The morning crept in beneath a muted sky, its color an ashen gray, more shadow than light. A cold draft drifted through the cracks in the wooden walls, brushing against Ardyn's skin like the chill of forgotten memories. He stirred on the straw mat, joints stiff, his body aching in unfamiliar ways. It hadn't been a restful sleep, more like a series of short bursts interrupted by fragments of thoughts that didn't belong to him.
As he sat up, groggy and sore, the memory of the assassin's blade hovering near his throat returned with startling clarity. Her presence still clung to him like a scent, not physical, but undeniable. She had vanished without a word after sparing him, and part of him couldn't decide if she would ever return. Yet, there was something inside him that told him she would.
The system pulsed faintly in his mind.
[Thread Stability: 12%. Emotional engagement is required to advance the bond.]
He sighed, running a hand through his messy black hair as he muttered, "Yeah, well, she didn't exactly leave a phone number."
He glanced around the room, still barren and bleak. The cracked mirror sat motionless against the far wall, a distorted version of his new face staring back at him. There was no comfort in this space, only dust and silence.
He moved toward the jug of water, splashing the icy contents onto his face. The cold jolted him fully awake, a biting reminder that this wasn't some fever dream. He wasn't Ardyn Cross anymore, not entirely. Not the loser who spent his days on discount noodles and anime streams. That man had choked to death in a room no one would miss.
He dried his hands, looking at the door.
He couldn't stay here. Not after the assassin's warning. Whoever had eyes on him could be anyone, a brother, a rival, or worse, someone waiting to finish the job she didn't.
As if answering his resolve, the system came alive.
[New Quest Generated: First Dominion. Task: Secure influence by seducing a high-level Thread. Classification: Influence-Class.]
Ardyn raised a brow. "Influence-Class?"
[Definition: Threads tied to social or political power. Forming bonds with them enhances Host's presence across regions and unlocks advanced perks.]
"Right," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "So seduce a woman who runs the world. No pressure."
[Candidate Located: Saintess of Scorn. Position: Veilspire Temple, Inner Slums. Status: Exiled. Cultivation: Sealed. Emotional Profile: Isolated. Potential Influence: Substantial.]
Ardyn blinked at the words.
"A saintess in the slums?" he asked.
[Affirmative. Status: Unwanted by the former order. Worshipped by fringe faithful. Psychological profile suggests disillusionment and suppressed desire.]
He paused for a long moment, then pulled the robe around him tighter and stepped toward the door.
"Let's go meet a fallen angel, then."
The streets greeted him like a punch to the gut. Narrow and crumbling, they weaved between sagging homes and twisted alleyways. Trash piled in corners, smoke from old fires lingered, and the air carried the sour stench of sweat, rot, and something worse. Eyes watched him from behind broken shutters. No one said anything, but their silence spoke volumes. The name Kael carried weight here. And it wasn't the good kind.
He moved carefully, letting his eyes scan his surroundings. People parted when they saw him. Some out of recognition. Others out of spite. Either way, he didn't stop until the path took him to a temple wedged between two leaning towers of decayed stone.
Veilspire Temple looked more like a ruin than a place of prayer. Its outer walls were blackened by years of weather and neglect. Vines clung to the crumbling bricks like desperate hands, and the entrance, half-covered by a faded curtain, gave no hint of what lay inside.
Still, he stepped through.
And the world shifted.
The interior was silent, but not in the way empty buildings usually were. It was intentional. Controlled. Every breath he took felt muffled, like the air itself bowed in reverence. The floor beneath him was cold stone, worn smooth by thousands of steps long forgotten. The scent of lavender mingled with lingering traces of incense and something faintly metallic, like dried blood.
Candles lined the corridor, their flames steady despite the breeze outside. They did not flicker. At the far end of the room, kneeling before a dark altar, was a woman draped in white.
She didn't move.
Her robe was spotless. Her hair, a cascade of silver-white, pooled down her back like a river of light. The contrast between her and the grime-stained floor was jarring. She didn't belong in this place, yet it seemed the world had left her here and simply moved on.
Ardyn's voice cut through the stillness.
"You're not exactly what I pictured when the system said 'saintess in the slums.'"
She remained motionless.
"I mean, this place looks abandoned, and here you are… dressed like salvation itself."
A pause.
Then her voice drifted across the room, soft but clear.
"Are you here to test my devotion?"
It wasn't asked with anger. It was weariness given shape.
"No," Ardyn replied, stepping closer. "I'm here to understand it."
Slowly, she turned.
Her eyes were a deep violet, bright and cold like amethysts buried in snow. But behind them burned something raw, hurt, old, and unresolved. Her gaze pierced through him, and yet… she didn't look away.
"You carry sin," she said. "And not the kind already committed. Yours clings to you like fog. Hungry. Waiting."
He gave a small, crooked smile. "I'm not surprised. I've been told I have that effect."
She stood.
Every motion was smooth, measured, and almost ceremonial. As she rose, her presence expanded. Not through power, she had none that the system could sense, but through poise. Her height matched his, her bearing regal. Her features were too precise, too symmetrical, like a statue carved to inspire devotion and dread in equal measure.
"I gave myself to purity," she said. "Mind, soul, and magic. In return, I was judged."
Ardyn took a slow step forward, his voice quieter now. "Judged by who?"
"The Light," she whispered. "It saw what lay within me and deemed it unworthy."
A faint pulse of energy rippled from her chest, curling into the air before fading again.
[System Scan: Cultivation locked by divine verdict. Source of pain: Internal suppression, spiritual abandonment, identity loss.]
Ardyn felt the pieces fall into place.
"You believed in something that didn't believe in you."
She didn't answer.
"But you still stayed," he said. "In the ruins. With no followers. No faith left to give."
"You think I'm weak."
"No," he said. "I think you're waiting. Hoping someone might look beyond the robe and the silence and see you."
Her gaze faltered for the briefest second.
"You want to be seen," he said. "Not pitied. Not worshipped. Seen."
He reached out. His fingers brushed her shoulder, light, respectful.
"I see you."
She didn't pull away. Her breathing hitched, just slightly. Her poise cracked, not crumbled, but cracked.
[Thread Detected: Emotional resonance achieved. Initiate bond sequence?]
He looked into her eyes. "You want your power back?"
She didn't speak at first. Then, almost in a whisper, "Even if I have to walk the path I once condemned?"
"Especially if that path leads you to yourself."
The system surged within him like wildfire.
[Thread Bond: Initiating]
[Warning: Subject contains residual purity lock. Emotional clash imminent.]
Her body shuddered. A violent pulse of violet light burst from her chest, flickering through the temple like lightning. She stumbled forward. Ardyn caught her in his arms as her knees gave out, her breaths short and desperate. She clutched at him, trembling.
"Let it out," he whispered. "You've carried this weight too long."
She muttered something in a language he didn't know. The bond flared in his core. Her pain spilled into him, centuries of quiet rejection, suppressed desires, endless silence. He took it all in. Let it burn through his veins.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
The light faded.
She collapsed against him, her skin damp with sweat, her voice soft.
"You're not a man of the cloth," she breathed.
"No," he replied. "I'm something far worse."
She laughed. It was weak. But real.
"Good."
The system responded.
[Bond Established: Saintess of Scorn]
[Ability Gained: Divine Reversal. Converts sacred energy into life force. Passive resistance to spiritual suppression.]
[Local Influence Gained: Inner Slums]
[Thread Status: Waking Bond. Emotional State: Raw Trust]
He laid her gently onto one of the wooden benches lining the wall, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. The altar behind her began to glow softly, like a flame rekindled after years of ash.
Two days.
Two women.
One driven by doubt.
One cast aside by divinity.
Both are now tethered to him.
He rose slowly, casting his gaze toward the altar. Its light was faint, but steady. Steadier than it had been when he entered.
They had forsaken her.
But now, she belonged to something new.
And his kingdom would rise on the ashes of their rejection.
Not with prayer.
But with sin.