Novel Full Chapter 301: Plot (2)
Chapter 301: Plot (2)
’But why would it be a leash?’
That question turned slow in Damien’s mind, like a blade grinding over stone.
It wasn’t the effects he didn’t understand—it was the purpose.
What exactly was this Authority discouraging?
What future had it rerouted him from?
That was the part he couldn’t pin down.
Even now, even after seeing the System’s warnings and feeling the pulse of that foreign will trying to dig into his bones… the why escaped him.
’System,’ he said again, lower this time. ’Status check. Side-effects?’
[Analysis: Host has fully resisted cognitive imprint.]
[Authority-class interference neutralized.]
[Physiological benefits from the bath retained.]
[Host integrity preserved.]
Damien gave a short, sharp exhale through his nose. That part, at least, was satisfying.
’Got the gains without the chain.’
But there was still one more thing he needed to check.
The trait.
[Trait: Resonance of Fate]
Description: Host’s existence has harmonized with a greater conceptual frequency. Individuals or phenomena influenced by fate-based structures will be drawn into a resonance with the host. No direct enhancement to combat attributes.
No power boost. No skill unlocks. Just…
Resonance.
He frowned, reading it twice. Three times.
’So… people touched by fate… will resonate with me?’
It sounded poetic. Useless. Decorative.
Until the word hit him again.
Fate.
The trait was tied to fate.
Which meant…
So was the Authority.
His eyes widened.
He sat up, water dripping from his arms, his heartbeat suddenly too loud in his ears.
’If this trait came from resisting that Authority—and that Authority was fate-aligned—’
“AHAHAHAHAHA—!”
The sound tore through the chamber, loud and sharp and utterly unrestrained. Not madness. Not hysteria.
Recognition.
Laughter as sharp as it was real.
Damien leaned back in the bath, chest rising and falling as he laughed harder, head tilted slightly, eyes wide with that sudden, brutal kind of clarity.
The curtains rustled.
Maids—silent, professional—peeked in, concern on their faces, unsure if he was in pain or slipping.
One of the braver maids stepped closer to the curtain, her voice tentative but clear.
“Young master… is everything alright?”
Damien tilted his head toward the voice, still grinning, water dripping from the ends of his hair. “Perfectly fine,” he said, voice rich with amusement. “Ignore the laughter. It’s just me realizing how stupid fate is.”
The maids glanced at each other, clearly unconvinced.
Another stepped in beside the first, eyes lowering respectfully. “The bath… it’s turned red. You shouldn’t stay much longer, young master. Prolonged exposure could be dangerous—”
“I’ll get out soon,” Damien said, his tone light but final.
“But—”
His blue eyes narrowed.
Not cruel. Not angry.
Just final.
The words didn’t need volume to land like a hammer.
Both maids stiffened.
“Yes, young master,” they said in unison, retreating without another word.
Damien leaned forward again, elbows resting on the bath’s edge. The rippling crimson surface settled under his gaze.
His reflection stared back—distorted slightly by steam and motion, but still sharp.
Blue eyes. Pale skin. Faint trails of power just beneath the surface of his veins.
A body reworked by heat and pressure.
Damien watched the crimson bath ripple in slow, steady waves, his breath calm now—steady, despite everything. The laughter had faded. The adrenaline had cooled. But his thoughts had not.
They were sharper than ever.
’Let’s start putting the pieces together,’ he thought, gaze fixed on the red-stained water. ’Let’s see what kind of script this world actually runs on.’
Because if he had been a villain—then someone else had to be the hero.
And not just any hero.
The hero.
The one this whole plane bent for.
The Child of the Plane.
’So what kind of life does a Child of the Plane usually have?’
The question didn’t need asking.
Damien had seen the pattern before. Countless times. Across stories, games, simulations—hell, even some of the trash he’d written off as juvenile entertainment. It was always the same.
The hero?
They came from nothing.
Low-born. Abandoned. Poor. Common.
Crushed by the world’s weight—and then “awakened” through suffering. Forced to face impossible odds. Pressed into awakening by violence, by tragedy, by fire. Not guided. Forged.
And from there?
They rose.
Clawed their way through the mire, the ranks, the world’s strict class divide.
They toppled the arrogant sons of nobles, tore through the best of the elite academies, destroyed those who “looked down on them.” And people cheered for it.
’A peasant born in dirt. A bastard son cast aside. A servant’s orphan who finds an artifact in a ruin,’ Damien thought coldly. ’Doesn’t matter how. The origin is always shit. Because it has to be.’
That’s what made their rise meaningful. That’s what made them shine. The contrast.
But now?
Now he asked himself the real question.
’How do they win?’
Because that’s the part no one ever questioned.
How do they win?
How does some dirt-smeared upstart beat the sons and daughters of entrenched bloodlines? Of houses that have trained for generations, consumed elixirs from birth, wielded legacies older than empires?
How do they keep winning?
It didn’t make sense.
Not unless something was holding the elites back.
Not unless someone—or something—was limiting them.
Damien’s fingers tapped against the bath edge, his smile gone, his expression carved from quiet calculation.
’So what if that’s exactly what’s happening?’
The Authority in the bath. The suggestive imprinting. The cognitive drift. The gift-wrapped chains masked as tradition.
What if that wasn’t an exception?
What if it was the rule?
What if every highborn child who stepped into their legacy…
…was already carrying a leash?
’No wonder the “commoners” keep rising. No wonder the Child of the Plane makes everyone else look like fools. It’s not just their strength.’
It’s that everyone else is quietly being bound.
Not just weakened.
Pre-configured to lose.
Damien’s mind moved like a scalpel now.
’They get their blessings through chaos. From stray inheritances. Lost ruins. Broken systems no one can track.’
No traditions.
No legacies.
No rituals with Authority baked in.
Just raw, wild progress—untainted.
While the nobles?
They’re slowly, beautifully, subtly being turned into the perfect stepping stones.
Strong enough to challenge. Not strong enough to win.
Damien exhaled, slow and sharp.
’Of course. Of course that’s how the script keeps going.’
Damien’s gaze didn’t leave the crimson surface, now calm once more—tranquil, even. But inside him, the opposite was true. His thoughts churned like a vortex.
’So that’s how the world works,’ he mused, the pieces aligning with a clean, brutal logic. ’The rise of the commoner isn’t a miracle. It’s architecture. Design. Guided chaos to justify the descent of everyone else.’
A slow breath rolled from his chest. Then, his eyes narrowed toward the flickering system panel still floating faintly in his periphery.
[Trait: Resonance of Fate]
Description: Host’s existence has harmonized with a greater conceptual frequency. Individuals or phenomena influenced by fate-based structures will be drawn into a resonance with the host.
The wording gnawed at him. Pulled at something deeper.
’What if that resonance… isn’t passive?’ he thought, pupils narrowing. ’What if it calls to them? Draws the “Children of Fate” like magnets? Makes them… respond?’
He could see it now. That subtle twitch in someone’s gaze. That irrational interest. That unexplainable tension. The way protagonists always locked eyes with their enemies without knowing why.
It wasn’t intuition.
It was resonance.
’So I’m like a tuning fork, aren’t I? A cracked, discordant echo in the story’s rhythm. Something they can’t ignore. Even if they don’t understand why.’
He laughed again—quieter this time, but deeper. Not because it was funny.
Because it was perfect.
’So this is how the stage is set.’