CHAPTER 72: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT MUM?

The question wasn’t loud, nor was it overly threatening. But in that moment, with Brad’s unconscious body sprawled on the ground and Damien standing there with an almost lazy confidence, it carried more weight than any shout could have.

The silence stretched for several long seconds.

Then Pug shook his head frantically, sweat dripping down his round face.

"N-No! No, no way I would do that! I—I wasn’t going to—!" he stammered, words tumbling over each other as he took a stumbling step back.

Damien simply watched him, his expression unreadable, one hand still casually resting in his pocket.

The smirk was gone now, replaced by a calm expression, one that made Pug’s stomach twist with fear.

"Then leave," Damien said.

Pug hesitated for only a second before turning on his heel and running off, his short legs carrying him away as fast as they could.

Damien clicked his tongue as he left.

He didn’t even spare a glance back at the unconscious Brad sprawled on the dusty ground as he began walking away.

Whether it was about the fight, or the anger of the village chief, he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

Once upon a time, that would’ve been something worth worrying about.

Back then, the chief’s word was law in this tiny, backward village.

Anyone who crossed him—or his spoiled son—would find themselves suffering quietly, their lives made just difficult enough to regret ever offending him.

Prices at the market would mysteriously rise, neighbors would start avoiding them, and suddenly, no one would be willing to lend a hand.

For a powerless commoner, defying the chief was a death sentence in slow motion.

But Damien wasn’t powerless anymore.

He had awakened a Unique-grade class, something the entire village had never seen before in its history. And beyond that, he had been handed a golden card by the knight general herself.

That alone placed him far above the petty reach of the chief.

A golden card from the knights wasn’t just a token—it was an acknowledgment. It meant he was now someone under the eye of the kingdom itself.

To harm or interfere with him would be no different than challenging the authority of the Spire Academy and, by extension, the knights themselves.

The village chief might be arrogant, but he wasn’t suicidal.

If it were the old days—back when Damien was still seen as the worthless son of two "cursed" women—then yes, things would’ve been different.

Even if he’d somehow possessed the strength he had now, the mere act of laying a hand on Brad would’ve spelled trouble.

The chief would’ve unleashed his spite without hesitation. He would’ve used his position to make their lives miserable, cutting off their food supplies, spreading rumors, perhaps even sending thugs under the guise of "discipline."

Everyone in the village knew how much the chief doted on his son, after all.

To him, Brad was everything—his pride, his legacy, the symbol of his family’s authority. And now, that symbol was lying face-first in the dirt, knocked out cold with a single punch.

Damien’s lips curved upward slightly at the thought.

He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes briefly landing on Brad’s unconscious form, the boy’s round belly rising and falling faintly with shallow breaths.

"Sleep tight," he muttered.

He turned back around and continued walking, the smirk still faintly tugging at his lips.

With nothing else standing in his way, he could finally head home.

—

A few minutes later, he arrived home, the familiar old wooden door staring back at him.

He reached the door, pushing it open with a soft creak.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor was Claire.

The moment the door opened, her head lifted.

"Damien," she breathed softly. Her lips parted, hesitation flickering in her expression. "How... did it go?"

Her tone was quiet, but there was an underlying mix of hope and anxiety there, like she already feared the answer.

Damien didn’t reply immediately.

He simply stood there for a moment, the doorway framing him as the faint breeze swept in behind.

Then, slowly, he stepped inside.

A calm, almost teasing smile curved his lips as he looked at her.

Claire’s soft gaze lingered on Damien for a few seconds longer, her expression gradually shifting.

The faint spark of hope that had momentarily lit her eyes dimmed, replaced by something sadder—gentler, but heavy. Her shoulders sagged slightly as her lips curved downward.

She lowered her head, the strands of her hair falling over her face as her fingers tightened unconsciously around the edge of her skirt.

In her heart, she had already drawn her own conclusion.

His silence said enough.

No matter how calm his smile looked, she thought she could see the truth behind it—the quiet disappointment he didn’t want her to see.

He must have failed again.

Another year. Another failed awakening.

Claire’s chest ached faintly as she looked at him, guilt and sympathy mixed together stirring up within her.

She had seen the way the other villagers whispered, the way they mocked him behind his back—calling him cursed, talentless, a burden.

And she had seen the way he tried to hide his frustration the last time the ceremony ended with nothing but pitying glances from others.

Her son had endured so much already.

She stood up quietly, her curvy form moving gracefully despite the tension in the air. Her soft steps carried her across the floor, until she stood just in front of him.

Her fingers reached out faintly, hovering near his arm before she let them fall. She smiled—small and fragile, but sincere.

"You might not have awakened... a class," she began softly, her voice trembling ever so slightly, "but you don’t have to worry. It’s not—"

A light chuckle interrupted her.

She blinked, startled, her words cut short as her gaze snapped up to him.

Damien was smiling. But this time, it wasn’t the kind of smile she thought it was.

"What are you talking about... mum?" he said, his tone carrying a quiet amusement, almost teasing.