CHAPTER 16: CHAPTER NO.16 BREAKTHROUGH

[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]

"Master, what was that dark layer?"

Grayfia’s voice cut through the courtyard’s quiet like the edge of an icicle. The words weren’t loud, but the weight behind them pressed down on me more heavily than the bruises already blossoming along my body.

Her gaze — sharp, silver, unblinking — was pinned to my right arm. The faint, almost oil-slick sheen of black was still there, crawling over my skin like liquid armour refusing to fade.

I exhaled slowly, the taste of iron on my tongue. "...Haki."

Her brows twitched, not disbelief, but a rare spark of something she usually locked behind her stoic mask. Curiosity.

"This is Haki, too? But it feels... different from the one you used in the Sanctuary of the Seven Vows. That was raw spiritual pressure — a field that dominated space itself. This—" her words sharpened, "—this one clings. It forms. It manifests like armour. Explain."

The way she demanded answers could have easily broken another man. I’d seen her do worse to demon generals. But right now? She looked less like a maid and more like a tribunal judge dissecting a crime.

My fingers flexed. The black sheen cracked like cooled obsidian, faint threads of energy still rippling across the surface before peeling back into nothing. My knuckles ached like hell.

"Think of it as... a different branch," I said finally. My voice came out rough, scraped raw by exertion. "Haki isn’t one thing. Actually, there are three types of it."

Grayfia tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as though she was dissecting not just my words, but the very fibers of my soul. That gaze of hers could flay a man open without spilling a drop of blood.

"Three?" she echoed softly. Her hands, folded neatly before her apron, twitched imperceptibly. Not from weakness — no, Grayfia didn’t know the meaning of that word. It was from curiosity. Genuine, gnawing curiosity.

I nodded, though my lungs felt like someone had filled them with molten iron. "Observation... Armament... Conqueror’s."

Her silence stretched, as vast and cold as the courtyard itself. She was weighing me, weighing my explanation, and I wasn’t sure if I’d tip the scales into intrigue or into a grave.

Finally, her lips parted. "The pressure you exuded in the Sanctuary — That was Conqueror’s?"

"Yeah." My throat rasped. I flexed my fingers again, the lingering shards of black still ghosting my skin before dissolving into nothingness. "What you just saw was Armament. Observation is... well, think of it like the sixth sense that allows a user to sense and predict the presence, strength, emotions, and actions of others. But at the level I’m which is the basic level, it acts as a mental radar."

"That’s... useful. Master, now I’m relieved that you have the power to defend yourself. With all these all-around Haki, you can grow to be—"

Grayfia stopped.

Her words halted midair, clipped sharp as if her own throat decided against finishing the thought.

I caught the pause. Oh, I caught it.

Grow to be what? A proper heir? A rival to the Seven Satans? The son of Lilith and Daemon restored?

Or... worse.

A Morningstar worth betraying.

I pushed a breath through my teeth, tasting copper on my tongue. "Grow to be...?"

Her silver eyes didn’t blink. For a heartbeat, I swore I saw a flicker of something — not fear, not awe, but recognition. As though what clung to my arm just now reminded her of an echo she’d buried for centuries.

Instead of answering, Grayfia turned. The faint clink of her heels against stone carried finality sharper than any blade.

"...Enough training for today," she said coolly. "If you continue forcing your body at this pace, it will collapse. Even you, Master, are still made of flesh."

I chuckled weakly. "That’s rich, coming from the Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation. You’ve broken armies like kindling. And now you’re worried about me breaking a nail?"

Her head tilted, just slightly. Her tone was flat, but the edges glimmered sharp. "Because unlike them... you cannot be replaced."

I froze. My chest tightened, not with pain this time, but with something heavier.

Before I could reply, something invisible flickered at the edge of my vision.

🔔 [System Notification]

[You have triggered: First Manifestation – Armament Core.][Proficiency: 0.3%]

[Warning: Host’s body has insufficient Spiral capacity. Overexertion may cause cellular collapse.]

...Oh, great. A system warning about my cells collapsing. Just the kind of bedtime story I needed.

Still, my lips tugged into a grin despite the ache in my jaw. 0.3%. Not even one percent, and yet the gauntlet of black will had answered me. That alone meant it wasn’t just a dream — it was real, mine, and scalable.

"Master."

Grayfia’s voice cut through my private smile like a blade through silk. My head snapped up instinctively.

Her eyes were fixed on me, hawk-like, scanning every twitch, every flicker of expression. I realized with a chill that if I smiled too long, she’d notice something I didn’t want her to.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just... felt a bit of pride, I guess. Haven’t exactly had much to be proud of in a while."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, I thought she’d pry further. But then she only turned, her silver hair catching moonlight like liquid mercury.

"Dinner will be ready soon," she said. "Do not be late, Master. You need strength — and not only the kind that coats your arm."

And just like that, she left the courtyard.

The night wind swept in behind her, cool against my sweat-slicked skin.

I slumped against the practice dummy, ignoring the way its torso was splintered inward from my last strike. My knuckles throbbed, skin raw where black hadn’t fully covered them.

"...Armament Core, huh?" I muttered.

The System didn’t respond. Typical. Always coy, always stingy. Only when I nearly broke myself in half did it care to spit out a notification.

🔔 [New Quest: Harden the Will][Condition: Reach 10% Armament Core Proficiency.][Reward: +5 Free Stat Points | Random Blessed Box (Low-Tier)][Penalty: None]

My chest tightened again — but this time with excitement. A low-tier box wasn’t much, but I knew better than to underestimate random loot. The last "random" gift had literally handed me the foundation of Haki.

I grinned, teeth flashing in the moonlight. "Alright, Armament. Time to grind you up."

My knuckles cracked. My shoulders rolled. Despite the bruises screaming at me, despite my bones begging for mercy, I set my stance again before the shattered dummy.

Grayfia had ordered me to rest.

But screw that.

...

Hours bled into hours.

Every punch rattled through me like hammer blows. The courtyard echoed with the dull, hollow thuds of flesh striking wood and stone, over and over. I pictured every demon scout who’d sneered, every fiancée who’d drained me dry of power, every smug Satan who’d carved my bloodline down to bones.

The sheen of black returned, flickering like a faulty flame, dying, sparking, returning again. Each time it lasted a fraction longer. Each time the pain burrowed deeper into my muscles.

Sweat poured into my eyes. Blood seeped from my split knuckles, but when the gauntlet returned, it devoured the blood into itself, drinking it like ink into parchment.

It was ugly. Incomplete. But mine.

🔔 [Proficiency: 2.7%]

I spat iron-tasting saliva onto the stones. My chest heaved like a bellows.

"Still alive," I wheezed, half to the System, half to myself. "Still ugly... but alive."

A sound.

Soft. Subtle.

The faintest click of a heel against the stone walkway.

I stiffened.

"Master," Grayfia’s voice came, low and steady, though tinged with something I rarely caught from her: annoyance.

"You were told to rest."

I turned slowly, forcing my lips into a grin despite the black crawling weakly across my arm. "Caught me. What can I say? I’m a bad patient."

Her silver gaze narrowed. For once, the maid mask cracked just enough for me to glimpse the storm beneath. Concern, sharp as knives.

"You will destroy yourself if you continue like this."

I tilted my head back, laughing weakly. "Then I guess you’ll just have to pick up the pieces, won’t you?"

"Dominic."

The way she said my name — not Master, not Morningstar, but Dominic — it hit harder than any punch I’d thrown all night.

I froze, the half-formed grin dying on my lips. That voice... I’d heard it countless times. Commanding. Deadly. Unyielding. But like this? Stripped of titles, cold steel dulled into something raw?

It sank straight into my bones.

For a heartbeat, the courtyard wasn’t a fortress scarred by war. It was quiet. Human. And I hated it.

Because if Grayfia said Dominic like that... it meant she’d seen through me. Past the swagger. Past the jokes. Past the System I could never let her know about. She’d glimpsed the fragility I was so desperate to drown in sweat and blood.

I swallowed. My throat was dry sandpaper. "...Haven’t heard you say it like that in a long time."

Grayfia didn’t flinch. Of course she didn’t. "Perhaps you’ve forgotten what you are beyond titles."

Ouch. Straight for the jugular.

I smirked anyway, because that’s what I did when I bled inside. "Dominic Morningstar: Breaker of Bones, Lover of Beds, Slayer of... toast, apparently. Real inspiring stuff."

Her lips pressed tighter. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even roll her eyes. She just watched me, silver gaze boring in like she could freeze the marrow out of my ribs.

"Rest," she said again, quieter now. Not a command. Not quite.

I looked at my hand. Black was still flickering there, weak, trembling, like a flame clinging to damp wood. It felt alive, hungry, mine.

Rest? Now? When I was finally clawing out of the grave the world had buried me in?

I shook my head. "If I rest, I’ll dream. And I’m not ready for those yet."

Her brows twitched. Barely. But enough.

She opened her mouth — and stopped.

Sighed~

"Show me."

Grayfia’s words dropped into the courtyard like falling ice. No hesitation, no compromise. Just command, stripped clean.

I blinked, my half-smirk twitching. "...Excuse me? Show you what? My overwhelming talent for self-destruction? Pretty sure you’ve had front-row seats all day."

Her eyes didn’t waver. Crimson steel. "Your injuries."

She raised her hand—

Flick~

Her hand glowed faintly as the circle spun into being — pale green, soft where her usual glyphs were sharp, lines bending like vines instead of blades. Healing magic.

I blinked. "Wait... you know healing spells?"

Grayfia’s crimson gaze didn’t flicker. "A maid must master every art her master requires."

"That’s... both flattering and terrifying."

She knelt, close enough that I caught the faint chill her aura always carried. Her hand hovered just above my broken knuckles. The green light seeped into the bruised flesh, sliding under skin, knitting torn fibres together with eerie precision. My nerves screamed for a second, then melted into numb warmth.

I hissed, trying not to flinch. "Ghh— Damn. That stings."

"You’ve split a bone," she said calmly, as though discussing the weather. "The Haki hardened your exterior, but your interior wasn’t prepared for the backlash."

"So basically," I muttered through clenched teeth, "I’ve got demon armour skin wrapped around mortal chicken bones."

Her lips didn’t move, but the faintest twitch betrayed itself near her eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she almost smiled. Almost.

The healing light pulsed. My breathing slowed. The ache dulled, fading to a hollow throb.

When she finished, she pulled her hand back, dusting invisible flecks from her apron. "Your body will heal. But your recklessness..." Her crimson gaze lifted to pin me again. "...that is harder to mend."

I barked a laugh, raw and sharp. "Yeah, well, recklessness is kind of the family crest at this point. What do you want me to do? Sit around drinking tea while the world waits to gut me?"

Silence.

"If I weren’t hopelessly in love with you, I might—"

The words slipped out.

I froze.

Grayfia froze.

The night itself froze.

Even the wind dared not breathe across the courtyard after that one treacherous sentence escaped my stupid, battered lips.

Her crimson eyes widened—barely, but for Grayfia that was the equivalent of someone else screaming and fainting dramatically into the hedges.

I coughed, trying to recover. "—I might, uh, file an official complaint about your bedside manner. You know, the whole ’pathetic, weak, will die instantly’ motivational speech thing. Could use a little more sugarcoating."

Smooth save. Nailed it. Definitely didn’t just accidentally propose undying love to my maid in the middle of a bruised, sweaty breakdown. Nope.

Her eyes narrowed again, shutters slamming back into place. "Master."

One word. Sharp. Warning.

I raised my hands. "Kidding! Joking! See, this is why sarcasm should come with hazard warnings. You nearly froze my heart just now—and not in the romantic way. In the ’I felt my arteries solidify’ way."

"Do you mean that? Tell me the truth."

Sigh~

"I..."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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