Reivo awoke with a sharp inhale, as if breaching the surface of deep water.
For a moment, he remained still, staring at the ceiling of his assigned barracks room in the Reign fortress. The cold stone above him was familiar—real. He breathed slowly, testing the air. Crisp. Dry. Not laced with blood. No red mist curling through the trees. No whispering thorns. No Herald.
He was back.
His body ached as he sat up, muscles protesting with the dull soreness of both battle and dreams. His shirt clung damply to his skin, and phantom pain lingered where Verhen—the Bleeding Herald—had carved his soul with silence and crimson.
As his feet met the cold floor, a soft chime rang out, distant but clear—unlike any bell or footfall. It came from the system.
A pale page unfurled in the air before him, glowing softly, as if it too had just risen from some dark slumber.
---
[Nightmare Test Surpassed]
[New Contract Forged]
[Verhen, the Bleeding Herald
"In silence, it carves memory into flesh, and from pain, it raises its banner."]
---
Reivo stared at the line, mouthing it silently. The words didn't comfort him—but they fit, like a blade returning to its sheath. Pain wasn't just suffering. It was transformation. Proof of survival.
He rose, moving toward the small mirror in the alcove. His reflection looked unchanged—but he knew better. He looked older. Not in years, but in weight. In what had been endured. There was a faint redness to the whites of his eyes—exhaustion, or perhaps a remnant of the dreamscape. It didn't matter.
His steps carried him down the fortress halls, toward the training grounds. The morning light spilled in pale beams through the narrow windows, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere.
He raised one hand and thought the word.
"Status."
Another screen bloomed before him, clean and efficient, yet holding more weight than any blade he'd ever carried.
---
> Class: Summoner
Level: 1
Mana Core: Dormant
Titles: Voice of the Dreamless Depths [Cursed]
Summoning Path: Nightmare Pact
Skills: Nightborn Pact (Epic)
Contracts: Verhen, the Bleeding Herald
Passive Effect (Title):
Passive Effect (Title): Dreamless Murmur — Your presence distorts dreams and weakens mental defenses nearby. Others may feel as though creatures are observing and whispering to them.
---
Reivo then focused on Verhen, another screen opened.
---
[Abilities]
Crimson Regeneration – When wounded, Verhen uses the enemy's blood to mend its own form. "It drinks from those who harm it."
[Locked]
[Locked]
[Warning: To unlock additional abilities, leveling up is required.]
---
Reivo exhaled slowly. "So… I can't unleash all of Verhen's strength yet."
A flicker of frustration flared, but he smothered it. No—this wasn't weakness. This was the beginning. The foundation. The Herald's true might would come in time.
Still, Crimson Regeneration... that was more than a passive bonus. A brutal and practical skill. Perfect for drawn-out battles. The enemy's blood would become his strength—turning their aggression into their undoing.
As his eyes fell back on the title effect—Dreamless Murmur—he paused.
"Thousands of eyes…"
This was the price of a cursed title. The weight of it pressed on the air around him.
But it wasn't just a burden.
It was a weapon.
Unseen. Psychological. The kind that unraveled foes before the first strike landed. That quiet, creeping terror could be far more useful than raw power.
The echo of boots on stone brought him closer to the training yard. The clashing of blades, the rhythmic bark of instructors, the grunts of effort—it all felt distant, like another world. One he used to know. One that had changed.
"So," Reivo muttered to himself, voice low, "I'm a summoner now. Not just a scarred survivor with a sharp tongue and a sharper blade. I walk with something else now—something that answers when I bleed."
A cursed path. But not one forced upon him.
It was his choice.
He allowed himself the hint of a smile. It didn't touch his eyes, but it lingered for a moment.
Verhen was no ordinary monster. It was a reflection—of pain, of will, of what survived after everything else was taken. And it had bowed to him. It had deemed him worthy of the pact.
That meant something.
He would endure. He would learn. He would rise.
And more than that—
He would become feared.
Not yet. Not completely. But the roots had taken hold. His power was still forming, like iron in a forge. Soft. Shifting. But soon, he would temper it into something that could not be bent.
He stepped toward the training yard.
There would be drills. Sparring. Tests. And eventually, the Reign would come knocking again. Caelis. The princess. The world.
But this time, Reivo wouldn't meet them empty-handed.
He glanced once more at the hovering screen, then dismissed it with a blink.
"Watch closely," he whispered to the wind, "because I'm not the one having nightmares anymore."