Chapter 166: Hearing Voices

  Abel sat hunched over his workbench, the dim light of his basement casting elongated shadows over the array of treasures he had laid out before him.

  His fingers traced the edges of the various artifacts, gold coins, and gemstones, their worth immeasurable to any ordinary person. Yet, despite his accumulated wealth, he felt nothing for these material riches. They were trinkets, distractions at best.

  What truly captivated him were the items that resonated with mana. Those were the real treasures. He continued as he hummed along with pleasure.

  Hum… Hum Hum Hum… Hum…

  He shifted through the collection, and then his focus landed on a simple-looking cup, its surface smooth and unremarkable, yet faint traces of mana pulsed within it.

  Curious, Abel lifted the cup in his hands, tilting it slightly—and to his surprise, water began to form inside, clear and pristine.

  He poured some out into a basin nearby, watching as it drained away before refilling itself almost instantly. It didn't seem like the water had any special property like the liquid from Dirt’s mug that transformed him into a Blue Goblin.

  Endless water, he mused, turning the cup over in his hand. Could be useful in an emergency.

  Abel set it aside, making a note of its properties. He then picked up a delicate tiara, its crystalline structure catching the dim light and refracting it into dancing patterns.

  The moment he placed it atop his head, a subtle shift in his perception occurred. It was as if his mind became lighter, clearer—his thoughts arranging themselves with precision.

  If he had been a mere mundane, this artifact might have granted him extraordinary focus, sharpening his mental acuity beyond normal human limitations.

  However, as a Rank 2 Apostle, his mind was already honed by mana and the effects of the tiara were minimal. A relic for the mundane, he thought, though he still found some value in its properties.

  He placed the tiara down and leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly on the table. There was no denying that he had acquired an incredible haul from the Flower Palace, but this was only the beginning.

  Hum… Hum Hum Hum… Hum…

  Abel pulled out the old, rusted fork from his bag, its unassuming appearance betraying the power hidden within.

  With a flick of his wrist and a pulse of mana, the metal warped and extended, transforming into a sleek, battle-worn sai. A faint shimmer ran along its surface, an almost imperceptible ripple in the air as if the air itself bent around the weapon.

  As he held it, Abel knew that if he was a regular person he would have felt the difference—his movements would have felt lighter, sharper, more instinctive.

  It was reminiscent of the effect his knife granted him, an enhancement to his agility and speed. He twirled the weapon experimentally, noting how seamlessly it adapted to his grip, and how naturally it responded to his intent.

  He had no use for it at the moment, therefore, he placed it to the side and moved along.

  Abel’s eyes landed on an ornate chest that had caught his attention from the moment he pulled it from the palace, but no matter how much he examined it, the thing simply wouldn’t open.

  There was no keyhole, no seams to pry apart, and any attempt to probe it with mana yielded nothing. It was as if the chest itself refused to acknowledge him.

  Frustrated but not discouraged, he set it aside for safekeeping. One day, I’ll figure you out.

  Abel moved on to the next item, picking up a slender flute carved from polished wood, its surface smooth and cool to the touch. He ran his fingers along its delicate engravings, subtle patterns of feathers and brooms that hinted at craftsmanship beyond mere decoration.

  Curious, he brought it to his lips and blew a short note. The sound that escaped was soft, almost melancholic, carrying an eerie, weightless resonance.

  Then, without warning, a translucent figure materialized from within the flute’s mouthpiece—a faintly glowing presence draped in faded robes, its wispy form flickering like candlelight.

  In its hands, it clutched an old broom.

  The spirit did not acknowledge Abel, nor did it seem aware of its summoner at all. Instead, it floated lazily across the room, moving with the slow, deliberate grace of a specter bound by an ancient duty.

  Without instruction, it began sweeping the floors with practiced efficiency, gliding from corner to corner, dusting shelves, and clearing away debris with an unbroken rhythm.

  Abel watched in bemusement, his lips twitching into a smirk. A flute that summons a cleaning spirit? Not exactly a weapon, but convenient nonetheless.

  It made him wonder—was this spirit simply a remnant of its former self, endlessly reliving its last purpose? Or was it something more, an entity bound to the flute by forces unknown?

  Setting the flute aside, he reached for a small jar that seemed deceptively ordinary. Its clay exterior bore no markings, yet the moment his fingers wrapped around it, he felt an oppressive weight pressing against his palm.

  The jar exuded an aura of suppression, the material itself resonating with an almost gravitational force.

  He uncorked it slightly, just enough to test its reaction. Immediately, the air around it shifted, thickening as if reality itself grew denser. A whispering pressure filled the room, an unseen force barely restrained within the confines of the vessel.

  A containment artifact? Abel mused, carefully sealing the jar once more. Could be useful. If it truly had the power to suppress and seal things within, then its potential was invaluable. He placed it next to the flute and turned his attention to the next artifact.

  A simple-looking ring sat among the pile, its metal band dull and unremarkable. But the moment he slipped it onto his finger, a dark green aura flared to life around his hand, wrapping his knuckles in dense, pulsing energy.

  Eight faint dots appeared along the back of his fist, glowing with a deep viridian hue whenever the ring was activated.

  Interesting. He flexed his fingers, feeling a very small surge of raw physical strength course through his body, his grip tightening involuntarily. The ring enhanced one's natural power—an artifact of pure, brute force.

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  He made a mental note of its properties and removed it, placing it with the rest.

  His gaze then fell upon a red wand, its body crafted from what appeared to be the spine of a flame creature.

  He flicked his wrist experimentally, and a small fireball shot from its tip, dispersing in black smoke against the stone walls of the basement, leaving behind a black char that the cleaning spirit hurried towards.

  He scoffed. A decent weapon for the officers, but useless to me. Fire was nothing more than an elemental trick in the hands of an apostle.

  Without a deeper connection to an affinity, its effectiveness was limited. He tossed the wand aside, uninterested.

  Next was a belt—plain brown leather, worn and weathered, yet when he buckled it around his waist, a strange sensation coursed through his body.

  He noted that this belt allowed a person's senses to sharpen, for their awareness to expand subtly, heightening their perception of movement, temperature, and even the faint vibrations in the air.

  Enhances reflexes and physical ability for a limited duration. Not bad. But there was more. As he focused, he felt a secondary function activate. A sudden movement from behind him caught his attention—no, not movement. A limb.

  From the back of the belt, an ethereal appendage extended outward—a segmented, flexible tail tipped with a razor-sharp end. It flickered, almost translucent, yet carried the weight and presence of something entirely real.

  He tested its movement, twisting his body slightly, and the tail followed with precision, slashing through the air with a deadly edge.

  Now that’s something. Abel’s grin widened as he retracted the tail and unfastened the belt. This artifact had potential. It wasn’t just a passive enhancement—it was a weapon, an extension of its wearer.

  He placed the belt aside, satisfied with his findings so far. But his curiosity was far from sated. There were still some artifacts to analyze, and who knew what other secrets lay hidden within the treasures he had claimed?

  Next was a single black feather with a glimmering tip. He twirled it between his fingers, intrigued by its craftsmanship, until he realized that the feather itself was imbued with an endless supply of ink.

  The moment he pressed it against a scrap of parchment, words flowed effortlessly from the tip without any need to dip it.

  “A scribe’s dream,” Abel murmured, setting it down with approval.

  Before he could continue, a faint sound from behind caught his attention. He turned just in time to see Lena stirring, her breath coming in soft, shallow waves as she began to regain consciousness.

  Abel exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. Finally,

  Lena’s body convulsed once, her frame tensing as if caught between wakefulness and unconsciousness.

  A deep, guttural growl rumbled from her throat, low and primal, vibrating through the basement walls. Abel narrowed his eyes, watching closely as something within her—something feral—began to stir.

  Her skin rippled, muscles tightening beneath the surface as a wave of sand-colored fur sprouted along her arms and shoulders, spreading like wildfire across her body.

  The transformation was not clean, nor seamless—it was raw, and chaotic, a battle between her former self and the power now awakening inside her.

  Her mane grew thick and untamed, strands glowing faintly with a golden hue as they cascaded down her back.

  Sharp feline ears twitched above her head, nearly concealed within the wild tangle of her hair, but Abel caught the subtle flick as they adjusted to the sounds of the room, instinctively attuned to their surroundings.

  Her fingers stretched unnaturally, bones shifting with an audible crack as her nails elongated into lethal, razor-sharp claws.

  Every inch of her radiated newfound strength, but it was unrefined—untamed. The transformation carried an air of instability, like an apex predator still learning the weight of its own power.

  Abel remained still, studying her with measured curiosity. The feline skin… he mused. The very material he had used to save her life had become a part of her, not just healing her wounds but rewriting her very being.

  Then, just as violently as it began, the change started to recede. The fur along her arms and shoulders thinned, retracting as her muscles relaxed, her sharp claws shrinking back into human hands.

  Abel remained where he was, merely observing. She trembled violently for a few moments more before, just as quickly as it had come, the change receded.

  A sheen of sweat coated her forehead as her eyelids fluttered open, unfocused at first, before locking onto Abel.

  “You’re awake,” Abel said casually, his arms crossed as he leaned back against the worktable.

  Lena blinked, her fingers pressing against the surface beneath her as if confirming she was really there. Then, with a shaky exhale, she muttered, “I… I can’t believe I’m alive.”

  She slowly sat up, raising her arms and flexing her fingers. The power coursing through her body was undeniable—her muscles felt denser, her senses sharper.

  She had always been physically fit, especially after moving to Reinhart, but this was something else. She clenched her hands into fists, feeling an overwhelming vitality brimming inside her.

  “I feel different,” she murmured, glancing at Abel, eyes searching for confirmation.

  He nodded. “You’re a pseudo now.”

  Lena’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm as realization crashed over her like a tidal wave.

  She flexed her fingers, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else—no, something else. The lingering sensation of raw power thrummed beneath her skin, electric and undeniable.

  For as long as she could remember, she had dreamed of this. Strength. Freedom. The ability to stand on her own, without fear of being crushed under someone else’s heel. No longer just scraping by, weak. And now… now she had it.

  Her gaze snapped to Abel, a dozen unspoken questions burning behind her golden-tinged eyes. “How?” Her voice was hoarse, laced with both exhilaration and uncertainty. “How did this happen?”

  Abel watched her calmly, arms crossed, the faintest smirk on his lips. “The gash on your shoulder,” he said simply. “It should’ve killed you. But I used something— a strange magical feline skin with exceptional regenerative abilities. A rare material. It fused with your body when I applied it, and in doing so… it allowed you to break past the limits of a mundane.”

  Lena’s hand instinctively went to her shoulder, fingers brushing over furry, unscarred skin where there had once been a gaping wound.

  She exhaled sharply, gripping at the remnants of what had once been her human frailty. She wasn’t the same. She knew it, felt it in every fiber of her being.

  A bright grin spread across her face, excitement overtaking her exhaustion. In a sudden burst of movement, she lurched forward to hug Abel—but her legs gave out beneath her.

  Abel caught her with ease, steadying her. “Careful,” he chided. “You’re still recovering.”

  She ignored his words, arms wrapped tightly around him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He sighed, patting her back once before gently setting her upright. “Don’t worry about it. You did your part, protected the basement. You just need time to adjust.”

  Lena nodded but hesitated, pressing a hand to her temple. “I do feel stronger, but…” Her expression darkened. “There’s a voice in my head. It’s telling me to kill. It’s faint, like a whisper, but it’s there, it sounds old and deranged.”

  Abel’s gaze sharpened. Residual instincts from the feline skin… He had suspected some lingering influence, but hearing her confirm it meant it was more than just a simple transformation.

  He tapped his fingers on the table before reaching for an item.

  “Here,” he said, holding up the clear tiara he had looked at earlier.

  Lena took it cautiously. “What is it?”

  “Try it on,” Abel instructed. “It might help with that voice in your head.”

  She didn't hesitate before placing the tiara on her head. Immediately, a wave of clarity washed over her, as if the chaotic whispers had been muffled. The demanding urges dulled to a distant hum, still present, but manageable.

  She let out a breath of relief. “It’s… quieter.” She smiled at him, genuinely grateful. “I don’t know where you got this, but thank you.”

  Abel waved off her thanks. “Don’t mention it. Just focus on resting. You’re still not fully recovered.”

  Lena nodded, stretching before wobbling slightly as she stood. Abel offered her an arm, and she took it begrudgingly, letting him steady her as they walked towards the basement exit.

  “You really are different now,” he mused as they reached the stairs. “Let’s just hope that difference doesn’t drive you mad.”

  She chuckled as they ascended the stairs.