The boy wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers still smudged with streaks of paint. He stepped back, ready to admire the fruit of his labor—a painting of a vase against a burning house in the background. But before his eyes could fully take it in, a shadow moved behind him.

The painting was lifted from his easel with an ease that startled him. Arayn stood there, holding the canvas, his cold gaze scanning the strokes with an intensity that made the boy shrink back.

"As usual," Arayn began, "you lose yourself in your work. So much so, you wouldn't notice a blade at your throat if it came for you."

The boy's heart raced. He hadn’t even heard Arayn approach. "It’s you, mister," he stammered.

Arayn ignored the comment, tilting the painting slightly as he examined it. "The contrast is striking," he murmured, almost to himself. "This painting is impressive."

The boy blinked, stunned. Praise from people was rare, and to hear it spoken so plainly left him fumbling for words.

Arayn shifted his gaze. "Sell it to me."

The boy’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. When he finally found his voice, it was resolute. "No. I can't sell it."

One of Arayn’s brows arched. "Can't?" he repeated. "What is its worth to you, then?"

The boy hesitated before his grip on his emotions tightened. "This painting... I risked my life to paint it. I'd sell other paints, but not this."

Arayn chuckled. "Well, now I want this even more." He turned his eyes to the boy, who stood frozen under his scrutiny. "As for the price, I’ve decided—I’ll take you as my disciple."

The boy’s eyes widened in shock, his hands clenching at his sides. "No," he blurted out, shaking his head. "I just want to paint. That’s all I want."

Arayn smirked, unfazed by the refusal. "And what will you do when a danger devours you whole when you are painting? Strength is what allows you to survive, boy. Strength is what will let you tread dangerous lands, places where only the brave or the foolish dare go—places where inspiration thrives. Imagine you can paint heaven or even hell. That's the privilege of the strong. You will only have one more chance to answer me."

The boy hesitated, his heart racing. Arayn’s words gnawed at the edges of his curiosity, planting seeds of wonder. His love for painting burned fiercely in his chest, but a question lingered in his mind, "What more could he create if he stepped beyond the safety of his quiet life?"

Finally, he took a trembling step forward. Slowly, he dropped to one knee, bowing his head. "I… I accept. Your disciple greets you, Master."

Arayn nodded in satisfaction, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good." He stepped closer, his gaze as sharp as ever. "Now tell me, boy. What is your name?"

"My name is Soren, master."

Arayn turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him. Without looking back, he said, "Follow me."

The boy hesitated, his gaze flickering to the town engulfed in flames. Screams echoed faintly through the air, and the scent of smoke stung his nostrils. His voice wavered as he called out, "Shouldn’t you… help them?"

Arayn stopped, his head tilting slightly as though considering the suggestion. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he replied, "I owe nothing to them. Their lives or deaths mean nothing to me. But if it troubles you so much, I’ll make an exception. Choose a few—I’ll save them for you."

The boy stared at him, surprised. But then, his lips pressed into a thin line. "They don’t deserve it," he muttered, bitterness creeping into his voice. "They treated me like dirt. They threw trash at me. They assaulted me for fun. Like I was nothing."

Arayn turned, a grin spreading across his face. "So, you don’t care about them after all. Then don’t ask me to intervene. Be quiet, and follow me."

The boy lowered his gaze, the tension in his shoulders easing. Without another word, he stepped forward, his feet falling in step behind Arayn’s.

Arayn and the boy reached the manor, where Darius and Alice were waiting. As they approached, Alice's gaze shifted to the boy, a slight frown crossing her face.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Who’s this?" she asked curiously.

Arayn glanced at her and said, "This is my disciple, Soren."

Alice blinked, clearly surprised. She raised an eyebrow. "You actually care about a stranger?" she remarked, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

Arayn’s expression tightened. "Enough. No more disrespect, especially in front of my subjects. I will teach you a lesson if you repeat it next time."

Alice's teasing faded as she crossed her arms, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I was just joking," she muttered, looking away with a huff.

"I forgive you if you can look after him until the Deathmatch ends," Arayn instructed her.

Alice crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Is that a tone when you ask a favor from your big sister?" she replied.

"I will praise you if you do as I say."

Alice smirked, her voice teasing. "Say please, big sister. Help this little brother."

Arayn’s expression shifted slightly, annoyance creeping in. "Hey, do you forget why I’m doing this Deathmatch? Now, if you're grateful, do as I say."

"Hmph. No," Alice retorted, her arms still crossed.

Arayn's lips twitched in frustration. He turned to Darius. "You tell Alice to do it."

Darius gave a humble bow. "It's not my place to intervene with family matters, Young Master Arayn."

Alice glared at Arayn. "You coward. Is it so hard to say please to your big sister?"

Arayn sighed, his patience thinning. "Forget it." He grabbed Soren by the arm. "Let's just get you into an inn, far from the burning region."

Alice called after him. "Wait, okay. Hmph, you are so difficult. I’ll do it."

Arayn grinned, his tone softening. "Good. If you’re useful to me, I don’t mind becoming more serious in this Deathmatch for you."

Without waiting for Alice's response, he turned to Soren. "Follow her."

Soren hesitated for a moment, but at Arayn's command, he stepped towards Alice. She glanced at him briefly, then led him to another room.

Arayn turned back to Darius, his expression turning serious. "I’ve gathered souls. I need to make a purchase."

Darius, sensing the urgency, nodded without hesitation. "Follow me," he said, stepping aside to lead Arayn toward the office.

Arayn presented the collection of souls he had gathered. With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled the Soul Gathering Scroll, and the souls within it began to drift out, flowing like faint wisps of light. They entered the Ritual Lantern, a dark, ornate vessel designed to house souls. The lantern shimmered briefly before a glowing screen appeared, displaying the values of the newly stored souls.

Darius observed the process with a satisfied nod. "Good job, young master," he said smoothly, before waving his hand. A translucent screen materialized before Arayn, listing the items available for purchase.

Arayn didn’t bother glancing at the list. His eyes locked onto Darius. "I want that sword," he declared.

Darius nodded, moving to retrieve the weapon. Moments later, he returned with Malzareth, a sword exuding a dark, ominous aura. "This is the catalyst sword Malzareth," Darius explained, holding it reverently. "Forged from the essence of the demon Malzareth you defeated. It was meant to be a key catalyst in summoning the Heavenly Demon class through the primordial crystal. However, I only sacrificed five catalysts for the summoning and preserved Malzareth for this moment."

Arayn’s eyes gleamed with interest as he examined the blade. Its sleek design pulsed faintly with power, and the screen beside it displayed four unlocked abilities. "Four abilities, all locked," Arayn mused aloud.

He turned to Darius. "How many souls do I need to unlock one of these abilities?"

Darius’s expression didn’t change as he replied, "One hundred souls—or the equivalent of a single Deathmatch participant’s soul."

Arayn’s lips curled into a grin. "Consider it done," he said.

Darius watched as the Ritual Lantern dimmed, its task complete. With a thoughtful expression, he turned to Arayn. "Are you finally going to eliminate a participant, young master?"

Arayn paused, his mind briefly wandering to Eryndor's request to make other contestants learn about him. Arayn was also interested in his growth. He shook his head. "Not now," he replied evenly.

Darius raised an eyebrow but continued. "Valen and Kaelion are set to fight Saria soon. If they take the battle seriously, one of them will fall."

Arayn’s lips twitched into a faint smile. "Don't worry. No one will die. Saria has a powerful ally on her side."

With that, Arayn turned and left the office.

He made his way to Alice’s room, where she and Soren waited. His sharp gaze settled on the boy. "Do you still have your painting tools?" he asked.

Soren nodded hesitantly. "Yes, I do."

"Good," Arayn replied. "Then I'll hold a test."

Alice arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "And what exactly is this test?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.

"Sit comfortably there and watch," Arayn instructed.

He turned to Soren. "Before we begin, you should understand something about me. I was cursed after a certain... encounter. Ever since, I’ve been granted a cursed power called [Demonic Aura]. It constantly seeps out. The only thing keeping it in check is this Robe of Concealment." He tugged at the fabric draped over his shoulders. "With it, I can suppress or unleash my aura as I please."

Soren’s expression twisted with unease, but he didn’t move. Arayn pointed to the corner of the room. "Stand there. Now."

The boy quickly obeyed, clutching his paint set tightly. Arayn loosened the robe’s clasp and let it fall. The room grew heavier instantly. His [Demonic Aura] spread like a storm cloud, oppressive and suffocating.

Soren staggered, his face draining of color as beads of sweat formed on his brow. Meanwhile, Alice seemed unaffected. She crossed her arms and shot Arayn a sidelong glance. "What are you doing, Arayn? Planning to scare him to death?"

Arayn smirked, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. "No. This is his test. If he fails to impress me, I’ll take his life." His tone was calm, devoid of mercy. "The task is simple. I want you to paint me and Alice together. You have fifteen minutes."

Soren's breath hitched, but he swallowed his fear and began setting up his tools, his trembling hands betraying the weight of the challenge ahead.