Rebirth Of The Bastard Spirit Summoner

For a second, Stark froze, unsure of how to react.

Then he immediately sprinted towards the girl and pushed his hand against the wound. It was pointless, considering that there was a hole on the other side of her body, but Stark did not care.

A pool of blood had already formed around her and her skin was lacking colour.

"Chubby! Heal her now!"

A violent green glow exploded on the girl's body as Chubby poured mana into her bleak form, yet it didn't seem to be enough.

'Is she already too far gone?!'

"Stay with me, okay? You'll be fixed up soon!"

He had no reason to care for her, she was only getting in the way of his revenge, and yet… Stark could not imagine abandoning her.

Her eyelids began to slowly drift downwards, and then she attempted to lift her bloodied hand only to fail, her hand drawing a mark of blood on his shirt.

"H-help m…e." The girl managed to say, her voice crackly and low, her body trembling.

Then the trembling stopped… her ragged breathing ceased, and the light left her eyes.

She was dead.

As the green glow of mana slowly dimmed, they were left in a deafening silence.

Darell had most likely escaped…

As for the guard that had done this—Stark heard a piercing scream from the other part of the tunnel.

His spirits had gotten to him, but he could care less about him.

He just sat there, his eyes never leaving the body of the girl. "Why is the world this way?"

Another life lost just for the sake of a noble's greed.

By now, the knight he tipped off anonymously must have arrived at the location. Edward's trade would crumble that night and all the slaves would be made free.

Yet, Stark felt… empty.

•••

The next few days went by faster than Stark had expected.

He took a few days off to clear his head due to what had happened, but he still had a job to do… killing Darell, and now he had even more conviction.

As per their agreement, he obtained the information he needed to blackmail the head manager into getting him a job.

Now, he was working in Darell's estate as a cleaner.

Since his plan to get slave guards, who were completely loyal to him, failed, Darell was now back to relying on his personal guard.

Stark had hoped that since he was nearly impossible to kill outside the estate, there would be more openings in his own house…

But he was wrong.

Darell was even more cautious among his own staff. He never went anywhere without a powerful knight beside him.

Even when he slept, he often had a knight in front of his door, and another one outside to watch his window.

He was paranoid, but considering that Stark, someone that wanted him dead, was living under the same roof as him, maybe not so much…

"Stark, make sure you clean up the kitchen next," said one of the maids, handing Stark a rag and a bucket of water.

Although there were some risks, he decided to use his new name, since using an alias would only work against his favour if he was to ever run into one of them in the future.

Stark smiled as he took it off her hands. "Of course!"

He dipped his mop into the water, mixing it with the soap before he began cleaning the floor, making sure to get all the edges.

As he was cleaning, one of the guards walked past him, stepping on the floor where he had mopped and staining it with his boot marks.

Stark felt like emptying the bucket on his head, but like a model cleaner, he bowed in greeting and continued working.

But the man stopped and glanced at him, his gaze cold. "Who are you?"

Stark stopped and stood straight. His long grey hair was still covering his ears so thankfully, the guard was just surprised by the new face.

"I'm a cleaner, I got hired last week."

"Is that so…"

Even after his explanation, the man did not leave. Instead, he suddenly unsheathed his sword and swung it, the blade moments from ripping off Stark's head.

But Stark did not move. Not at first… if he did it would be a dead giveaway that he was a fighter.

Instead, he waited a second before jumping back and collapsing to the floor, feigning fear and holding onto his head.

"Please, don't kill me!"

The man scoffed and sheathed his blade. "You can get back to work."

"And here I was thinking he was actually worth something," he muttered under his breath as he left.

Stark glanced at his retreating figure, taking note of everything about the man.

After all, he was a potential obstacle in his quest to kill Darell.

Evening came by in a flash. Stark had spent the entire day jumping from one housework to the other.

He could still hear the chief maid's voice ringing in his head, even as he sat tiredly on a barrel.

"Stark, take this and go polish the doors."

"Stark, have you mopped the attic?"

"Stark, the trees need grooming."

Stark this, Stark that!

It was almost as though the chief maid was taking out her anger on him for whatever reason.

As he sat tiredly in one of the many rooms of the estate, drifting in and out of sleep…

The chief maid, a woman of about twenty eight, stepped into the room once more.

Her gaze was stern, her eyes sharp and piercing, and her chestnut brown hair was tied up in a bun so tight that not even a strand of hair came loose.

She glanced at Stark, then noticing his exhaustion, her expression softened lightly.

This was how she always treated new recruits. If she pressured them early, they would adapt to the strenuous nature of the manor early on.

The workload would eventually soften, but the experience would leave them perfectly efficient.

She smiled then—

"Stark!"

The young man jumped to his feet, a rag already in hand.

"Take the rest of the day off. Dinner will be ready at six."

•

The staff quarters was a separate building not too far from the main building. It was a large apartment complex with several rooms, and two large bathrooms, one for girls and the other for boys.

Darell had constructed it so that most of his workers could always be at the ready whenever he needed them.

He walked into the building and took the stairs, going straight upstairs until he got to his room.

The room, as expected, was small but practical. There was a small bed, a bedside desk, and a lamp placed atop it.

Instead of jumping into bed to rest, Stark took off his shirt and tossed it to the side.

Then he went into the push-up position.

"One, two, three… thirty-five."

He pushed his already tired body to work, his limbs shaking as he completed the first set.

"100."

He got up and changed to a sit-up position, his legs up while his back was placed against the floor.

"One, two… fifty-five."

He got up and did a plank, his ghostly stopwatch in front of him to tell the time.

While he waited for Darell's fated demise, he would keep training, working day and night until his body teetered at the edge of breaking.

While Chubby was floating around the room, Stark was grinding away.

He continued working out until his hands gave in and he fell flat on his face, the cold floor feeling soothing against his hot skin.

And before he knew it, his eyes began to feel heavy and soon, he fell asleep, only to awaken at the sound of a high-pitched squeal.

"Die, you peasant!"