Chapter 71: Chapter 71: The Inheritance Below In a large manor built on old wealth and older secrets, deep beneath its ground-level rooms, there was a chamber that looked more like a private vault than part of a residence.
The walls were smooth stone, lined with protective runes and display cases made of reinforced glass. At the center of the room stood a raised pillar under a ring of soft white light.
On that pillar rested a golden apple.
It was small, round, and unmarked—so ordinary in appearance it almost seemed fake. But it wasn’t.
𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎 The man standing before it stared with silent intensity. He wore a tailored black suit and stood tall, broad in the shoulders, with a full beard and neatly combed black hair. His reflection was faint in the glass, but his eyes never left the apple.
"I wonder what you can do," he muttered.
The apple had been in his family’s possession for generations.
It was treated like treasure, passed down, moved from country to country, always kept under heavy protection.
As a child, he had thought it was just a symbol, a reminder of his lineage’s pride. Something forged by a forgotten craftsman, or maybe a royal token that lost its context.
But the apple never rotted nor did it dull.
The gold didn’t tarnish and the weight never changed, no matter the climate or age. It remained exactly the same.
He had doubted it for years—called it nonsense, called it legacy worship, but in the back of his mind, curiosity had never faded.
And now that he stood here, years older, with access to technology and connections far beyond his ancestors, the doubt was losing its hold.
He reached forward, stopping just short of touching the glass. His fingers hovered there, steady.
This thing was real. The question was how real—and how dangerous.
None of the scriptures passed down in his family ever explained what the apple did.
Just a single entry scribbled in the oldest journal they owned—his great ancestor had found it inside a portal, and it radiated so much energy that it supposedly killed an S-rank Hunter just by proximity.
But now, standing before it, he felt nothing.
No trace of the overwhelming energy that legend spoke of. If not for its pristine condition and its impossible longevity, it would’ve been written off as an old myth.
Still, something about it lingered in his thoughts. The longer he stared, the more his mind circled one simple idea.
It’s an apple.
What do you do with apples?
You eat them.
He didn’t laugh at the thought. It made sense in a strange way.
If it really was special... maybe that was all it took.
He stepped closer, face drawn with intent as he stared at it like it held the answer to everything he lacked. Power... well more power. He wanted it now more than ever.
And maybe this apple was the key.
He paused, his eyes locked on it. Something in him waited. Wondered. Debated whether that single bite would change everything. Or end him outright.
His phone beeped. He checked the screen, then smiled.
He gave the apple one last glance before turning away and walking out.
Soon after, he stepped out of the elevator and made his way down the hallway. Servants and workers passed by, greeting him as he walked. He nodded at a few, but said nothing.
He entered his office where two men were already waiting.
He moved behind his desk and sat down, folding his hands over the surface. His eyes flicked toward the box they carried. "So," he said, "was it successful?"
The men grinned and set the box on the desk.
He opened it slowly. Inside were several blood-covered cores, still fresh. His expression sharpened into a satisfied grin as he looked them over.
The men watched him closely, pleased by his reaction. "Wasn’t hard," one of them said. "Once you got us in, the rest was easy. There were no instructors inside."
"You’ve both done well," he said, his voice calm but pleased.
"You’ve both done well," he said again, still looking down at the cores. Then he closed the box and locked eyes with them. "But don’t get carried away."
The smiles faded from their faces.
"You attacked the only academy in this city. That was bold... and reckless," he continued. "Keep your heads down. No more big moves without my word."
One of the men shifted awkwardly. "But we weren’t seen. Everything went smooth."
"I know," he said. "And you’re right—it was clean. But too clean draws eyes. Even if the Headmistress doesn’t care much about that school anymore, she won’t tolerate something that stains its reputation this badly."
He leaned back slightly. "She may be distant, but she’s not blind. And if she steps in, it won’t matter how quiet we think we were. She’ll burn the whole trail down."
The men nodded quickly.
"So stay low. No more mistakes."
The man smiled. He had noticed the Headmistress’s attention to the academy had started to fade. He wasn’t sure why, but it was clear she had lost interest in the day-to-day affairs.
Still, despite never seeing her in action, he knew better than to underestimate her. Her reputation stretched back before he was even born. She had been there from the start.
"You can leave," he said, sliding two checks across the desk.
The two men took them without hesitation, turning toward the door.
"Wait," the man called out.
They stopped and turned back.
He glanced at them. "What about my son?"
One of the men scratched his neck, shifting uncomfortably. "We didn’t get a chance to speak to him directly. But I’ve got men watching over him. They’re saying he’s been making friends with..."
"Spit it out."
"Cursed students," the man replied.
The boss’s smile faded. He leaned back, sighing, disappointment heavy in his tone. "Ah... my foolish son. Still too naive. Still thinking this world is fair. Still thinking monsters can walk among us as equals."
He shook his head.
"But it’s fine. When the time comes, I’ll make sure he understands. I’ll make sure he sees what the cursed really are. Dirt that doesn’t deserve to live beside humanity."
He looked up at them again, colder now. "Tell your men to keep watching. Do not intervene. Not yet."
They both nodded and exited without a word.
He sighed as his eyes drifted to the picture frame on his desk.
Reaching out, he picked it up and traced his fingers across the image—over the blonde woman’s soft smile, then down to the boy cradled in her arms.
His expression shifted, caught somewhere between nostalgia and resentment.