[No Longer Human]
Rank:SS
Skill Type: Special
Effect:Grants an extraordinary state where physical and mental prowess are pushed beyond human limits. Each activation permanently refines the user's magium, slightly increasing capacity and intelligence.
Warning:Duration is limited to 2 hours. Exceeding this limit results in severe migraines. Overuse is strictly discouraged.
It has been a week since my reincarnation. I have spent nearly every waking hour within the Crown Library, a massive cathedral of knowledge located in the mansion's east wing. The shelves are an eclectic mix of the medieval and the futuristic, containing everything from ancient magical inscriptions to the complex theories of rocket science.
My reasoning is simple: In this world, ignorance is a death sentence.
I created [No Longer Human] using my Final Boss cheat for this exact purpose. While I have other, darker intentions for the skill, my immediate goal is the rapid acquisition of knowledge. But theory without practice is hollow.
Every afternoon, I retreat to the Combat Room—a high-tech sanctuary of steel and silicon. Using the Training Simulation, I translate the morning's study into muscle memory. I train religiously in swordsmanship, magic, and gunslinging. If I am going to survive, I cannot just be "Amon Von Crown." I have to be something far more dangerous than the original ever was.
The System, as always, reminded me of the stakes.
Quest: Change the Original Novel's Plot
Reward:Grimoire of Gravity, Increased Magium Refinement
Penalty:Suffer the Fate of the Original Amon
Why does the System insist on these diabolical ultimatums? It demands I change the story, yet the path forward is a jagged, uncertain mess.
I could take the generic route—play the part of the doting little brother, supporting Sophia at every turn and hoping "the power of family" mends her broken psyche. Or, I could try to fade into the background, becoming a nameless extra in my own life. But both options feel hollow, and frankly, they're beneath me.
More importantly, passivity won't save Emilia or Arnold. It won't stop the slaughter of the thousands of innocents caught in the crossfire of the original plot. I'm training to be more dangerous than the original Amon ever was, but as I stand in this high-tech training room, a cold thought mirrors back at me: Is becoming a monster the only way to prevent everything?
Am I missing a third option, or am I just walking a different path to the same tragic end?
I was so deep in my own head that I didn't notice Jack, the Head Butler, standing by the door.
"Young Master, the Miss has requested your presence in the office," Jack said, his voice formal as he offered a practised, slight bow.
Jack was an old man, but his age was a mask for his terrifying efficiency. He moved with an elegance that put men half his age to shame—the living epitome of what a high-ranking butler should be.
"Alright, Jack. I'll be there in a moment," I said, stepping out of the Training Simulation. I headed for a nearby bench, grabbing a water bottle for my parched throat. As I drank, I realised Jack hadn't moved. He was still standing there, watching me with an unreadable expression.
"Is there something else, Jack?" I asked politely, setting the bottle aside.
"Young Master, if I am not overstepping," he began, his composed mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of concern. "You must take adequate rest. Since the Ceremony, you have done nothing but study and train. For someone of your years, you are being far too hard on yourself."
I was caught off guard. Jack was usually the soul of cool detachment.
"The Lady and Lord are deeply concerned, Young Master," he continued. "After the incident at the Ceremony, you were ordered to rest for a week. Instead, you gave yourself a single day before burying yourself in books and combat drills. Ambition is a virtue, but you cannot build a future if you break the foundation now."
"Jack, tell me something." I turned to him with a faint, knowing smile. "You've served this house for a long time. You see everything that happens within these walls. You know the truth."
I stood up from the bench and walked toward him, my small stature belying the gravity in my voice.
"You're well aware of how talented my parents and my sister are. All three of them work tirelessly to uphold the prestige of the Crown name. If I'm the only one lazing around, mooching off their achievements... wouldn't that make me a failure?"
"But, Young Master—" Jack started to interject, his brow furrowing. I raised a hand, cutting him off gently.
"Jack, I am a Crown. And as a Crown, it is my sole responsibility to prove why I carry this lineage. I won't be the weak link in this family's history."
I reached the door, but before stepping out, I paused and looked back over my shoulder.
"Besides," I added, my smile softening into something that looked—to Jack's eyes—like pure filial devotion. "I can't exactly go around disappointing Mother and Father, can I?"
With that, I turned and left the Combat Room, leaving him in the silence of my wake. I appreciate your concern, Jack. Truly, but what I'm doing... It's for the greater good. It is my responsibility now to shield everyone around me from a cruel fate—one that is certain to follow if I remain idle.
. . .
Amon stood in the centre of the sprawling office, his eight-year-old stature feeling especially small against the backdrop of dark wood and gold leaf.
Behind the massive desk, Emilia was focused, her pen scratching rhythmically against a document. After a final flourish, she set the paper aside and looked up, a calm, warm smile softening her sharp features.
"My child," Emilia began, her voice steady and reassuring. "How have you been faring these lately?"
"I've been doing well, Mother," Amon replied, offering a polite, practised bow. "Between my sessions in the Combat Room and the Library, I've progressed significantly. I'm currently performing at an A-Rank level consistently, and my studies have advanced to the point where I could comfortably ace high-school-level examinations."
Emilia's smile didn't falter, but her eyes held a trace of bittersweet amusement. "I didn't ask for a status report, Amon. I asked about your health."
Amon blinked, momentarily thrown off by the shift from tactical to personal. "Oh... I apologise, Mother," he said, recalibrating his tone. "I've been feeling fantastic. Honestly, the Priestess worked wonders. Between her Divine Magic and a day of rest, I was essentially fully recovered. I haven't felt a single ache since."
"I am glad to hear that," Emilia said, though a small, wry chuckle escaped her. "But I'm still a little upset that you didn't take the rest I ordered."
It was a fair point. Any other eight-year-old who had just suffered catastrophic internal bleeding would still be bedridden, coddled with soup and soft pillows. Instead, Amon had treated his recovery like a pit stop in a high-stakes race.
He had been training and studying with a religious intensity, pushing his limits as if his very life depended on it. Which, ironically, it did. Every muscle fibre he strengthened, and every magical formula he memorised, was a brick in the wall he was building between his family and a cruel fate.
"I apologise for the worry, Mother," Amon said, keeping his gaze steady but soft. "I simply felt... restless. My mind was moving faster than my body could keep up with. I felt that if I didn't start moving, I'd simply rust away."
Emilia leaned back, her cyan eyes searching his for a long, silent moment. "Restless," she repeated, almost to herself. "You truly are my son when it comes to stubbornness."
"Also, Sophia has returned from her tutelage," Emilia said, her smile widening. "Her vacation starts today and will last a full two months. Though even on break, she'll be attending Duchess Lax's etiquette lessons every morning."
The name Duchess Lax triggered a sharp, cold memory. In the original novel, she was a striking woman—mature, blonde, with obsidian eyes and a perpetual, smug curve to her lips.
Initially, she had been a key ally to the protagonists, supporting Sophia and Seraphina's relationship from the shadows. But the "support" was a mask. Sophia eventually slaughtered her after discovering the Duchess's stomach-turning secrets: the abduction of young boys and the unspeakable debauchery she subjected them to.
Amon's skin crawled as a suppressed memory from the original host surfaced—a fragment of a conversation that made his stomach churn. Emilia, ever observant, caught the subtle tensing of his shoulders.
"What is it, my child?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by his sudden shift in demeanour.
Amon remained silent for a long moment, his mind racing. He was weighing the risk of speaking out against a Duchess versus the necessity of exposing a predator. Finally, he met his mother's gaze.
"Mother... when Duchess Lax ascended two years ago, she visited this house for an alliance meeting, didn't she?"
"She did," Emilia replied, her expression sharpening. "What about it?"
"Before she left, while you and Father were standing right there... she leaned in and whispered to me..." Amon's voice was flat, devoid of its usual rehearsed warmth.
"When you come to my house, I'll make sure to shower you with toys and affection. Especially on the bed."
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the office. For a full minute, the only sound was the faint hum of the office's air conditioners. Amon kept his gaze steady, watching the way the light died in his mother's brilliant cyan eyes.
"In the original novel," Amon thought, his internal logic clicking into place with cold precision, "Sophia's descent began right after this. It was always mentioned vaguely, but the shift was too sudden to be natural. At ten years old, she spent two months under Lax's roof and came back… different."
In a world where advanced technology merged with reality-bending magic, altering someone's brain chemistry wasn't just possible—it was efficient.
If the Duchess had used a cocktail of mental magic and neural inhibitors to "reprogram" Sophia, then the tragedy of the Von Crown family wasn't an accident of fate. It was a planned demolition.
"Amon," Emilia's voice finally broke the silence. It was low, vibrating with a tectonic fury that made the air in the room feel physically heavy. "Did she touch you back then?"
The question wasn't asked with the curiosity of a Duchess. It was asked with the lethal intent of a predator who had just found a scent.
"No, Mother," Amon replied, his voice calm but firm. "She didn't, but she is the one Sophia is supposed to visit for her etiquette lessons, isn't she?"
"Sophia will not set foot in that house," Emilia stated, her voice dropping into a register that vibrated with the cold, calculated fury of a predator. "Go to your room and rest, my child. Leave the rest to me."
Amon offered a shallow bow and turned to leave. The moment the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind him, the snap of breaking wood echoed through the office. The expensive fountain pen in Emilia's hand had been crushed into splinters, dark ink bleeding across her palm like a fresh wound.
"Jack!"
Her voice didn't just carry; it sliced through the room like a reinforced blade.
The door vanished inward as the head butler appeared, his presence as instantaneous as a summoned shadow. "Yes, Matriarch?"
"Dispatch urgent summons to the Chief of the Crime Investigation Bureau and the Master of the Information Guild," Emilia commanded. The air in the room grew heavy, the atmospheric pressure spiking with her overwhelming magium. "I want them in this office within the hour. If they are late, they need not bother coming at all."
"At once, Matriarch." Jack didn't ask for clarification. He recognised the look in her eyes—the look of a woman prepared to dismantle an unfortunate soul. He bowed and vanished.
Left alone, Emilia stared at the ink staining her hand, her eyes burning with a cyan light. "I will mangle that blonde bitch," she whispered to the empty room, her voice a promise of tectonic violence. "I swear on the pride of the Crown name... Lax will learn the true meaning of agony."
. . .
Quest Complete
Reward:Grimoire of Gravity, Increased Magium Refinement.
Click to claim.
I stared at the floating interface, a wave of relief washing over me. It felt almost too easy. But then, timelines are fragile things. A single variable—a child's memory shared with a mother instead of buried in trauma—is enough to derail an entire tragedy. The original Amon likely lacked the mental fortitude even to recall that encounter, but with [No Longer Human] constantly refining my neural pathways, nothing escapes me.
A win is a win. I tapped the screen.
In an explosion of ancient, heavy energy, a massive tome materialised in my lap. A Grimoire.
In this world, a Grimoire is a cheat code made of parchment. Opening one grants the user the total of its arcane knowledge instantly, though mastering the application remains a matter of sweat and blood. The System's "Two Grimoire Limit" was the only thing keeping the world from collapsing into chaos.
As I cracked the cover, the book erupted in a blinding, rhythmic light. A strange, intense tickling sensation surged through my mind—not painful, but overwhelmingly dense—as every theory and practical application of gravity magic was etched into my brain. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the book dissolved into golden dust.
"So, this is the power of a Grimoire..." I muttered, testing the new pathways in my mind.
The creak of my bedroom door snapped me out of my trance. I turned, expecting someone familiar, but my breath hitched.
"Sophia?"
Standing in the doorway was a girl who looked less like a person and more like a masterpiece carved from winter itself. She had the signature snow-white hair and piercing cyan eyes of Emilia, her skin as pale as fine porcelain. At ten years old, she already possessed a haunting elegance, dressed in a cyan gown that made her look like a high-born doll. She was two years older than me, and notably tall for her age.
"What can I do for you, Elder Sister?" I asked, keeping my tone light and polite. I slid off the edge of the bed and approached her, masking my internal calculations with a gentle, brotherly smile.
Sophia didn't return the smile. Her gaze was clinical, scanning me from head to toe as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. "... You're different, Amon," she murmured.
"Different? In what way, Sister?" I tilted my head, playing the part of the confused child to perfection.
"Have you been training?" she asked, her eyes narrowing with a sudden, sharp intensity. It wasn't the curiosity of a sibling; it was the appraisal of a combatant.
"I have," I answered, my smile never wavering.
"Good. Because I was just about to challenge you to a duel." She cracked her knuckles, a predatory grin spreading across her face. "I need to let off some steam, and you're the only thing in this house that looks interesting right now. Meet me in the Combat Room in ten minutes. Don't be late."
With that command, she pivoted on her heel and vanished into the hallway. I stood there, stunned. Is this it? Is this how a Heroine greets her brother after nearly a year apart? By asking to beat him senseless?
My confusion was cut short by the familiar, shimmering glow of the System interface.
"Oh, for goodness sake!" I felt a vein throb in my temple as I read the translucent text hanging in the air.
Quest:Defeat Sophia Von Crown
Reward:???
Penalty:???