The café's chandelier flickered as Ashen leaned back in his chair, shadows curling around his fingers like smoke. Layla's offer hung in the air—thick, tempting, and utterly predictable.
"We want you to join our faction in the upcoming Student Council throne challenge."
Ashen smirked. "And why would I do that? You've already disrupted my sweet time. We all know I don't want to join—and I've already promised Rayne."
Layla's violet eyes hardened. "We'll offer you more."
He laughed, sharp and mocking. "More than Rayne? You don't even know what he promised me." He counted off on his fingers. "An SS-rank artifact from the Galat vault—you know how rare those are? A guaranteed seat on the Council. And anything I demand within his reach." He tilted his head. "Right now, I'm busy thinking about what else to extort from him. So tell me, Prez—can you beat that?"
Silence.
Then Layla exhaled. "Fine. An SS-rank artifact. A Council seat. Name your desire. Anything else?"
Ashen drummed his fingers on the table. "Wow. Generous. But here's the problem—the battle's already over before it began." He tapped his temple. I've already seen the endgame. Fighting a war that isn't mine? Not worth it. Especially when my strength and speed are on the line.
Lucielle's fists clenched. "Brother, think about it. This is Layla's dream—losing the seat to her rival would destroy her. There's family pressure too!"
Ashen's smile vanished. "Shut your mouth. Why should I help others when no one's ever helped me?"
His sister's voice softened. "Because that's how you've always been. I thought you changed, but today—helping that girl? That was the real you."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in Ashen's chest. A memory of his mother's voice, of a time when he wasn't just a weapon.
Then he crushed it.
He stood to leave—then paused.
A realization struck him.
In three months, an Abyssal Dragon would rampage through Nowa Empire.
A slow, predatory grin spread across his face.
"Fine. I'll accept—on my terms."
Layla leaned forward. "I'm listening."
"First," Ashen began, "an SS-rank artifact of my choice from your inventory. Second, a Council seat—but I won't attend meetings. I'll just enjoy the privileges. Third—" His eyes gleamed. "I want to be part of the subjugation team when that dragon attacks Nowa in three months. Doesn't matter if they're fighting E-rank pests or A-rank monsters. I want in."
Layla considered it. "Fine. Anything else?"
"Oh, one more thing." Ashen's voice turned icy. "For this battle, I'm the head strategist. And I want Vice Commander authority—my orders override even the Commander's. Absolute obedience."
Lucielle gasped. "Do you even understand what you're asking?!"
"I understand perfectly." Ashen's gaze locked onto Layla. "With your brains, you'll lose. Follow me, and I promise—we'll win."
A tense silence.
Then Layla nodded. "Done."
Ashen turned to leave—then spun back, snapping his fingers. "Oh, and five million credits. Upfront."
Their jaws dropped.
A few minutes later, his academy bracelet chimed.
[Balance Updated: 5,900,000 Credits]
Perfect.
Lucielle groaned. "Don't ask him for anything else. He'll strip you bare."
Ashen smirked. "Pleasure doing business. Send me your faction's roster by tonight." He strode toward the door, then tossed over his shoulder:
"Oh, and Layla? Don't disappoint me."
The door slammed shut behind him.
[System: …You just played them like a damn fiddle.]
Ashen's grin widened.
"No. I gave them a fighting chance."
The café door's slam echoed through the empty corridor as Ashen stepped into the night, his smirk twisting into something far more dangerous. The System's blue text flickered in his vision like a mocking specter.
[System: That was ruthless. Even by your standards.]
"Ruthless?" Shadows coiled around Ashen's fingers as he adjusted his cuffs. "I gave them hope. Nothing destroys people faster than hope."
The marble corridors of Ashborn Academy stretched before him, his footsteps the only sound in the midnight silence. The deal was made - but the true game was just beginning.
The Faction Roster
At precisely midnight, Layla's encrypted message arrived:
[Crimson Dawn - Primary Roster]
Layla Nowa (Commander)
Ashen Crimson (Vice Commander/Strategist)
Lucielle Crimson (Vanguard)
Eren Whitehound (Assassin)
Sasha Whitehall (Support)
Noora Whitehound (Long Range Specialist)
[...CLASSIFIED...]
Ashen's eyebrow arched at the final entry. "How delightfully mysterious."
[System: That's either a trump card or a time bomb.]
"With our luck? Both." His fingers danced across the holographic battlefield display - the Obsidian Forest where the challenge would occur. Ten versus ten. No killing, but no other restrictions. He marked potential ambush sites and kill zones, already predicting Rayne's formations.
But Ashen wasn't relying on tactics alone. He had something far more potent - intimate knowledge of every weakness in Rayne's faction.
Dawn brought chaos to the academy halls.
"Did you hear? Crimson switched sides!"
"Layna must have offered him the moon-"
"Rayne will skin him alive-"
As if summoned by the whispers, a hand seized Ashen's shoulder, spinning him around to face a furious Rayne Thorne. The prince's usually immaculate silver hair was disheveled, his glacier eyes burning.
"You treacherous snake." The words came out in a hiss.
Ashen didn't flinch. "Business is business, Your Highness."
Rayne's grip tightened. "We had a contract."
"And now I have a better offer." Ashen leaned in, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Tell me, Rayne - what's more valuable? My loyalty... or the fact that I know every weakness in your faction?"
The prince recoiled as if struck.
Ashen patted his cheek. "Run along now. Wouldn't want dear Cecilia to see you begging."
Behind Rayne, his sister stood watching from the shadows. The siblings' strained relationship was academy legend - their alliance purely political. Yet something in Cecilia's icy gaze suggested this betrayal might have unexpected consequences.
At noon, Ashen found Sasha in the training grounds, her sword forms mechanically perfect yet lacking conviction. When he snatched the blade from her hands, she startled like a cornered rabbit.
"You fight like someone conditioned to lose," he observed. "Why?"
The truth came in a whisper: "I'm cursed."
She revealed the jagged red veins beneath her skin - Bloodfire. A death sentence if the Whitehounds knew. The curse burned her from within when she fought too fiercely.
Ashen's smile turned predatory. "Perfect."
[System: You do realize curses are generally bad, right?]
"Bad for her. Useful for me." His mind raced with possibilities. A weapon that couldn't control its own power? That was exactly what his strategy required.
That night atop the academy's highest tower, Ashen gazed at the horizon. Three months until the Abyssal Dragon's rampage. Three months to turn this ragtag faction into blades for his ambition.
He hadn't joined Layna for artifacts or titles. He needed to be there when the dragon fell - to claim its shadow essence and forge it into the ultimate familiar.
[System: You're gambling with forces even your master feared.]
The shadows around Ashen deepened, swallowing the moonlight. "No. I'm rewriting the rules of the game."