's jaw tightened. Thanks to my Empath's Scalpel, I saw his aura instantly flare with a violent, putrid green—envy, panic, and deep-seated hostility.
"Captain, with all due respect," Vance sneered, glaring at me. "He's a child from the slums. You cannot give him access to classified garrison finances. It's a breach of protocol. If the Imperial Inspectors catch wind of this—"
"I am the acting authority in Oakhaven, Lieutenant," Valeria interrupted, her voice dropping a few degrees. "And my authority is absolute."
"But to replace Higgins with... this?" Vance pressed, his panic growing.
I stepped forward, smoothly interposing myself between them. I didn't look at Valeria; I kept my eyes entirely on Vance.
"Lieutenant Vance," I said, my voice calm, projecting the ambient heat of my Warborn Aura to assert quiet dominance. "Your concern for protocol is admirable. However, your panic is telling."
I triggered the active component of Empath's Scalpel.
A drain of stamina hit me, making my chest tight, but the results were instantaneous. The green aura around Vance peeled back, revealing a localized, pulsing black core near his heart. The system whispered directly into my mind.
A dark thrill coursed through my veins. It was almost too easy.
I took a slow step toward him, lowering my voice so only he and Valeria could hear. "You aren't worried about Imperial Inspectors, Lieutenant. You're worried that a new set of eyes on the ledgers will notice the discrepancies in the widows' pension distributions over the last six months. Discrepancies that conveniently match the interest rates of your debts at the underground dice tables."
Vance's face drained of color. He took a stumbling step back, his hand instinctively dropping toward his sword hilt. "Y-you little rat..."
"Draw that blade, Vance, and I will hang you for treason myself," Valeria hissed, her sword already half-drawn, the steel ringing sharply in the small office. She stared at her lieutenant, betrayal and fury warping her aura into a jagged, icy blue. "Is it true?"
Vance looked at Valeria's face, saw the absolute promise of execution in her eyes, and crumbled. He dropped to his knees. "Captain, I had to! They were going to kill my family! Higgins set me up—"
"Save it for the magistrate's cells," Valeria spat, disgusted. "Guards!"
Two men rushed in. Valeria ordered Vance stripped of his rank and dragged to the dungeons. Within seconds, the office was quiet again.
Valeria stood frozen, her chest heaving. The betrayal of her second-in-command was a heavy blow to her rigid worldview. I watched her aura waver, the ice cracking, revealing a deep, lonely violet beneath.
I didn't offer meaningless comfort. Kuuderes despised pity. Instead, I walked over to the desk, picked up the top ledger, and calmly flipped it open.
"A tumor left untreated will poison the whole body, Valeria," I said quietly, not looking up. "I told you I would be your eyes in the dark. You are safe now. Let me do my job."
Valeria stared at my back for a long, silent moment. The violent storm in her aura slowly subsided, replaced by a steady, grounding warmth directed entirely at me.
[Ding!]
[Target Valeria Thorne's Affection +15%. Current: 35%]
[Target's Obsession Meter +4%. Current: 5%]
[Log: Target feels profoundly isolated from her peers but secure in your presence. She is beginning to view you as her sole anchor in a corrupt environment.]
Good, I thought, my eyes scanning the rows of numbers. Dependence is the first stage of ownership.
"I..." Valeria cleared her throat, her voice returning to its usual stern timber, though it was noticeably softer. "I will leave the ledgers to you, Adjutant. Report any further anomalies directly to me."
She left the office, leaving me alone in the seat of power.
I spent the next three hours devouring the ledgers. I wasn't just looking for embezzlement; I was looking for leverage, resources, and a way out of this muddy border town.
Near the bottom of the second stack, I found it. It wasn't a financial discrepancy, but an official dispatch logged from the capital.
Notice of Imperial Proctor Visit. Purpose: Recruitment and Assessment for the Royal Zenith Academy. Arrival: Three weeks from current date.
The Royal Zenith Academy. The premier institution for magic and warfare in the Empire. It was also the primary setting for the first major arc of the world's canon plot. It was where Elias Brightstar was destined to enroll. It was where the highest concentration of S-Rank and SSS-Rank conquest targets resided.
I traced the ink of the dispatch with my fingertip.
Elias was moving fast, but I now had a deadline. Three weeks to drain Oakhaven of its resources, solidify Valeria's obsession to the point where she would follow me, and secure a recommendation from the Imperial Proctor.
I leaned back in the heavy oak chair, lacing my fingers together.
"System," I murmured, a cold, calculating smile gracing my lips. "Compile a training regimen. It's time to force the Warborn bloodline awake. If I'm going to the Academy to steal the Hero's women, I can't show up looking like a victim."