THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

As the double doors of the advisory chamber creaked shut behind him, David exhaled a slow breath, finally free from the scrutinizing gaze of the elders. He left them behind to debate matters far beyond his control—or so he hoped. The likelihood that their conversation would drift back to him was slim, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that his involvement in family affairs wasn't over, not by a long shot.

His mind swirled around the recent turn of events, particularly the dramatic entrance of the final elder—Elder La Muerte. She had cut the interrogation short, much earlier than David had anticipated. But it wasn't her interruption that troubled him most; it was the aura she carried. The bloodlust that seemed to seep from her, hidden beneath her otherwise relaxed demeanor, was unmistakable.

Any seasoned warrior would have sensed it, and David was no exception. To him, La Muerte was nothing short of a monster, a deadly predator who had set her sights on him. And that was what unsettled him most—her interest in him.

She had made it clear she wanted him to join the De Gor Le Rosa as an executioner, and the mere thought of it gnawed at David. "Why do my problems keep stacking up?" he muttered to himself, frustration bubbling within him. It seemed that every time he turned a corner, something new threatened to upend his plans.

As he walked down the corridor, passing two armored guards stationed by the entrance, he overheard their hushed conversation.

"On your toes, man. The young master is coming this way," one of the guards whispered urgently to his companion.

"Shit," the other guard cursed under his breath, quickly straightening his posture as if their lives depended on it.

David couldn't help but sigh inwardly. His reputation had clearly preceded him. In the castle, he had earned the nickname "Light of the Shadow," a moniker that reflected both his rising status and the mysterious air that surrounded him. His feats had gained him some recognition, but he didn't care for it. Titles and reputations meant little when he had far greater problems looming over him—like the elder who had just shaken his world.

"La Muerte," he muttered aloud, her name rolling off his tongue like a dark omen. The moment the words left his mouth, something clicked in his mind. Her presence, her bloodlust, the way she had looked at him—it was all starting to make sense.

But what could it mean for him? Why was she so fixated on him? He had always steered clear of the family's darkest dealings, never wanting to be entangled in the webs of power that held the De Gor household together. Yet, here he was, being pulled deeper into those very webs by none other than one of the most fearsome members of the family.

"Why didn't I remember that lunatic!" David muttered in frustration, smacking his forehead as it dawned on him who Elder La Muerte Le Gor really was. The first female house leader of the De Gor Le Rosa branch—a legend steeped in blood and violence.

She was infamous for single-handedly wiping out an entire cult of witches in the cursed Dead Lands. The tales of her brutal execution of those witches were the stuff of nightmares, a river of blood literally forming from the sheer number of bodies she'd cut down. Her reputation wasn't just forged during that massacre, though.

During the Crimson War, Elder La Muerte had become a symbol of terror, her sword cleaving through enemies like they were nothing. She was also the one responsible for the Earl's acquisition of the descent of the goddess of preservation.

"This is just great," David muttered sarcastically, cursing his luck. Of all people to take an interest in him, it had to be the herald of death herself—the Earl's sister. She seemed hell-bent on recruiting him as an executioner for the De Gor Le Rosa. David's problems seemed to be multiplying by the second, and the weight of his predicament pressed down on him like a tightening noose.

He clenched his jaw, trying to focus on the bigger picture. He didn't know how much time he had left until the next sign of the cataclysm—his memories of the novel "Trials of Valor" didn't provide exact timelines, just vague events. That was part of the problem.

Everything he did, everything he changed, was causing the story to spiral further away from the original plot. David had altered the course of events by surviving, by defying the fate that had been set out for him in the story. Originally, David De Gor was meant to die. But why?

That question lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. Why had the David in the novel been marked as the first sign of the cataclysm? The mysterious corpses that had started appearing on the estate, the dark aura that seemed to pulse through the lands—what connected it all?

"If only I had a copy of the novel in this world," David mused. "Things would be so much easier." But no such luck existed. All he had were his fragmented memories of the plot. Some events were clear, others hazy at best, and he knew that every choice he made now would likely diverge the story even further from the path he once knew.

David arrived at the entrance to his chambers and paused, his hand on the door. His thoughts whirled, his mind racing. He clenched his fists tightly as a wave of determination surged through him. The first demon apostles hadn't invaded the world of Ternion—they had been here all along, pulling the strings that would lead to the cataclysm.

He knew he had to act fast. His time at the estate was running out. There were two things he needed to acquire before he could leave, two crucial items that would help him in what was to come.

After that, he'd have to make his way to where the second sign of the cataclysm would appear.

David exhaled deeply, his breath heavy with exhaustion as he sank down onto the plush carpet that sprawled across the floor of his chamber. His body ached from the weight of knowledge pressing against him, a burden far heavier than any physical strain.

The revelation that the demon apostles—those sinister creatures capable of unspeakable destruction—were already lurking in this world gnawed at him. These beings weren't just powerful; they were forces of chaos far beyond his current strength, and even the Earl, with all his might, couldn't hope to land so much as a scratch on them as he was now!

Frustration gnawed at him, the feeling of being powerless against such monumental odds. Every instinct in his body screamed to run, to find a way to stop them before they plunged the world into further ruin, but how? How could someone like him, still struggling to find his place in the De Gor family, stand up to such overwhelming forces?

With a soft groan, David shifted his posture, crossing his legs and settling into the lotus position. His hands rested loosely on his knees, his fingers trembling slightly as his mind raced. He needed clarity, focus.

The events of the day—the council meeting, Elder La Muerte's unsettling interest in him, the looming threat of the cataclysm—swirled in his thoughts like a storm, threatening to pull him under. He could feel the weight of destiny wrapping around him, suffocating him.

"Calm down," he murmured to himself, closing his eyes and drawing in a slow, measured breath. The air felt thick, charged with tension, yet it was grounding. He needed to focus.

He took another deep breath, letting it out slowly, feeling his heartbeat gradually return to a steadier rhythm. In this moment of quiet, he called upon the one thing that might help him—his system.

System window, open,

he mentally commanded.

There was a faint shimmer in his mind's eye, and suddenly, a translucent window flickered to life before him. The system interface hovered there, familiar yet distant, offering its usual display of stats, skills, and unread notifications. It was his tool, his lifeline, the one thing that gave him a semblance of control in this unpredictable world.

But even with it, the road ahead was far from easy. How could numbers and abilities compare to the threat of the demon apostles? He was stronger than before, yes, but he wasn't delusional. His current strength was like a flickering candle compared to the inferno of power those creatures wielded.

Name: David De Gror

Race: Human

class: Ascendant

class division: Awakened, Type: [Vortex Adept]

Role: ???

LV: 20 [2,500/10,000]

Skills: Eternal Gluttoney, Celestial Wheel, Wolf's grace, Heaven Whispering Plam, Sacred Essence Cultivation

Aetenus: Blood Alpha, Draven The Fallen

HP: 1000/1000

MP: 200/200

Stamina: 500/500

Strength: 150

Agility: 350

Intelligence: 190

charm: 100

He glanced at his system window, eyes scanning the options available to him, seeking any hint of a path forward. There had to be a way—some hidden potential he had yet to unlock, something that could tilt the odds in his favor. Yet even as he looked, doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind.

David knew one thing for certain. He couldn't do this alone. And the system—his so-called advantage—might not be enough.

Out of the corner of his eye, David noticed a faint glow—a subtle pulse coming from the message icon nestled in the corner of his system window. It was barely noticeable, like a whisper at the edge of his vision, but it tugged at him, demanding attention.

Without hesitation, he mentally commanded the icon to open, his curiosity piqued. As the window unfolded, his eyes widened in surprise, the exhaustion that had weighed him down moments ago instantly lifting.

There it was—the most crucial piece of his system, the one tool he had almost forgotten about amidst the chaos of recent events. His heart thudded in his chest, excitement sparking like wildfire through his veins.

"[Tower of Adversity]"

The words materialized before him, shining with a radiant glow, almost mocking in its simplicity. Yet, it wasn't the title that mattered—it was what it represented. This was no ordinary feature of his system. This was his salvation, his lifeline, the key to unlocking the strength he desperately needed.