NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: CHAPTER 3
Valen stood in his room. An actual room. Not some cardboard shit hole, not some damp alleyway or a rotting shelter made of scavenged debris. A real room, with walls, a ceiling, and a bed that wasn't a nest of filth and regret.
A bed. A real, actual bed.
He ran his fingers over the fabric of the blanket, feeling the soft texture beneath his calloused fingertips. It was warm. It was his.
Valen turned, taking in the rest of his quarters. The materials were sleek and modern, the air smelled... not exactly fresh, but clean enough to be breathable. The walls had some kind of hidden screen imitating a window, showing a quiet, snow-covered park.
There were even clothes.
"I won't have to wear that stinking coat again." He exhaled in relief, stepping into the shower.
The water was hot. Scalding, even. It burned against his skin, but he didn't turn it down. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the heat sear into his muscles, washing away weeks of grime, exhaustion, and blood that had long since dried into his flesh. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, letting the steam swallow him whole. But for the first time in a long while, he felt almost... human.
After what felt like an eternity, Valen stepped out, reaching for the new set of clothes. They were plain, but clean. Oddly fitting, too. As if they had been tailored just for him.
He turned to the mirror, staring at his reflection.
How beautiful...
(ok bro)
Humming softly, he summoned the runes.
A weapon materialized in his hand. Its edge gleaming with an eerie, unnatural sharpness. The only thing left from his old clan.
He chuckled.
No, that was a lie, wasn't it?
[Memory: Blood forged Fang]
[Memory Rank: Awakened]
[Memory Type: Weapon]
[Memory Description: A vicious blade, tempered in the flames of slaughter. Once wielded by a forgotten warlord, it drinks deep from the wounds it carves, growing sharper with every battle. The crimson steel hums in anticipation, yearning for its next feast.]
His fingers traced the hilt before he dismissed the runes.
It wasn't even from his clan. It was a relic from his First Nightmare, a reward given to him by the Spell itself.
Valen twirled the blade between his fingers, feeling its weight, its balance. It was perfect. It would be useful.
A gift from the Nightmare. The only thing he had left. Not from his clan. Not from his past. Just something he had taken with his own two hands.
His stomach growled.
Right. Food.
He nearly missed supper and had to skedaddle to the cafeteria.
***
The food was good.
Juicy, tender, perfectly cooked steak. He let out a quiet moan of delight.
Maybe running away was a mistake.
Then again, what was the point? It wasn't like he could go back. Not if he wanted to be free, Maybe they did serve steak in that prison, Who know?
His moment of bliss was interrupted when he was dragged into a small office, facing an administrative worker.
The interview began.
It started off normal enough—until she offered him psychological counseling.
The crown burned.
HELP?
Valen spat at the floor. "Miss me with that.".
To her credit, the woman remained calm, simply smiling and moving on to the next question.
"Would you mind telling me about the type of Aspect Ability you received? Combat, sorcery, utility?"
Valen leaned back, tilting his head. "Uh... combat, I guess?"
Her eyes brightened. "If you're willing to share, could you describe it for me?"
"Uhh... NOO"
The crown didn't react this time. Lucky her.
After several more vague and borderline disrespectful answers, she gave up on prying anything useful from him. All they learned was that he had a combat-focused ability. Big deal.
He left the office in a hurry, eager to return to his room before —
"Hey, excuse me?"
Damn it.
One of those legacy kids.
"Custard? Cestar?" Valen squinted. "What was your name again?"
"Caster." The golden boy smiled. "Just a word of advice—you should watch who you associate with. For example, Sunny. I got a—"
The crown thrummed.
Insolence
Valen hocked up a thick shot of phlegm and spat it at Caster's feet.
"Fuck off, dickhead."
Dang it!,
Another enemy for me I guess.
***
Early in the morning, Valen was in the cafeteria, the first to arrive, shoveling ungodly amounts of food into his mouth when a sudden commotion broke out behind him.
He looked up to see Sleepers gathered around a large screen where Names were displayed in ranking order—the strongest and weakest of the new batch, likely deduced from their interviews.
His name was somewhere in the middle. Annoying. The crown wasn't too happy about that.
Another shot of blinding pain.
Sunny and the blind girl? Dead last.
At the very top of the list was the cause of the commotion.
"Interesting."
—Name: Nephis—
—True Name: Changing Star—
Valen narrowed his eyes.
Big deal. He had a True Name, too.
The crown pulsed
Valen's fingers twitched. The weight of the crown bore down heavier than before.
Sleepers gawked at the screen, whispering in hushed tones.
"A Sleeper with a True Name? That's impossible!"
"Well, technically, it's possible. Smile of Heaven got her True Name in the First Nightmare, I think... but yeah, I'm doubtful."
"Maybe she lied in the interview?"
"Are you stupid? If it was that easy to deceive the administrators, the crazy pervert from yesterday would've been first place instead!"
"Why don't we just ask her?"
Silence fell across the cafeteria as all eyes turned to the silver-haired girl sitting alone in the corner, sipping coffee with an indifferent expression.
"Mmm. What?" she finally asked, blinking at them.
It was that idiot from yesterday. Caster, or whatever.
As Caster attempted to speak some game to Nephis.
( Does caster have rizz ?)
Valen stood up and left, uninterested.
(So nonchalant, omg)
***
Time for class.
Valen scratched his ears as Awakened Rock gave some boring lecture about combat, regretting his choice of words.
When he had been asked which class he wanted to join, he had replied,
"The most popular one?"
In hindsight, maybe he should have realized it would be this. Now he was here trying to not stand out too much, scratch that, he would probably get into trouble due to his flaw.
Well, it wouldn't matter much as he would join the Song clan as fast as possible. Maybe upgrading his worth wouldn't harm.
For now Sleepers were taking turns punching a wide plate attached to a special measuring machine. The machine was an upgraded version of a punching bag, displaying a number corresponding to the Sleeper's physical prowess.
The average numbers were ranging from ten to fourteen, which was considered good, but only for mundane people. As they were Sleepers, people cursed by the spell, a lot of them were able to achieve fifteen or maybe sixteen too.
Nephis stepped forward, delivering a clean, precise strike. Valen's eyes narrowed, impressed.
How Interesting
His turn came.
Valen clenched his fist, drawing power into his strike, and unleashed it with near-maximum force.
Eighteen.
Not bad. But far from his peak.
Then came Caster. He activated his Aspect.
Twenty-one.
People gaped, throwing admiring looks at Caster who simple bowed and stood back. Instructor Rock smiled.
"Not bad. Now, we will move to sparring and evaluate your general level of training. I need two volunteers to begin."
This could be fun,
Valen rolled his shoulders.
The crown felt heavier.
Prove