The road stretched sixty kilometers—no internet, no phone signal, no signs of civilization. But deep within, it hid something no one would expect: a black magic weapons factory.
At a sharp, spiraling downhill curve—so treacherous it could swallow a whole vehicle if you lost focus—the red truck veered into a wooded area. Though the ground seemed muddy and uneven, it led to a perfectly straight dirt road. The dark sky above slowly turned bluish-purple as they entered.
Jordan gripped the wheel, a cigarette in his mouth, sweat pouring down his face. The air conditioner offered no comfort. He looked pale, like a walking corpse. After driving past two hills, a small village finally came into view.
He stopped at a guarded gate. Two burly guards approached.
"Mr. Jordan? Thought you were done for the day."
"Boss asked me to restock the warehouse. You know how he is—always overworking everyone."
"Yeah, tell me about it. I was supposed to be off two hours ago myself."
"Then open the gate already. I want to get this over with."
"Sure thing."
The gate opened, and Jordan drove into a village filled with the clanging of metal and machinery—no people wandering about, no animals. He parked, opened the rear, and carried a couple of grimy sacks into an unguarded warehouse.
Inside one sack, a hidden figure poked their head out. The room was cluttered and unfamiliar. But one thing stood out—jars of greenish liquid, each containing human organs.
Jordan stared at Fethan, his breath hitching. He was visibly uneasy.
"Can I go now? Please... I’m done with this. I want out. I’ll retire."
"You seem confused, Jordan. You’re dead. The only reason you’re here is because I summoned you. You can’t go back to your family. Unless, of course, you want me to send them here."
"No! Leave them out of this!"
"Then shut up and do as I say. Don’t signal anyone I’m here. You know the consequences."
Jordan’s face went blank—white as paper. His heart shattered as he realized he would never see his loved ones again. He wanted to ask why he deserved this fate. But soon, he'd learn he wasn’t alone.
Jordan stepped out and distracted the guards with small talk while keeping within Fethan’s one-kilometer range.
"Come forth, Blothfang," Fethan summoned the sewer rat king in its small form. Its fur now purple from absorbing high-grade red soul fragments. Its green eyes glinted. Two tails swayed cheerfully.
"Blothfang humbly awaits your command, my Lord."
"Stick to the plan. Don’t get caught."
"I will not disappoint you."
Blothfang activated its stealth abilities. Fethan held a glass orb.
[Linked Vision Orb] [Single-use: Consumes 10 Spirit Power per minute. View through a subordinate’s eyes. Max 10 minutes.]
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A high-cost tool most dark mages would avoid—but Fethan had no shortage of spirit power.
Blothfang skittered across the village, relaying everything it saw to the orb. His primary target: Martin, the vile black-magic craftsman behind Martin’s Magical Game Shop. The secondary objective: rescue captives.
Jordan had confessed—creating powerful artifacts required live human sacrifices. Workers like him brought in victims from human traffickers.
[Location flagged: Martin’s Craftsman Village. A cursed site for black-magic weapon creation. Purge this blight. Free the tormented souls. Eradicate this source of chaos. Assigning quests...]
[Main Quest: Kill Martin. He is a master black magic craftsman responsible for countless weapons. Removing him eliminates a cancer from society. Reward: Free upgrade of Darkforge, blueprint for Craftsman Village. Penalty: -10 Sanity.]
[Subquest: Kill Martin’s henchmen. Eliminate dark mages and curse users. Greater rewards for higher body counts.]
[Rescue Quest: Free the innocent. Victims of trafficking await liberation. Greater rewards for higher survival rates.]
[Special Quest: Destroy Martin’s Craftsman Village. Complete all quests at 100%. Reward: +20,000 sqm Everland territory, Oriarchum dark-magic ore.]
"Perfect timing. I was afraid I’d act without gaining anything." Fethan smirked. He now understood the system—quests only triggered when he had clear goals or faced major threats.
But Sanity loss was a concern. What happens if it hits zero? Madness?
Blothfang caught a scent and entered a house via the ventilation ducts. Its narrow-space expertise let it scout the whole building in minutes. Inside were dozens of bound teens, locked in darkness.
The system hadn’t told him how many victims existed. For a 100% quest score, Fethan needed to check every corner of the village. Ten minutes passed; one orb shattered. He grabbed another.
Through Blothfang’s eyes, he used Reaper’s Eye to inspect every dark mage. Status, location, skills, karma—everything went into his notebook. The village was vast. One kilometer wasn’t enough.
He opened the golden system window.
[Everland Lord Skill Points: 10]
- Reaper’s Eye LV1 (2 SP)
- Gate to Everland LV1 (3 SP)
- Soul Harvest LV1 (5 SP)
- Soul Contract LV1 (5 SP)
- Soul Fusion LV1 (7 SP)
- Emperor of Spirit Magic LV1 (8 SP)
- Death-God’s Call LV1 (10 SP)
"Upgrade Death-God’s Call." He poured all 10 points in.
[Death-God’s Call (SSS) LV2: Summon souls from Everland. Powerful spirits cost soul coins. Max 200. Range: 5 km. Higher Spirit & Intelligence = stronger spirits. Larger summons = lower Spirit Power cost.]
Same cap, five times the range, and better scaling. Worth it.
But LV3 would cost 50 points. Maybe next life.
Now Blothfang could scout the whole village. Fethan marked every house with dark mages or prisoners. Then came the last house.
"My Lord, I can’t enter this one," Blothfang reported. The mansion was ringed by silver fences and red-brick walls. It had two stories, a chlorinated pool, and a garage with two luxury cars.
Blothfang hadn’t even stepped inside—its instincts screamed danger. A security ward surrounded the house, blocking spirits and intruders.
Fethan knew instantly—Martin’s house.
Jordan had said Martin lived here. The old man was stingy with others but not with himself. Fethan had planned a stealth assassination via Blothfang, but that idea was scrapped.
Jordan didn’t mention the ward. Guess Martin doesn’t trust his own staff. Paranoid bastard.
Fethan opened a portal and tossed the notebook into the void. His INT over 100 meant he’d memorized the entire layout and all enemy data.
"In the name of the Eternal Kingdom, I command my loyal servant..."
Blothfang’s body faded. Their thoughts synchronized. Fethan’s left eye turned greenish-purple.
"Soul Fusion: Blothfang."
[You’ve fused with Blothfang – Purple-Grade Guardian Spirit. Sync Rate: 5%. Access its skills temporarily. Cost: 0.5 Spirit Power/sec.]
Fethan used its stealth to erase his presence almost entirely. Meanwhile, Jordan clutched his stomach as pain gripped him. His face turned purple-green.
"H-Help! My stomach!"
GURGLE.
A foul stench wafted from his pants. Even before the smell reached them, the guards gagged. Jordan had lost all control.
Fethan used the distraction to slip out of the warehouse, disappearing into the shadows. At 5% sync, he could only use part of Blothfang’s abilities, so he remained cautious.
He ran along the edges of buildings until he reached Martin’s mansion.
Reaper’s Eye.
Fethan peered into the house—traps and curses were everywhere: pool, garden, walkway. But now he could avoid them.
He climbed a pipe to the roof, as nimble as a rat. Jordan had said Martin always slept in the moon-facing room. This was it.
"In the name of the Ever Kingdom, my followers—hear me."
Hellhounds, Lycaons in military garb, mantis-men in suits, crab-headed boxers, scorpion-men with whips, spider-men with eight arms—all appeared across the five-kilometer radius, Fethan at the center.
"Protect the innocents. Kill every dark mage. Leave no survivors. Bring me their heads—each one earns a soul coin."