Sylarion stood still.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but nothing else about this moment felt calm. The cold, velvet-lined walls around him whispered of wealth—foreign, excessive. He blinked, slowly. His vision was still flickering, the aftershock of the [Nightborn Eye] gnawing at the back of his skull.
It was real.
The system.
This new body.
Everything.
He clenched his fists, feeling the tremor of strength that wasn't his. Not yet.
"So this is me now," he muttered, voice unfamiliar to his own ears—smoother, deeper.
The blood had dried along his cheekbones and jaw, a dark smear like war paint. He needed to clean up. Taking his first steps, Sylarion scanned the lavish chamber—tall bookshelves carved in obsidian wood, glowing crimson crystal sconces, and a bed big enough to swallow his old apartment. This wasn't a hospital room. This was nobility, royalty maybe.
He moved to the side door, hand brushing over the gilded handle, half-expecting it to vanish on touch. It didn't. The door creaked open, revealing a marble-tiled washroom that looked straight out of fantasy—steam stones, mirrored walls, and a basin that glowed faintly with enchanted water.
Sylarion stepped in like a thief afraid of waking the house.
He leaned over the sink and stared at his reflection again.
Not Tom.
Not entirely.
His face was too symmetrical, his skin too pale, and his eyes—his right one still a normal silver, the left one now shimmered with quiet menace, a faint black vein beneath it twitching like a live wire.
"Damn…" he whispered.
He cupped the cold water and splashed it onto his face. Blood diluted into crimson streaks, flowing into the drain as if symbolically taking his old self with it.
He looked up, dripping and breathless.
His eyes met the mirror.
No more deathbed. No more regret.
"This time… I'm living it all," he swore to himself.
As Sylarion stared at his dripping reflection, the silence broke.
DING—!
A chime echoed in his mind.
[Predator System: Online.]
He blinked. The voice was cold, mechanical, yet strangely familiar—like a whisper buried deep in his bones.
"System functions now accessible. Initializing interface..."
In front of his eyes, translucent panels appeared midair. Text floated on them in glowing red script.
[Mission Module: Active]
[Predator Points: 0]
[System Shop: Locked]
[Status: Accessible]
The voice returned.
"I will provide you with missions. Completing them will reward you with Predator Points. These points are the system's currency—you can use them to increase your attributes, acquire skills, unlock features like the Shop, Inventory, Evolution Tree, and more."
Sylarion narrowed his eyes. "So you're saying if I do what you tell me… you'll help me get stronger?"
"Affirmative. But success depends entirely on you. Power must be earned. Predator Points are not free."
The system continued, "Predator Points may also be earned by challenging or defeating enemies stronger than yourself."
Sylarion raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That's risky… but I'll try."
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "No more running. Let's see how far I can go."
The weight of his past life still lingered—but now, he had a way forward.
Sylarion stepped out of his room, his bare feet sinking into the thick velvet carpet that lined the hallway. The moment he looked around, his eyes widened in awe. Ornate chandeliers hung from high ceilings, walls were carved with patterns of obsidian and gold, and crimson drapes fluttered gently from tall windows.
"This… this place is like a damn castle," he muttered, walking slowly, taking it all in.
Everything around him screamed wealth—ancient paintings, glimmering statues, furniture that looked like it belonged in a royal museum. It was overwhelming. In his old life, hospitals and cracked apartment walls were his normal.
Now, he was surrounded by power—and luxury.
He continued walking, his fingers lightly brushing along the cold stone walls, when he turned a corner and saw a few people ahead. They were dressed in uniform—simple but elegant. Servants, clearly.
As Sylarion approached, the servants quickly lowered their heads and moved aside, but not before one of them leaned toward another and murmured, "The damn half-blood is awake."
Sylarion didn't catch the words, just the whisper and a glance in his direction. He frowned and asked silently, "System, what were they saying?"
The system replied casually, "They're mocking you. Likely calling you a half-blood. It's normal. You're human, remember? In this world, being human is about as respectable as being livestock."
Then it added with a chuckle, "Even I'm surprised you haven't been eaten yet."
Sylarion paused mid-step, something clicking in his mind. "Wait… are they powerful?" he asked inwardly.
"Yes," the system replied without delay. "Everyone you meet here is stronger than you in some way. Right now, even a housemaid could probably snap your neck."
That realization stung, but Sylarion didn't flinch. "Does my family love me?" he asked next, voice low in his thoughts.
The system was silent for a moment, then answered, "I don't have access to emotions… but based on earlier behavior, I'd calculate that your brother does, in some way. The others? Unknown."
He nodded to himself, then asked one final question: "Are these servants allowed to kill me?"
The system gave a neutral hum. "Officially? No. Your position as a noble's son protects you. But if you provoke them, I wouldn't rely on rules to shield you from their... primal instincts."
Sylarion smirked. "I'll take that risk."
He turned and stepped directly toward the two servants, who stiffened slightly as he approached.
"Stop," he commanded.
The two halted, exchanging a look. One of them—a young man with sharp cheekbones and contempt in his eyes—faced him fully. "Yes, young master?"
"I heard what you said," Sylarion said coldly. "Say it again."
The servant's smirk deepened. "Sometimes, young master, the truth cuts deep… especially when the weak hear it."
At first, Sylarion was stunned by the servant's bold words. But then, a slow smirk spread across his face.
Before either of them could react, Sylarion stepped forward and swung his hand with all his strength.
SLAP!
His palm collided with the cheek of the servant who dared mock him. It didn't hurt much—but it wasn't meant to. The point wasn't damage. It was humiliation.
Both servants froze, shocked by their master's sudden outburst.
Sylarion took a step back, his voice steady and cold. "Remember who my father is. You two are here to polish my shoes, not run your mouths."
Just then, the system chimed in.
+5 Predator Points
+5 Predator Points — Challenging 2 low-level ghouls.
Reward granted for provoking stronger beings.
Sylarion grinned wider. He glanced at their hands—blood was dripping. They were restraining themselves. Barely.
He heard the low growl from one of their throats and chuckled. "Yes, from now on, behave like good dogs."
Without wasting another second, he turned and walked away fast. He had no interest in pushing them further.
System voice echoed again: Warning. No additional points will be given for further provocation of same targets.
Behind him, the servants glared at his back, barely holding themselves back.
"Since when did this lowlife grow a spine?" one muttered.
"If he wasn't the master's son, I'd have torn him apart right here," the other growled.
Sylarion then went his own way to explore more of the estate.
The hallways were long, marble floors shining, chandeliers hanging like glass daggers from the ceiling. Every corner screamed luxury, but right now, his focus was elsewhere—he wanted to find more servants like those two. More chances to test things. More chances to earn points.
After that little "experiment," he understood something important—these servants feared his father. Deeply.
He asked the system, "What are ghouls?"
The system replied instantly, "Ghouls are blood-bound servants of higher species like vampires. They are loyal due to blood contracts and serve their masters without question."
"Oh," Sylarion muttered. "So I can have my own ghouls too in the future?"
"Possibly," the system answered. "But for that, you would need a supernatural bloodline. Something like a vampire's. But you're just a human."
Sylarion clicked his tongue. "For now."
His steps echoed down the corridor, mind already turning.
Sylarion walked slowly through the marble hallway, hands tucked into his coat pockets, a low whistle escaping his lips. The cold night air inside the estate felt still—like the mansion itself was holding its breath.
Then he stopped.
Mounted on the wall before him was a massive painting, at least ten feet tall, framed in iron and draped in red velvet. The figures within it looked nothing short of regal—yet terrifying.
Four men stood in the portrait, cloaked in shadows and painted with such detail that they seemed alive.
Two of them he recognized instantly.
"That's… me," Sylarion muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing.
A younger version of his current body stood in the forefront, sharp features, black eyes, and a cold, unreadable stare. Beside him, unmistakable even in oil and canvas, was the man from earlier—his older brother.
But the other two…
He didn't recognize them, yet something deep in his bones stirred. They looked ancient. One had silver hair and a jagged scar running down his cheek. The other stood behind all three, taller than the rest, with crimson eyes that seemed to glow even through the paint.
They looked like kings of an undead dynasty.
And they all looked like monsters.
"System," he whispered, voice tense. "Who are they?"
"Analyzing... Portrait displays bloodline-linked individuals. Full data unavailable. However, shared genetics detected. Probability of direct relation: 89%."
Sylarion's brows furrowed. "So I'm really one of them... or I was."
"Correction: You are—until proven otherwise."
He took a step back from the painting, the silence around him now feeling heavier.
They weren't just painted figures.
They were his blood.
As Sylarion stood before the grand, dust-covered painting, his thoughts were still tangled in questions. The flickering wall torches cast dancing shadows on the canvas, bringing the four figures to life. Two of them—his younger self and the stern-faced older brother—stood side by side. The other two were unfamiliar, but their imposing presence screamed power. This… was no ordinary family portrait. It was a declaration of status. Of legacy.
Just then, a sharp ding echoed in his head.
[Predator System: Mission Activated]
Mission: Eliminate the rogue werewolf within family territory.
Reward: +50 Predator Points | Hidden Reward (???)
Sylarion blinked, straightening up as a strange rush prickled through his limbs.
"A rogue werewolf?" he muttered, barely able to believe it.
"First prey," the system's voice said flatly. "Do or die."
He could hear the distant sound of a howl in the cold night air. It wasn't imagination.
Sylarion's jaw tightened. His first step into this new world… was going to be a bloody one.