**DEATHRIX — Chapter 8
"What Should Never Be Seen"**
The light faded.
Slowly… reluctantly… like the world itself didn't want to let go of what it had just revealed.
The crystal dimmed.
The violent storm of mana settled into silence.
And in that silence—
no one moved.
No one spoke.
They only stared.
At him.
Vee lowered his hand from the crystal, his expression calm, almost indifferent—yet his thoughts moved rapidly beneath the surface.
He could feel it.
The shift.
The weight of what had just happened.
Heavenly Rank.
Death Matrix Bloodline.
Even he didn't fully understand it yet.
But he understood one thing clearly—
It was dangerous.
Not just powerful.
Dangerous.
So he smiled.
Just slightly.
Enough to break the tension.
"Alright," he said lightly, as if nothing had happened. "Let's pretend that didn't just try to tear the room apart."
No one laughed.
Good.
That meant they understood.
He stepped forward, his voice lowering—not loud, but firm enough that everyone heard it.
"What you saw… stays here."
A pause.
"If anyone asks—"
He met their eyes one by one.
"—it was Mythic."
The word settled into the air.
Safe.
Believable.
Containable.
His mother's fingers tightened slightly against her dress.
His father said nothing.
But he didn't object.
That was all the confirmation Vee needed.
"This bloodline," he added quietly, "isn't leaving this room."
This time—
they nodded immediately.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
The truth had already frightened them enough.
The Offering
An attendant approached carefully, as though stepping too loudly might break something fragile.
In his hands was a small, sealed case.
Ancient.
Delicate.
Important.
"My lord," he said, voice steady despite the tension, "this is a relic preserved by the house… for exceptional circumstances."
He opened it.
Inside—
light.
Soft. Shifting. Alive.
Vee's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…What does it do?"
"It can rewrite a person's foundation," the attendant replied. "Rank. Talent. Bloodline."
Silence fell again.
This time, heavier.
Because everyone understood what that meant.
A second chance.
A shortcut.
A guarantee.
"Take it," the attendant said.
Vee didn't move immediately.
He just looked at it.
Really looked.
A tool like this could erase weakness.
Could fix flaws.
Could make him… something better.
Something safer.
But then—
a faint echo stirred in his mind.
Not a voice.
Not words.
Just a feeling.
Cold. Distant.
Watching.
He exhaled.
Closed the case.
And pushed it back.
"I'm fine."
The reaction was instant.
Shock. Confusion.
Even his mother stepped forward slightly.
"Vee… are you sure?"
He nodded once.
"I don't want borrowed strength."
Because deep down—
he knew.
What was growing inside him didn't need correction.
It needed time.
The Decision
"You will attend the Academy."
His father's voice cut cleanly through the room.
No emotion.
No discussion.
Just a command.
Vee glanced up.
"The Imperial Academy," his father continued, "is where you will go."
Of course it was.
The only academy that mattered.
Where nobles competed.
Where royals watched.
Where talent was refined… or destroyed.
Vee held his gaze for a moment.
Then nodded.
"…Understood."
No resistance.
No argument.
Not yet.
A Passing Shadow
As he left the hall, the air felt lighter.
But not peaceful.
Never peaceful.
Footsteps approached from the side.
Then—
a shoulder hit his.
Not hard enough to knock him down.
Just enough.
Intentional.
Vee stopped.
Didn't turn.
"I see," a voice said behind him, smooth with quiet arrogance. "So you're the one causing all this noise."
Vee remained silent.
"Don't get comfortable," the voice continued. "People like you don't last long at the Academy."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"Try to survive."
The footsteps faded.
Vee stood still for a moment.
Then exhaled slowly.
"…Not worth it."
And kept walking.
Night
His room was quiet.
The kind of quiet that lets thoughts grow louder than they should.
Vee lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
The events replayed.
The crystal.
The reaction.
The artifact.
The decision.
And beneath it all—
the truth he couldn't ignore.
He knew this world.
Knew the story.
Knew what was supposed to happen.
And more importantly—
what was supposed to happen to him.
A weak noble.
A forgettable name.
A character who existed for one purpose:
To stand in front of the protagonist…
…and die.
Kai Asterion.
The name surfaced clearly now.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
Irritating.
Vee closed his eyes.
"…Yeah. No."
The Death Matrix stirred faintly within him.
Not reacting.
Just… present.
Waiting.
Morning
A sharp knock.
Then the door opened before he could answer.
"Get up."
Vee groaned, dragging a hand over his face.
"You know knocking usually comes with waiting."
"We're training."
That got his attention.
He sat up slowly.
"…Training?"
"You're fighting me."
A pause.
"With everything?"
A faint scoff.
"You won't win."
Silence.
Then—
a small smile.
"…We'll see."
The Fight
The training ground was already occupied.
Not crowded.
But watched.
People always watched.
Vee stepped onto the field, rolling his shoulders once.
The air felt different here.
Sharper.
Honest.
"Don't hold back," the other said.
"Same to you."
A moment passed.
Stillness.
Then—
they moved.
Vee stepped in first.
Fast.
Precise.
No hesitation.
A strike came at him—direct, heavy.
He slipped past it by inches.
Close enough to feel it.
Not close enough to be hit.
He countered instantly.
A sharp strike to the ribs—
blocked.
He pivoted.
Another strike—
deflected.
"Good," the other muttered.
Vee didn't respond.
He shifted again.
Faster now.
His movements began to flow—
not forced, not rushed—
just… smooth.
Natural.
Like his body already knew what to do.
Strike. Step. Turn. Attack again.
No wasted motion.
No panic.
The rhythm changed.
They clashed again—
harder this time.
The impact sent a dull vibration through the ground.
Vee slid back—
then stopped himself.
Steady.
Balanced.
His breathing didn't break.
His eyes didn't waver.
"…Again," he said quietly.
A pause.
Then—
a faint smile from his opponent.
"There it is."
They rushed each other again.
This time—
neither of them held back.
End
Somewhere far beyond the estate—
beyond the city—
beyond what anyone could see—
something stirred.
Something ancient.
Something patient.
And for the first time—
it noticed him.