Tristan remembered that face.
As the frantic maid rushed past him to check on the breathtaking girl in the crimson and black silk, the gears in Tristan’s mind made the connection. Jasmine Suna hadn’t really been a main character in any sense. She was a prodigy of a powerful Suna family, but entirely bogged down in a vicious, suffocating political gridlock.
Even when playing as Alexander, the game’s Southern protagonist, the safest and most optimal way to play his route was to avoid Suna clan politics entirely, which usually left Jasmine on the opposing side of minor faction disputes. She was truly a background character with wasted potential. However, she was still pretty popular due to her looks and overall charisma even though she had very little screen time.
But looking at that calculating, amber-eyed gaze right now, Tristan realized the game hadn’t done her justice. It was a strange coincidence that they had met here, in this dimly lit hallway, with his cousin writhing on the floor. She had seen everything. She had seen him use his skill that he shouldn’t even have.
She didn’t say a word. The maid, however, took one look at Caelan’s bleeding, blinded face and immediately began screaming for the estate security.
The ensuing chaos was a dizzying blur. Within seconds, heavily armored estate guards swarmed the hallway, their weapons drawn and voices overlapping in a panic. Caelan was hauled off to the clan’s master healers, still shrieking hysterically about vengeance and his ruined eyes. Tristan didn’t bother resisting when rough hands grabbed his shoulders; he simply dropped his bone dagger and let them haul him away, far too exhausted to put up a fight.
Now, stripped of his filthy prison rags and scrubbed clean of monster blood, Tristan sat cross-legged on the plush velvet mattress of his quarters, staring blankly at the far wall.
The night passed.
He was under strict house arrest. After being unceremoniously shoved into his lavishly decorated, heavily warded bedroom, a clan physician had come by to stitch and magically seal the deep gash on his calf. But ever since the healer walked out and locked the heavy oak door behind him, Tristan had been left entirely alone.
Tristan thought about maybe trying to escape through the window or something but thought against it, thinking it was probably a stupid idea.
After all, now that he knows the Suna clan is here the security must’ve tightened up a lot.
So instead he sat still and opened up his rune page.
[Unique Skill: Reave]
[Mastery: 64%]
His mastery had skyrocketed after pushing the concept of Hardness to its absolute limit against the Vein Eater and weaponizing Light as a concussive flashbang. But glancing slightly lower on the interface, his good mood instantly soured.
[Essence Core Absorption: 1/100]
If he wanted to survive the endgame of this world, a fraction of a first-tier awakened core wasn’t anywhere near enough.
Flamecrest Legacy had wildly different branching paths depending on which protagonist you chose to play as, each dealing with their own regional disasters and character arcs. But certain structural events remained perfectly consistent across every single route.
The most crucial was Flamecrest Academy.
Attending the Academy was the universal bottleneck for power. It was massively beneficial for improving future relationships, triggering hidden quests, and claiming versatile skills for himself. More importantly, every protagonist was forced to take part in a brutal expedition during their midterm exams.
’As long as I’m not in Ivan’s team all should be good’ thought Tristan.
That poor bastard had the absolute worst RNG during midterm exams in the game.
Beyond the Academy, the ultimate goal of the clans was simple: conquer monsters and accumulate raw power.
Tristan mentally mapped out the mountain he had to climb. Above his current Awakened status was the Tempered rank, like the platoon leader at the gates. Then came Refined, and after that, Master.
Then came the Ascendants.
Like his father, Liam Verneuil. As the name suggested, an Ascendant was in a completely different realm of existence. They were walking weapons of mass destruction. No amount of Master-ranked fighters could overcome an Ascendant unless their unique skill was absolutely, game-breakingly busted.
But even Ascendants weren’t the ceiling.
Above them were the Sovereigns, and theoretically, the Transcendent rank.
In Tristan’s hundreds of playthroughs, the game’s world always began with exactly two Sovereigns, and it stayed that way. Currently, there was one in the Northern Bastion—their absolute ruler, The Pale King. The other ruled the West, The Emperor’s Blade.
Before those two men became Sovereigns, the North and the West had been in the exact same position the South was in right now, publicly functioning as a unified coalition, but internally bleeding out from constant, vicious factional strife. The title of Sovereign wasn’t just about raw power, it meant you were the absolute, undisputed ruler of a region.
Tristan remembered his absolute best run. Playing as Alexander, he had finally ground his way up to the Ascendant rank, thinking he was ready to beat the game. It was only then that he discovered the brutal truth: there was not a single Ascendant on the continent who wasn’t secretly under the control of either The Pale King or the Emperor, excluding a few underground rogue factions.
It was a bull shit wall. The endgame was rigged.
This time he knew, the only real chance he had was to become a sovereign himself.
"Maybe I’m getting a bit too ahead of myself" Tristan said while sighing.
The heavy lock on his bedroom door suddenly clicked.
Tristan snapped his rune page shut as the heavy oak door swung open. A senior maid stepped into the room, holding a bundle of freshly pressed clothes wrapped in protective linen. "Young Master Tristan," she said, her voice tight. "Your father and the elders have concluded their meeting. You are to bathe and dress immediately."
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Dress for what? An execution?"
"No, my lord," the maid replied, setting the clothes at the foot of his bed. "You are expected at the banquet hall to welcome our guests from the Suna clan. The family head expects you to be on your best behavior. You are not to cause a scene."
Tristan looked at the immaculate, formal attire, then back at the door.
"Huh?"