The two exchanged a glance, virtual-like boxes hovering in their hands. The faint glow around them pulsed softly, as if waiting for them to make a choice.

  Max hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the box in his hands. Unlike Harry, who had just received his mystery box as a reward for the second trial, Max had been carrying his since the first.

  Right, he hadn't opened it yet.

  Harry noticed his pause and raised a brow. "Wait—are you telling me you had a mystery box this whole time and didn't open it?"

  Max let out a small sigh. "It didn't seem urgent. And I wasn't sure if I should."

  Harry stared at him for a long moment before dramatically throwing his hands up. "You're insane."

  "If it was important, I figured I'd need it at the right time," Max replied, rolling the box slightly in his palm.

  "Yeah, yeah, 'mystical destiny, right time, fate'—whatever," Harry waved him off. He then smirked, holding up his own glowing box. "Let's get this over with. Just so you know, if I could let you open mine, I would."

  Max arched a brow. "Why?"

  "Because main characters always have high luck," Harry deadpanned. "Yours must be pretty high too."

  Max sighed treating it as Harry's usual weirdness. They both turned their attention back to their respective boxes.

  The system chimed softly in their minds.

  [Opening Mystery Box…]

  The boxes vibrated slightly in their hands before bursting into a swirl of shimmering particles. As the glow faded, two distinct items appeared before them.

  Max's eyes widened slightly as he caught the object that materialized in his hands. Meanwhile, Harry stared at his own reward with a deeply unimpressed expression.

  "…What the hell is this?" Harry muttered. "Is this a cursed box or a mystery box?"

  Max glanced over. "Did you get bananas again?"

  "Shut up."

  Max smirked before focusing on his own reward. A message window appeared, detailing the item's properties.

  ____

  [Phantom Echo Pendant]

  [Rarity: Rare]

  [Rank: Resonant]

  [Type: Relic/Accessory]

  A pendant crafted from an unknown, semi-transparent metal. When worn, it faintly resonates with the user's past, unlocking traces of lost instincts and reflexes.

  Effect 1 – Faint Echo: Occasionally triggers brief flashes of forgotten skills or movements, subtly guiding the user in moments of hesitation.

  Effect 2 – Reawakening: Once per day, allows the user to temporarily recall a combat technique or skill they once knew, even if they have no memory of learning it.

  Cooldown: 24 Hours for Reawakening. No cooldown for Faint Echo.

  Note: The memories accessed may not always be complete. Some echoes may be fragmented or unclear.

  _____

  Max felt something stir deep in his chest as he stared at the pendant. It was simple—just a thin, metallic charm hanging from a black cord—but holding it in his hands sent a strange sensation through him.

  'This... can this help me solve my problem?'

  He clenched his fingers around it, lost in thought.

  Meanwhile, Harry was still squinting at his own item, looking less than thrilled.

  "What kind of scam is this…?" he grumbled before the system window popped up before him.

  ____

  [Smiling Raven Feather]

  Rarity: Rare

  Rank: Resonant

  Type: Relic

  Classification: Cursed

  A dark feather with an eerie, unnatural grin embedded in its shaft. Holding it fills the user with a strange confidence.

  Effect – Raven's Guile: Once per day, the user can deceive someone effortlessly, making even the most absurd lie sound believable.

  Side Effect – Smiling Debt: The feather will lie on the user's behalf at random moments, twisting their words unexpectedly.

  Note: Not all lies are convenient.

  _______

  Harry read the description twice. Then a third time. Then he slowly dragged a hand down his face.

  Max side-eyed him. "That bad?"

  Harry closed his system window and held up the feather. Its shaft was sleek and black, but the problem was the tiny, unsettling grin etched into it. It wasn't inked on. It was… part of the feather. The moment he looked at it, he had the strange feeling it was looking back at him.

  "Bad?" Harry repeated, voice flat. "It's a feather with a creepy smile."

  "…And?"

  "And it talks! Well, kind of..." Harry threw a hand toward the air. "It'll randomly lie for me! I could be in a conversation, minding my own business, and suddenly—boom—my own words betray me! Do you know what this means, Max?"

  Max tilted his head slightly. "That you're bad at lying?"

  "That I'm going to start arguments I didn't even mean to have!" Harry groaned. "Oh, great. I can't wait to accidentally tell a giant monster that I ate its children."

  Max held back a chuckle. "Then just don't talk much."

  "Not talking is the same as lying when you're me!"

  Harry sighed, rubbing his temples, but despite his complaints, he didn't toss the feather away. Instead, he twirled it between his fingers, watching the way the grin never quite stopped shifting.

  It was cursed. It had to be. It was written in the description too.

  But it was his cursed item now.

  "...At least it lets me lie perfectly," he admitted, reluctantly.

  Max hummed. "That actually sounds useful."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Yeah, sure. Until it lies to a murderous lunatic and tells them I stole their life savings." Harry tucked the feather away, shaking his head. "Whatever. I'll deal with it. What about you? Something good?"

  "Yeah, it says this..." Max read it out loud.

  Harry leaned back against the pillow, letting out a deep breath. "Alright. You got a weird memory-triggering pendant. I got a demonic feather with a lying habit. I'd say this was a pretty standard reward roll."

  Max glanced down at his pendant. The weight of it against his palm still felt… strange.

  He wasn't sure what to make of it.

  Would it actually help him remember something? Or was it just another clue that led nowhere?

  No matter what, he had no choice but to keep moving forward.

  Harry broke the silence by clapping his hands together. "Okay. Now that that's done, time for the next step."

  Max blinked. "Next step?"

  Harry grinned. "Testing them out, of course."

  Max narrowed his eyes. "You want to—"

  "—see how badly this feather can screw me over? Absolutely."

  Max sighed. "You're hopeless."

  "I'm Harry."

  "...That joke was awful."

  Harry smirked. "I know. And yet, you still reacted."

  Max exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he adjusted the pendant's cord around his neck. "Fine. Just don't make me regret this."

  Harry tossed the feather in the air and caught it again, eyes gleaming with mischief.

  "Oh, Max," he grinned. "I make no promises."

  ______

  Harry flipped the feather between his fingers, eyes gleaming with mischief. Testing an item's ability was one thing, but messing with Max?

  That was just too good to pass up.

  He cleared his throat and held the feather up, its eerie grin seeming to widen ever so slightly. Then, in the most theatrical voice he could muster, he declared:

  "Max, my faithful disciple… I have grown weak! It is now your duty to protect me and the world from all danger! Haha."

  Max blinked. "…What?"

  Harry threw a hand to his chest in exaggerated distress. "You must take up the sword in my place, Max! I, your wise and noble master, can no longer fight!"

  He expected Max to roll his eyes or tell him to shut up. Instead—

  Max's body tensed. His breath hitched. His eyes widened, an almost unnatural shine flickering in them.

  "M-Master…?" he muttered.

  For a moment, Harry thought Max was messing with him in return. But then, he noticed it.

  The Phantom Echo Pendant around Max's neck was glowing faintly. And the Smiling Raven Feather—its twisted grin had widened for a split second just now.

  "!"

  Max's lips parted slightly, his breath growing shallow. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek.

  'What the hell?' Harry's amusement vanished instantly.

  As for Max, the world wasn't the same anymore.

  A shadowy figure flickered through his mind—indistinct but familiar. A warm, encouraging smile. A voice, lost to time, murmuring words of guidance. A presence that felt so close and yet so far.

  And then—nothing. The image shattered like fragile glass, leaving only the aching emptiness of something forgotten.

  Max's fingers trembled slightly. Was it real? Or just an illusion?

  Harry, still watching, gulped. 'Okay. That was… weirdly effective.'

  He didn't expect Max to tremble and even cry.

  But before he could even process it, the feather shuddered in his grip.

  And then—

  Harry's mouth moved on its own.

  "I killed your master."

  The words slithered out, cold and razor-sharp. And worse—his voice had changed. Lower. More sinister. More… convincing.

  Max's breath stopped.

  Another flash—blood on his hands, a limp body in his arms. A life fading away.

  The pendant's glow pulsed violently.

  "She was still so smug while dying."

  "Pathetic, don't you think?"

  Harry, suddenly realizing what he had just said, felt his stomach drop.

  'No way. It—It activated the side effect?!'

  But it wasn't just the words. The feather didn't just make him lie—it made the lie feel real.

  Max's mind spiraled, his heart hammering against his ribs. The images, the emotions, the rage—it all built up into something uncontrollable.

  And then—he snapped.

  Before Harry could react, Max lunged.

  A strong hand wrapped around Harry's throat, slamming him down onto the bed.

  "M-Max—! Wait—!" Harry choked, his hands shooting up to pry Max's grip away. But Max wasn't listening.

  His eyes were clouded—blank, consumed by something raw and overwhelming. They weren't seeing anything.

  Harry gritted his teeth. 'Shit. He's not even thinking.'

  Panic flashed through him as he struggled against Max's grip. They were usually evenly matched in strength, but this time—Max's fingers dug into his neck with an iron grip, squeezing tighter, suffocating him.

  'Tch.'

  A dangerous glint passed through Harry's eyes. 'If I don't do something, he's actually gonna kill me.'

  He swiftly shifted his arm and tapped a pressure point on Max's neck.

  The effect was instant.

  Max stiffened, his grip slackening as his body suddenly lost strength. His eyes rolled slightly, and then—he collapsed forward, unconscious.

  Harry sucked in a breath, coughing as he finally felt air rush back into his lungs. Max's weight still pinned him down, but he didn't care. He just laid there for a moment, feeling his pulse hammering in his throat.

  Then—slowly—he let out a breathless, slightly unhinged chuckle.

  His entire body ached from the struggle, but he was alive.

  A half-crazed laugh bubbled from his throat.

  "Hah… haha… survived…"

  Darkness clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but before he could fight it off—

  A voice echoed through the room.

  [Time for accepting rewards has ended.]

  Harry's blood ran cold.

  [Third Trial: The Nightfall Cull will start in 30 seconds.]

  [Preparing for transfer...]

  "W-what did it s-say…?" he mumbled weakly.

  But before he could comprehend anything, his consciousness slipped away.

  The countdown continued.

  10 seconds… 5 seconds… 1 second…

  [Transfer starting...]

  Their bodies glowed, light enveloping them—

  And then—

  They vanished.

  ________

  Lord's office.

  The room was warm, bathed in soft candlelight that flickered gently against the stone walls. Despite the building's rigid structure, this space exuded comfort, an oasis within its cold and towering walls.

  Bookshelves lined the room, filled with records of history, magic, and politics. A large window overlooked the quiet courtyard below, where guards patrolled under the dim glow of torches.

  On an ornate sofa, Lord Alaric sat, his expression gentle, his presence exuding an air of authority wrapped in warmth. His light gray eyes, brimming with kindness, fixed themselves upon the young girl standing before him.

  His daughter, Leah, stood with her hands clasped before her, her posture as graceful as ever. A soft, innocent smile adorned her lips, the same smile she always wore in his presence. The people of the fortress called her their treasure, their light.

  Alaric's voice was calm yet expectant. "How are our youngsters doing, my angel? Have they made any progress?"

  Leah's smile brightened. "Yes, Father. We have successfully developed friendly relationships with the otherworlders. Some of us have even succeeded in our mission to form deep bonds with them."

  She continued to report the progress of their mission.

  Alaric's brows lifted in satisfaction. He chuckled softly, leaning back against the sofa. "Good, good. If everything goes well… we will be able to save everyone."

  His eyes, kind and gentle as always, drifted back to her. And then, they sharpened just slightly.

  "And what about you, my angel?" His tone remained soft, but there was an underlying weight to his words. "You haven't… entered a relationship, have you?"

  Leah's cheeks dusted with a light pink. She hesitated for half a second before shaking her head. "N-No, Father." But then, as if unable to contain it, her voice softened, "But… there is someone…"

  "Hoho, is that so?" Alaric's shoulders shook in amusement.

  'Who is that scum?!'

  For the briefest of moments, Alaric's kind eyes flashed with something else—something possessive, something cold. A dangerous glint, fleeting but undeniable. Maybe it was a loving father's protectiveness.

  "You know how much everyone treasures you, my angel." His tone was still lighthearted, but his words carried an unmistakable weight. "So, it will be best if I check out the boy first, don't you think? I'll make sure he's worthy… and then, I will give you my blessings."

  Leah lowered her gaze slightly, shyly nodding. "Mmm…"

  "Good girl." Alaric chuckled again, satisfied. "That's all for tonight. You're free to go—have a good night, my angel."

  Leah curtsied politely. "Good night, Father."

  'Click-.'

  The metal door clicked shut behind her.

  Leah stepped into the corridor, her posture as perfect as ever, each step light and unhurried. The fortress walls, cold and unyielding, stretched ahead in quiet stillness.

  Two guards stood at their posts, their eyes lifting at her approach.

  (Woah, she's cute as ever.)

  (I could watch her all day and never get tired.)

  (Alas she's a bit young, or else I would have confessed already.)

  "Good night, little lady."

  "Good night."

  Leah replied with a smile, soft and polite, nodding at them in passing.

  But inside—

  'I'm so sick of this.'

  The moment she moved past them, her expression dropped, the warmth draining from her eyes like a dying ember.

  'I'm sick of acting.'

  'I'm sick of pretending to know nothing.'

  Their voices—their thoughts—buzzed at the edges of her mind, a constant hum of admiration, devotion, blind ignorance.

  She turned a corner, her footsteps light as ever.

  The perfect daughter.

  The treasured jewel of the fortress.

  A title she never wanted.

  'I'm sick of you, 'Father'.'

  The words pulsed through her like a quiet, seething force.

  She could hear him, even now. His disgusting thoughts, still clinging to her like an unwanted touch.

  'You were never my father.'

  Her fingers twitched.

  'You adopted me to raise me as your lover.'

  Even in his warmth, his kind words, she saw it—the possessiveness lurking beneath, the twisted attachment disguised as care, like filth she couldn't scrub away.

  'Those possessive eyes… Those disgusting thoughts…'

  She knew what lay beneath his gentle words, beneath his affectionate voice.

  A quiet scoff left her lips, barely audible.

  "I can't wait to get rid of you."