Soul Harvester: I Can Evolve My Traits Endlessly

Silence returned to the courtyard.

The two thick-necked brawler goons stood frozen in place, their knuckles still raised, their jaws hanging open so low that their lower lips were practically resting on their collarbones.

They looked at the shattered rapier blades on the flagstones.

They looked at their master, currently embedded four inches deep into the fountain’s stone basin.

Then, very slowly, with agonizing, terrified synchronization, they turned their heads to look at Lucien.

Lucien was standing precisely where he had pivoted.

His right hand was still raised at chest height, his fingers slightly curled.

Aside from a faint, barely perceptible tingling in his knuckles, and a tiny smudge of soot across his palm, his hand was completely intact.

Not a single burn or scrape.

The crimson flame that could melt iron plate armor had failed to even scorch the callouses on his fingers.

Lucien stared at his own palm.

He stared at the rubble in the fountain.

He stared at his palm again.

’What... in the name of the algorithmic gods... was that?’ Lucien thought, his brain stalling out completely.

’I backhanded a flaming sword! With my bare hand! And the sword broke?! I have eight Strength! Eight! That’s the strength of an anemic librarian who struggles to open a tight jar of pickles!’

The System interface chimed with soft, cheerful malevolence:

[ COMBAT RESOLUTION ]

[Entity Neutralized: Damian Crowe (A-Rank Duelist / Unconscious)

Kinetic Conversion: Host’s Spirit Attribute (27) temporarily reinforced skeletal and muscular density via [Trait: ERROR leakage].

Result: Rapier Integrity: 0% (Obliterated)

Target Cranial Stability: Severely Compromised

Host Damage Received: 0.00

System Note: Who needs magic when your soul is as dense as a dying star?]

Lucien slowly, mechanically closed his fingers into a fist, feeling an absurd, terrifying density vibrating beneath his skin.

’My Spirit attribute,’ Lucien realized with mounting horror.

’The baseline Spirit for a normal human is ten. Mine is twenty-seven because of the two souls merged in this vessel! The System didn’t just track my soul, it used the mass of my spiritual lattice to physically reinforce my bones! I’m not an invalid! I’m a reinforced tungsten rod wrapped in noble silk!’

A terrified, strangled whimper broke his train of thought.

Lucien turned his head.

The two brawler goons were trembling so violently that the brass buckles on their doublets were clinking together.

They took one terrified step backward, their eyes wide with the primal, superstitious dread usually reserved for peasants watching a mountain demon tear an ox in half.

”M-Monster...” one of the goons choked out.

”He... he broke an enchanted blade with a slap...” the other whispered, clutching his chest. ”Without mana... he didn’t even use mana...”

Lucien lowered his hand, took a slow, deep breath, and smoothed down the front of his navy-blue civilian coat.

He looked at the two goons.

Then he looked at the unconscious Damian Crowe in the fountain.

He had two choices.

He could panic, scream, and summon the campus authorities, which would result in a formal investigation, an inquiry into his abnormal physical traits, and the immediate, unwanted attention of the entire Imperial High Council.

Or... he could double down on the psychological warfare.

Lucien straightened his posture, tilted his chin up, and allowed his obsidian-dark eyes to narrow into a cold, terrifyingly bored, aristocratic glare.

”Take him and scram,” Lucien said, his voice dropping into a quiet, freezing rumble that would have made Duke Darius proud.

The two goons flinched as if struck by a whip.

”T-Take... take him, My Lord?”

”Take your master away,” Lucien repeated, gesturing dismissively toward the fountain with two fingers. ”Clean the marble dust from his hair. Have the bone-setters mend his jaw. And inform him, when he reawakens, that if he ever interrupts my morning walk again... I will not use my open hand.”

The two goons didn’t ask questions.

They didn’t offer excuses.

With a frantic, scrambled flurry of terrified grunts, they lunged into the fountain, dragged the limp, groaning form of Damian Crowe out of the rubble, threw him unceremoniously over one of their shoulders, and bolted out of the courtyard like two stray dogs that had just had a bucket of boiling water tossed at their tails.

Within five seconds, the courtyard was empty once more.

Only the shattered, glowing fragments of the volcanic silver rapier remained, glinting innocently in the autumn sunlight beside the cracked fountain.

Lucien stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty archway.

Then, slowly, he turned around and looked down.

Rowan was still curled into a tight, trembling ball on the flagstones, his hands clasped over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut with enough force to turn his eyelids white.

”Lucien...” Rowan whispered, his voice muffled by the pavement. ”Are they gone? Did they chop us into pieces yet? Is this the afterlife? Why does the afterlife smell like damp willow leaves?”

Lucien walked over, reached down, and grabbed Rowan by the back of his collar, hoisting the boy onto his feet like an oversized bag of laundry.

”Get up, Rowan,” Lucien said, his tone entirely dry. ”The duel is over.”

Rowan blinked, slowly opening one terrified eye.

He looked at the cracked fountain.

He looked at the shattered pieces of the volcanic rapier. He looked at Lucien, whose coat wasn’t even wrinkled.

”Where... where did they go?” Rowan stammered, his head swiveling frantically. ”Where is Lord Crowe?! Where are the giant men with the fists?!”

”They had a sudden, urgent appointment with a dentist,” Lucien said smoothly, brushing a speck of white marble dust from his sleeve. ”Now, let’s keep moving. If we don’t reach the Registrar’s Office before the fourth bell, the line for the humanities courses will be out of the door.”

”Wait... Lucien...” Rowan stared at the shattered pieces of enchanted silver on the ground, then slowly looked up at Lucien’s face, his eyes widening to the size of tea saucers. ”Did you... did you do that?”

”Do what?” Lucien asked with absolute, unyielding innocence.