As Leo stepped out of the tent, a wave of voices greeted him.

"Victor!"

Glasses were raised, laughter echoed across the clearing, and someone strummed a stringed instrument near the fire. The scent of roasted meat and salt air drifted through the night.

"Victor, get over here!" Laid called from a cluster of pirates near the edge of the firelight. "Let's share a glass of beer before the barrels run dry!"

Other voices joined in, calling his name, cheering, celebrating.

Leo gave them a faint smile but didn't move toward them.

"Come on," Briva said softly at his side. "They want to see you. You should—"

But Leo's gaze had already shifted.

A short distance away, a smaller group stood in silence, gathered around something on the ground. A single wooden coffin lay there, plain and still. Miriam sat beside it, her hands resting on her knees, her face pale and still. Selina and Arthur stood nearby, watching over her like silent guards.

"I need to go there first," Leo said. "I owe him that much."

Briva followed his gaze. Her smile faded as understanding dawned. She nodded and walked with him in silence.

When they reached the others, Arthur turned toward them, surprised. "Victor? You shouldn't be on your feet yet. You need to rest."

Leo met his gaze calmly. "As do you," he said, his tone neutral. "But we're both here."

Without waiting for a reply, Leo stepped forward and stopped at the coffin.

Miriam turned to look at him. Her eyes were ringed with red, but the tears had long since dried. She said nothing, and neither did he.

Leo bowed his head, closed his eyes, and stood in silence for a full minute. He didn't know which god to pray to — didn't even know if the dead could hear prayers at all. But he spoke anyway, his voice low and steady.

"Thank you, my friend… for giving your life so we could live. May you find your way to whatever lies beyond this world."

He stepped back quietly and rejoined Arthur, Selina, and Briva.

"What's our next move?" he asked once he was beside them.

Arthur let out a slow breath. "For now… we celebrate. We won, that has to mean something."

Leo turned to Selina. She had lost one of her own. He didn't want to celebrate while she mourned.

But Selina gave a quiet nod. "Don't worry. He would have wanted this. We're pirates. We sail with death at our heels every day. This is the life we chose."

Leo returned her nod, his respect silent but sincere.

Then, with his companions at his side, he walked toward the fire — toward the laughter, the warmth, and the living — and joined the celebration.

…

That night, as laughter faded and the fire burned low, the camp began to quiet. One by one, the crew collapsed into unconsciousness — overwhelmed by drink and food. The air was filled with the scent of spiced wine and charred meat, mingling with the sea breeze.

Leo quietly slipped away, returning to his tent.

His body still ached in places, but the food had restored some of his strength, and mana now flowed again in small but steady waves. His domain, though still unstable, was no longer out of his reach. He couldn't draw on its full power, not yet — but he could enter it.

He sat down, closed his eyes, and focused. A moment later, his mind slipped free of the material world.

When Leo opened his eyes, he was seated once more on the cold stone throne at the heart of his domain. But everything around him had changed. The place felt… unfamiliar.

He rose and walked out of his throne room. He moved first toward the outer edges. The towers — once simple and symmetrical — now had large bronze bells perched atop each spire, resembling the solemn bells of old churches. Their presence sent a shiver through him, though no sound echoed from them yet.

Nearby, in the flower gardens that bordered the towers, he saw a jarring shift in color. Amidst the vibrant reds, yellows, and blues were now patches of black flowers, their petals dark as ink and matte like dried blood.

"Black…" he murmured. "Is that the effect of the werewolf blood?"

He didn't expect an answer, but the silence now felt heavier than before.

He drifted toward the great hall — the long room lined with a white table and chairs. All of them were marked now, faint lines of obsidian threading through the stone like veins. The once-pristine white surfaces looked changed. Not ruined — evolved.

He returned to the throne room. Here, the transformation was most intense.

The fog that once sat still at the base of his throne was now more alive, swirling in gentle, deliberate currents. It had taken on a crimson hue, mixing with the original pale mist until the air looked like diluted blood. The fog curled around the throne like a pet guarding its master.

His sword, Thorn, rested in the middle of the room. Its edge shimmered faintly. obsidian markings now ran along the the throne, the hall and the walls. A network of dark veins had spread through the very structure of the room.

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Leo looked up. Above him, hovered the familiar series of concentric spell circles. But something was different.

A new spell had been etched into the last empty circle — its runes unfamiliar, aggressive. At the core, where once sat a single dense fog concealing whatever lay beneath, the mist had parted slightly. Not cleared — but changed.

Now, two new spell circles had appeared inside the core, nested within a larger ring. Both were completely empty, but the way they were linked told him they were connected — bonded like the previous three had been. In between them, the remaining fog still churned, guarding something not yet revealed.

Leo stood there in silence, staring at the complex spellwork. He returned to his throne and rested his hand on its armrests. The domain was evolving. So was he, though the shape of what he was becoming was unknown to him.

He could feel it — the surge of mana, the density of power in his muscles. Both his magical and physical strength had increased. But his last night's form — whatever it was — had been something else entirely. That wasn't just strength. That was transformation.

He raised his hand, and Thorn flew from its resting place with a quiet hum, landing in his palm like a loyal hound returning to its master. With a single focused thought, he tried to draw information from the weapon — to see how it had changed.

But to his surprise, nothing was different. It hadn't evolved.

Frowning, he let go of the hilt. The blade floated back to its place in the middle of the room, silent and still.

Leaning against the cold stone, Leo allowed his thoughts to drift — back to the chaos of the previous day. Specifically, to Arthur's domain.

That had been something truly fascinating. He remembered how Arthur summoned his swords — one by one — each forged from the very fabric of the Rules. And with every new blade, Arthur grew stronger. It wasn't brute force; it was careful construction. Methodical.

Arthur's domain had been brilliantly designed. By channeling power slowly, he avoided detection by higher beings — the ones who watched for those who drew too much power too fast. More than that, he avoided overwhelming himself with the weight of the rules. Like this, he could reach power far beyond his current rank… carefully, quietly.

Of course, the cost was steep. After a battle like that, Arthur would be weak for some time. Each sword had to be reforged in his domain — a process that would take days, if not weeks. But that hundredth sword… Leo could still feel the cut in the sky, the shockwave that tore the sea apart. It was more than a spell. It was a weapon of myth.

Even that hadn't killed the Kraken. Selina's domain had been different — no less powerful, but mysterious in its own way. She drew strength from something darker. Leo hadn't seen its full depth yet, but he knew there was more than met the eye.

And then there was him.

While the others summoned domains and shaped the world around them, what had he to summone?

That question lingered, heavy and frustrating. He searched for an answer — but beyond the thrum of mana, there was nothing. .

His gaze drifted upward again, to the spellwork hovering above of his throne room — the complex, spiraling layers of magic, newly changed and still unstable.

'Maybe that form…' he thought. 'Maybe that's what I'm supposed to summon.'

The transformation had been monstrous — and powerful beyond anything he'd ever touched. But it was temporary, wild, and dangerous. He had no control over it, no understanding of what triggered it, or how to replicate it.

Still, the thought haunted him. If he could harness it — if he could summon it like the others summoned their domains — then what would he become?

And what price would he pay?

He leaned there like a forgotten god, draped in swirling fog — half white, half blood-red.

…

Liam woke in a high-backed chair in one of the great rooms of his family's mansion, the thick scent of perfume and old wood wrapping around him like a blanket. Two servants hovered above, wiping his face and trying to steady him.

He jolted awake abruptly, heart pounding. The servants flinched but didn't stop tending to him. Liam scanned their worried faces, then the room — rich carpets, heavy furniture, gold-trimmed walls. And near the far window, lounging on a velvet sofa, were two all-too-familiar figures. His brother Ben and sister Amelia.

Ben smirked. "Even after all that training, you're still a fainter."

Amelia gave a soft laugh, sipping from a glass of wine like it was nothing more than another afternoon of watching Liam fail.

Liam ignored them. He rushed toward the large wall mirror. The ornate silver frame was cold under his fingers as he stared at his reflection.

No fangs. No fur. No claws. His eyes were still the same blue. He looked… normal.

'What the hell was that? Was it connected to the Creator?'

Ben rose from the sofa and sauntered toward Liam with mock concern. "Guess the weak always stay weak."

Liam could still feel the transformation in his bones — the raw power, the violence — but none of it showed now. No visible trace remained.

He exhaled in relief. 'At least they didn't see it. I can ask Mr. Victor about this later.'

Behind him, Ben's footsteps approached. A heavy hand dropped on Liam's shoulder.

"Hey," Ben said, voice dripping with mockery. "I'm talking to you, failure."

And something snapped.

Before Ben could even register it, Liam moved — faster than him, a C-rank warrior. His fist sank into Ben's stomach with a brutal crunch.

The sound of impact echoed across the room as Ben was launched backward like a broken puppet, slamming through the door. Wood splintered. He hit the far wall with a sickening thud before collapsing, gasping for air.

The two servants shrieked and stumbled away, terrified.

Amelia stood frozen, her glass slipping from her hand and shattering on the floor.

Liam walked toward the broken door, silent. As he passed Ben, curled up, wheezing, he looked down, eyes cold.

"Touch me again," he said, voice low and deadly, "and I'll kill you."

Ben's wide, trembling eyes met his, full of disbelief and fear.

Liam turned and walked away. But he wasn't just leaving behind his brother's broken pride. He was leaving with something heavier.

He was afraid, afraid of himself.

That punch had been far beyond his strength. The rage had come like fire through dry leaves, sudden, overwhelming, unnatural. He'd always had a temper, but this… this was something else.

Something inside me has changed.

And whatever it was… it wasn't normal. …

Marco woke up on the floor of his home, just beside the front door. The room was quiet, still. No voices and no movement. He was alone.

As he slowly sat up, he noticed deep claw marks gouged into the wooden floor. His claw marks.

Confused, Marco glanced at his hands, but they looked normal. He stood, unsteady at first, and made his way to the mirror hanging near the hall. His reflection stared back, unchanged. Same face and same body.

"What the hell was that?" he muttered.

The last time he'd felt that much pain was when he signed the contract that had given him new power. But this… this was different. There was no pact, no ritual, just raw agony, followed by unconsciousness.

He focused inward. The power was there, something new, something deeper, but it wasn't loud or wild. It felt restrained, waiting.

"I guess I'll have to wait until I can ask Mr. Victor," he said quietly.

His eyes lingered on his reflection a moment longer before he turned away.

…

Alina opened her eyes in the dim light of the room. Her body ached, her skin damp with sweat. Arlasan sat beside her, gently dabbing her face with a damp towel.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice weak.

"You changed," he said quietly. He held up his hand. Deep, fresh claw marks ran across his forearm, still red, still healing. "Into something dangerous."

Alina's heart sank. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself. "Arlasan, please don't..."

He raised a hand to silence her.

"I trust you," he said firmly. "But tread carefully. And if you ever feel, even for a moment, that this being's intentions aren't pure, you must tell me. We'll find a way to free you from it. No matter what it takes."

Alina nodded slowly. She appreciated his words. But deep inside, despite everything, she believed in the Creator, the only god who had ever answered her prayers.

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