In Rus's hands lay a leather belt, about three fingers wide and a meter and a third in length.
It was a dull, matte black—so dark it seemed to absorb surrounding light. It weighed almost nothing, looked utterly ordinary, and gave off no magical aura.
But to Rus's eyes, it was utterly magnificent.
Through the Eye of Truth, the belt shimmered with a faint azure glow. Complex magical runes twisted along its surface—dense like whitewater rapids in some areas, sparse like stars in others.
Back in the battle, the belt had been buried beneath Anderson's enchanted plate armor. That's why Rus hadn't spotted it at first, even with the Eye of Truth.
It was a spatial item—a rare kind of magical gear that could only be activated with either battle aura or mana. Fortunately, Erik had taught Rus a trick that let even ordinary people use it.
Rus pressed a magic core to the belt. The crimson energy within the core began to seep into the leather, and a faint, mist-like white glow enveloped the belt. At the same time, a mental image flashed into his mind—a neatly outlined, hollow space.
A pocket dimension.
It was about a meter wide and two meters tall. Most of the space was empty, save for a single coin pouch resting in the corner.
Anderson must've used this during battle—that's how he caught me off guard and nearly pulled off a comeback!
Rus's throat tightened as he swallowed.
Steeling himself, he placed his free hand on the belt and imagined gripping the coin pouch.
Then he yanked upward.
Thump.
The heavy pouch landed on the desk with a satisfying thud.
Success.
Despite having lived through two lives and well over fifty years in total, Rus couldn't help grinning like a kid who'd just found a new toy.
Over and over, he practiced the motion—grabbing the coin pouch, pulling it out, putting it back in. Again and again. At least a dozen times before he finally stopped.
"Amazing…"
He didn't even bother to count the coins—he was too busy imagining all the ways he could use the belt.
Anderson had used it to store coins?
Pfft. Amateur.
One meter by two meters—that's two cubic meters of space. Arranged properly, that was enough to store at least twenty loaded crossbows.
Load them with enchanted bolts, line them up like an artillery battery… In a storm of fire, even someone like Erik would be turned into a pincushion.
Now that's what he called a walking turret.
"Shame I can't store living beings…" Rus muttered wistfully. "Would've been fun to stuff Erik inside and pop him out at the perfect moment."
Amused by his own thoughts, he finally opened the pouch and made a quick estimate—127 gold coins.
All things considered, that wasn't much for a bandit of Anderson's rank. But given the man's armor and gear, it made sense—he probably invested most of his wealth into his equipment.
"Alright, priority one—crossbows. I'll put Erik in charge of that."
He buckled the belt around his waist with satisfaction.
Just as he glanced back toward the magic cores on the desk, his eyes narrowed.
The first core—its internal crimson glow had shrunk by about a third.
"So it does consume the magic core's energy to power the belt," Rus murmured.
And then, something clicked.
Every time he used the Eye of Truth in battle, his stamina and mental energy would plummet.
The Eye consumed energy—and Rus remembered that the moment it had awakened was when he killed Donald.
That surge of power flowing into his brow had unlocked it.
Donald had undergone a ritual, becoming something close to a monster—and the source of his power?
A magic core.
Could it be… that I shattered his core, and that's what activated the Eye of Truth?
A wild idea took root.
Without hesitation, Rus picked up a magic core and smashed it against the window ledge.
The black crystal exploded into glittering fragments, sparkling like shattered diamonds. Through the Eye of Truth, Rus saw a rush of crimson mist billowing into the air.
He touched his forehead instinctively. His brow pulsed like a second heartbeat, radiating a strange hunger.
"Come… come to me…"
Calming his breath, he let the Eye of Truth remain open.
The mist reacted instantly—drawn toward him like moths to flame, it surged into his brow.
As the fog entered his skin, two contrasting sensations hit him at once—like a cool breeze across his face, and simultaneously, an unbearable inner heat.
The heat spread rapidly, tingling across his scalp, down his blood vessels and skin.
Rus rushed to a nearby mirror.
Beneath his skin, veins had risen like roots crawling under the surface—twisting and throbbing, grotesque and vivid. He looked eerily similar to Donald after his transformation.
But within minutes, the heat faded. The veins slowly receded.
"…Weird," Rus muttered. "What the hell just happened to me?"
He shook his head—and was greeted by a loud series of pops and cracks.
Startled, he began stretching his body—and was stunned by how fluid he felt.
His muscles were lighter, looser, and far more responsive—like he'd just received a full-body massage from inside out.
"Did the magic core actually strengthen my body?"
He clenched his fist. His arm felt solid—dense with new power.
Grabbing his hand crossbow, he inserted a bolt and hooked four fingers onto the string.
Creek…
The string bent into a V shape with only his fingers—no knee brace, no aid.
It was slower than using mechanical assistance, sure—but previously? He couldn't do this at all.
Eyes shining with excitement, Rus licked his lips.
"…One more test."
He grabbed a second core—and smashed it too.
This time, the heat was scorching. His scalp felt like it was on fire.
Back at the mirror, he saw every vein in his body—even the tiniest capillaries—bulging to the surface, wriggling like worms beneath his skin.
Sweat dripped down in thick beads.
He stood completely still, terrified that even the slightest movement might rupture something vital.
Thirty agonizing minutes later, the burning finally subsided.
"…Too much. Too fast." Rus wiped his brow. "Can't keep doing that."
But when he stretched again, he froze.
In the mirror, his shirt clung tightly to his torso—highlighting a perfectly sculpted figure.
"What the hell?"
He peeled off his shirt—and gaped.
He'd always been decently fit—above average, even. But now?
His chest was firm, defined, but not overbuilt. His muscles were evenly proportioned—lean and powerful, like a professional sprinter.
His abs formed a distinct eight-pack, taut and flawless.
Any woman would lose her mind looking at this…
Drawing his rapier, Rus gave it a spin—then caught it between two fingers, twirling it effortlessly.
A three-pound sword, handled like a twig.
"Is this really the magic core's effect?"
He paused.
"…No. It's the Eye of Truth. That's the key."
He'd only absorbed the energy from two Tier-1 magic cores—one of which was partially drained. And yet, his physical strength had increased by at least 50%.
And that was before becoming a knight or a mage.
Once he crossed that threshold, once he began absorbing higher-level cores…
The possibilities were endless.
Compared to enchanted weapons or rare potions, magic cores are dirt cheap.
A smirk spread across his lips. He lifted the coin pouch again.
What had felt weighty earlier now seemed feather-light.
But as he moved to store the pouch, his hand brushed something strange near the bottom.
Frowning, he opened the bag fully—and froze.
Then, slowly, a devilish smile crept across his face.
"Well, well, well… Hyde Slater. I was going to pay you a visit in a few days, but to think you'd hand me such a nice little gift yourself…"
Time slipped quietly by. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, and silver moonlight bathed the earth. A carriage pulled by a Blood-Eyed Warhorse rolled out from Eaglehold and made its way to the Wings of the Eagle Inn in Goldspark Town.
Rus adjusted his collar and stepped down from the carriage, carrying a wooden chest in his arms.
"Wait for me here," he told Erik.
"As you command, my lord!"
Rus nodded and pushed open the tavern's doors. It was just as quiet as the last time he'd visited, though the bald innkeeper looked notably less welcoming.
"I'm here for Young Master Hyde's own good," Rus said calmly. "If you don't want to see your master kicked out of the succession line, I suggest you don't piss me off."
A cloaked man in brown, who had already half-drawn his sword, quietly slid it back into its sheath.
"Take me to him."
Without a word, the cloaked guard led Rus down the familiar hallway.
Same room. Same arrangement.
Rus pushed the door open and took a seat on the bench—right beside Hyde, just a shoulder-width away.
Hyde's face darkened, and he ran his fingers through his center-parted hair.
"Baron Rus," he said coldly, "is this what you call deference?"
"Deference?" Rus raised an eyebrow and thumped the chest onto the table.
"You're the one misreading the situation, Hyde—Hyde Slater. I'm not here to bow. I'm here to negotiate."
Hyde scoffed, resting his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
"And what makes a minor baron like you think you can negotiate with me?"
"This."
Click. Rus popped the chest open and turned it toward Hyde.
A heavy wave of blood and rot spilled into the room.
"Impudence!"
"Protect the young master!"
Two enchanted longswords immediately locked onto Rus's throat.
But he didn't flinch—just reached over to the fruit tray, grabbed an apple, and took a loud bite.
"Hyde, can't you even control your own dogs?"
Hyde's eye twitched.
Rus sat there, chewing noisily, red apple skin stuck between his teeth and lips, like some predator chewing on a fresh, still-beating heart.
"…Stand down," Hyde growled, his voice tight.
The guards hesitated. "But, young master—"
"I said stand down!"
They reluctantly sheathed their swords and faded into the shadows.
Hyde's chest rose and fell with fury. He didn't want to look—but his gaze was glued to the chest.
Inside was Anderson's severed head.
His hair was matted and dry like weeds. Dried blood crusted around his nose, mouth, and ears. His face was deathly pale, yet grotesquely vivid—like a twisted form of art. His eyes were wide open, bloodshot, his forehead pierced with a gaping hole the size of a chopstick. Through it, bits of gray matter still leaked.
But it wasn't the head that terrified Hyde—it was the letter beside it.
A blood-stained letter. Sealed with his own private wax insignia.
"…What do you want?" Hyde asked, voice cold and low.
"Well, that depends on your sincerity," Rus said with a smile. "Conspiring with Bloodmoor bandits to attack an imperial baron's land—such a tragic betrayal, don't you think?"
"I figured something golden and shiny might help ease the pain in my heart."
"So it's money you want," Hyde sneered. "Three thousand gold coins. That should be enough to shut you up."
Rus casually picked up the letter. "Hyde, I don't think you understand the severity of this."
"This is a signed letter, with your personal seal. If this were to land on Minsk's desk… what do you think would happen?"
Minsk Slater—the first heir of the Slater family. Commander in the Steel Legion. A Tier 4 Iron Knight known for his unyielding discipline and ruthless fairness.
And, more importantly, Hyde's elder brother—with whom he had a famously terrible relationship.
If Minsk got his hands on this, he would use it to eliminate Hyde from the succession without mercy.
"You wouldn't dare!" Hyde snapped, but there was fear behind his glare.
"If you really thought I didn't dare," Rus replied, "then why didn't your bounty call for my head?"
He smirked. "Besides, that's just a copy. The original's already ready to head off to Moonen."
Hyde took a long, deep breath. He felt utterly humiliated.
Anderson, that bastard.
All that talk of being the "rising star of Bloodmoor"—two Tier-1 Awakened, sixteen veteran cutthroats—and they still got wiped out by Rus's ragtag militia?
And worse, he'd left evidence behind, putting Hyde's neck under Rus's boot.
Grinding his fingers together, Hyde said, "…What exactly do you want?"
"Eight thousand gold," Rus said plainly. "And your assistance in taking back Goldspark Town."
Hyde exploded. "That's extortion!"
"Oh, no, no, no—don't be like that." Rus uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured a glass in front of Hyde. "This isn't extortion, dear Hyde. This is the beginning of a beautiful partnership—a mutually beneficial collaboration."
"You see, I'm a humble man. I don't care about territory or power. What I want… is money."
He threw an arm around Hyde's shoulder, speaking softly into his ear.
"But just a few thousand gold isn't enough to convince me to give up a barony. I need more than that."
"You're young. I, on the other hand, am a member of the Claydons family."
"You know the curse—Claydons blood doesn't live past forty. I'm already twenty."
"I need a lot of money—to break that curse."
Hyde's expression twitched. For all his arrogance, he believed it—at least a little.
"And what does any of that have to do with Goldspark Town?"
"Everything," Rus answered. "Goldspark is a golden goose. I've got at least twenty years left—maybe more—and that town can bring in over ten thousand gold coins in that time."
"You help me take it back, and I'll sign an official document: when I hit forty—dead or alive—the title of Baron of Eaglehold goes to you."
He clinked his glass against Hyde's.
"I get my gold, and you get a full barony in your prime years. Sounds like a win-win, doesn't it?"
Hyde hesitated.
He did want land—but he also loved his lavish lifestyle in Moonen. This deal tickled his sweet spot.
"…Eight thousand's too much. I don't have that kind of cash."
"Six thousand," Rus said instantly, patting his shoulder with a grin. "I'm not unreasonable."
"But there's one more small favor I'll need from you."
Hyde took a deep breath and drained his wine. "Don't get your hopes up. My influence in the family is limited."
"Don't worry. Just a little nudge will do."
About fifteen minutes later, Rus loaded a massive chest into the carriage. When it landed, the wheels creaked, visibly lower from the weight.
Slumping into the seat, Rus sighed in relief.
"Children are so easy to manipulate."
"Shall we return to Eaglehold, my lord?" Erik asked. "Or perhaps take a walk around Goldspark?"
"Neither," Rus said, cracking his neck. "Head east. We're going to Snowpine Keep. I have an appointment with Viscount John."
Erik blinked. "But… we don't have an official invitation. Won't that be… a little forward?"
"That's exactly the point," Rus said, a sly smile on his lips. "No more questions. Let's go."
As the carriage rumbled into motion, Rus leaned back and sighed.
"I just got to act like the big boss for a while…
Now it's time to play the humble lackey again."