Soul Harvester: I Can Evolve My Traits Endlessly

”I am having an internal hemorrhage of the spirit!”

”LUCIEN!” Caelan screamed in panic, instantly forgetting the shattered three-hundred-pound post and lunging forward to catch his brother before he hit the dirt. ”Don’t die! Don’t let your spirit invert! I’m sorry! No more pushups! No more swords! SOMEONE FETCH THE HEALING SALTS! THE INVALID IS EXPIRING AGAIN!”

”Too... weak...” Lucien whispered weakly, leaning his entire weight into his panicked older brother’s arms while secretly checking the System interface.

The moment he feigned total incapacitation, the Dynamic Quest quietly flickered, canceled itself due to ”Host Medical Emergency,” and vanished without discharging fifty volts into his rear end.

’It works on intent,’ Lucien noted, his mind spinning with terrifying clarity as Caelan frantically carried him back toward the house. ’The System doesn’t act autonomously. It triggers based on my active engagement with the world! If I actively try to train, it turns me into a walking weapon of mass destruction. If I remain useless, lazy, and completely passive... it stays asleep.’

”Carry me to the couch, Caelan,” Lucien murmured faintly, resting his head against his brother’s bicep. ”And bring the apricot tarts. The sugar is necessary to stabilize my delicate soul.”

”Yes! Whatever you want! Just keep breathing, you fragile little bastard!” Caelan yelled, kicking open the villa doors with dramatic tears of guilt streaming down his face.

An hour later, the Everhart villa had settled back into a fragile, yet anxious peace.

Caelan was sitting in the corner of the dining salon, head in his hands, being scolded by an icy, furious Elara whose blizzard had frosted the south wall of the parlor.

Lucien, meanwhile, had retreated to the privacy of his private study on the third floor.

He locked the heavy brass deadbolt and drew the heavy drapes.

Then he ignited a single, flickering tallow candle on the oak writing desk, casting long, sharp shadows across the room.

His face was no longer pale.

His posture was no longer trembling.

His obsidian-dark eyes, formerly glazed with polite, lazy indifference, were now sharp, cold, and calculating, just like the eyes of an elite software architect staring at a corrupt system architecture that was threatening to crash his entire server cluster.

He pulled a fresh sheet of heavy, vellum parchment from the drawer, dipped an antique brass quill into a pot of black iron-gall ink, and slowly wrote a single word at the top of the page:

SURVIVAL.

He leaned back in the high-backed leather chair, the quill spinning effortlessly between his long, slender fingers.

’I was a fool,’ Lucien thought, staring into the candle flame.

’I thought I could simply be a salted fish, and if I stayed under the blankets and ate pastries, the world would pass me by.’

It won’t.

His mind flashed back to the original text of The Astral Sovereign’s Dawn.

In the original timeline, Lucien Everhart had died in the Sunken Catacombs.

But his death hadn’t been the end of House Everhart’s tragedy; it had been the catalyst for their systematic destruction.

When the news of Lucien’s death reached the Western Reaches, Duke Darius had been devastated.

Caelan, blinded by guilt and grief, had become reckless, eventually falling into an ambush during the Northern Border Wars orchestrated by political rivals.

Elara, consumed by bitter, freezing hatred, had abandoned the academy to wage an unsanctioned shadow war against the noble factions, ultimately being branded a rogue heretic and executed by the Imperial Inquisition.

Within three years of Lucien’s death, the ancient, proud Ducal House of Everhart had been completely carved up like fresh meat by the hyenas of the Imperial Court. Their iron mines were seized, their lands partitioned, and their name erased from the Peerage.

And who had held the knives?

Lucien’s quill touched the paper.

The ink flowed with swift, merciless precision.

1. Lord Damian Crowe & Marquis Crowe of the Western Reaches Faction. They had long coveted the Everhart iron mines. In the novel, after Ethan died, Marquis Crowe used the Everhart family’s grief to push through illegal mineral tariffs and orchestrate border disputes.

2. Professor Edmund Graves from the Department of Dungeon Logistics. The very man who had authorized the flawed, fatal route into the Sunken Catacombs. He was secretly on the payroll of underground syndicates, funneling academy expeditions into dangerous territory to harvest illegal soul-stones from the casualties.

3. Theron Black, the Imperial Inquisitor and the Commander of the 4th Disciplinary Division. A cold, ruthless zealot who secretly aligned with the Eclipsed Hand. In the original story, he was the one who fabricated evidence of ”forbidden soul corruption” against House Everhart once they were weakened, justifying the seizure of their lands.

4. The Vane Syndicate of the Underground Black Market. The damned sewer rats who handled the stolen artifacts from dead noble students.

Lucien stared at the four names on the vellum.

”The death event didn’t happen,” Lucien whispered into the shadows of the study, his lips curling into a cold, predatory sneer. ”I survived. The catacombs were cleared. But these sons of bitches are still breathing the same air as me.”

He tapped the quill rhythmically against the desk.

’They don’t know the future,’ Lucien analyzed, his brain running hundred-step simulations at terrifying speed.

’They don’t know that House Everhart was supposed to fall. But their greed, corruption, and malice haven’t changed. Damian Crowe already tried to ignite my spine with a flame rapier. Professor Graves is still selling expedition routes, and Theron Black is still planting heretical evidence for the cult.’

’If I sit back and do nothing, waiting for the plot to roll over me, these bastards will eventually find another way to strike at my family. A corrupt tariff here, an ’accidental’ dungeon collapse there, a poisoned report to the Emperor...’

’A salted fish that merely lies in the pan will eventually be eaten.’

’To survive as a salted fish... I must first poison the ocean for everyone who wants to catch me.’

Lucien’s eyes gleamed with dark, manic amusement.