Goodbye, Bastard!

"This is the dungeon."

The morning sun barely penetrated the thick mist that shrouded the path toward Mt. Vesuvedus, casting everything in a dull, oppressive haze. Aamon stood silently, his heart a quiet storm beneath his composed exterior. His fingers twitched by his side, itching to draw his sword, if only to distract himself from the knot of tension coiling tighter in his chest.

Eyes. All of them were on him… soldiers in fatigues, experts in dungeon crawling, each one sizing him up, their expressions ranging from indifferent to mocking. Their whispered conversations buzzed around him like flies, biting at his composure.

At the center of it all stood Teran, soaking in the attention like the sun feeds off fire. His easy smile, his confident stance, the way the soldiers practically hung on his every word… he was the golden son, beloved by all. Teran reveled in it, his voice like a low hum of charisma that filled the air, loud enough for everyone to hear, yet subtle in its dominance.

He was born for this role.

Aamon was nothing but a shadow at his side, unnoticed and unacknowledged.

Focus.

Aamon inhaled deeply, trying to steel himself against the waves of bitterness that rolled through him. He wasn't here for the validation of the men around him. He was here to do a job, to prove himself to his father. And yet, everything about this felt wrong. As if the dungeon itself, nestled deep within the mountain, was pulling him toward something darker.

"This should be a quick expedition," Teran declared, his voice brimming with confidence. "We'll clear the dungeon, grab whatever treasures lie within, and be home before nightfall. It can't be that dangerous if it's from a game."

The captain nodded. "That's the plan, Master Teran. We'll follow your lead."

Of course they'll follow him, Aamon thought bitterly, adjusting the strap of the sword on his back. It didn't matter how skilled he was or how hard he trained; they only saw Teran. He was the one always chosen, always praised. Aamon, meanwhile, was the bastard, an afterthought.

Well, why does it matter? I came to see the dungeon and get father's attention, not babysit Teran.

The sound of soft, hurried footsteps caught his attention. His breath hitched. Valera.

He turned, hope fluttering weakly in his chest. She was walking toward them, her dark hair flowing like silk behind her, the morning mist wrapping around her slender form. For a moment, Aamon thought she was coming to him.

But she walked right past him, her eyes focused entirely on Teran.

"Teran!" Valera's voice was a melody, bright and sweet, cutting through the tension like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Aamon's heart clenched, the small flicker of hope snuffed out as she approached his half-brother, her smile warm and affectionate. A smile that had been his only hours ago.

"Ah, Valera," Teran greeted her with a smirk, taking her hand without hesitation. "So glad you could join us."

"You didn't think I'd let you go into danger without me, did you?" Valera teased, her eyes shining as she gazed at Teran. "My family would never forgive me."

Aamon felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. His stomach twisted painfully. He had shared mornings with her, conversations filled with unspoken promises. Now, it was as if none of that had ever existed.

"Valera," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. She didn't even look at him.

"Valera, we should be careful," he started, stepping forward, hoping she would acknowledge him, see him. "This dungeon—"

Teran's laugh cut him off. "Don't worry, brother. Valera is safe with me. Isn't that right?" He shot Valera a knowing grin, his hand tightening around hers.

"Of course," Valera murmured, her voice soft. "Teran will protect me."

Aamon's jaw tightened. He wanted to tell her that she didn't need protecting, that she was stronger than she realized. But the words felt hollow, especially when her eyes barely flickered in his direction.

"Valera…" His voice trembled as he spoke her name, desperation clinging to each syllable. "What's going on?"

She hesitated, glancing at him for the briefest of moments before her gaze shifted back to Teran. "My family… they've decided it's best for me to marry Teran. It's what's best for our future."

Marry him? The air left Aamon's lungs as her words landed like a dagger to his chest. He had always known Teran overshadowed him in their father's eyes, but Valera… she had been the one thing that was his. Or so he had thought.

"You said…" His voice cracked, the weight of betrayal pressing down on him. He had no words for the raw wound her decision had left. Only the bitter truth that he meant nothing to her anymore.

Teran's mocking chuckle pierced the silence between them. "You really think she'd choose you, Aamon? A bastard? Come on. Look at yourself." His gaze swept over Aamon, dismissive and cruel. "You're nothing but an outsider. Always have been."

The soldiers around them shifted uncomfortably, but no one spoke up. They didn't need to. Teran's words hung heavy in the air, impossible to refute.

Aamon's fists clenched. The urge to lash out, to silence Teran's smug voice with his fists, roared inside him, but he knew it was pointless. Teran would always be the favored one, the chosen one. Nothing Aamon did would change that.

"I'm sorry," Valera whispered, though there was no emotion in her voice. "This is just the way things are."

Aamon swallowed back the lump in his throat, nodding stiffly. His eyes burned with unshed tears, but he would not let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

"Let's get this over with," Aamon muttered, turning his back on them both and striding toward the dungeon entrance. The sooner they finished this cursed expedition, the sooner he could leave this nightmare behind.

I hate this life…

---

Inside the dungeon, the air was thick and hot, as if the very walls were alive and breathing with the heartbeats of those who dared to enter.

This was the Selection Dungeon. It was supposed to bring out the true nature of People through their roles.

Cold moisture dripped down the rough stone walls, illuminated only by the flickering torches the soldiers carried.

Aamon trailed behind the group, his thoughts no longer clear but a chaotic whirlwind of anger and pain.

The whispers of Teran and Valera echoed in his ears, their voices like knives, each one driving deeper into his already fractured heart and twisting making his soul growl in pain.

The corridor stretched on, a seemingly endless path of darkness that mirrored the void in his chest.

Why Valera…

Then something flickered in the corner of Aamon's vision… a faint, glowing light. He turned his head, his gaze narrowing on a small butterfly hovering just ahead, its wings shimmering with an rainbow like glow.

Is that the Butterfly of Fate!?

Aamon's heart raced as the creature danced just out of reach, beckoning him forward. Without a second thought, his feet carried him deeper into the dungeon, away from the others, into the shadows.

This is it. I can get Valera back! Father will love me too!

The deeper he went, the darker the world became, the air growing heavier with each step.

And then, in a small chamber, he saw it… a pedestal, illuminated by a soft, otherworldly glow. On it lay an egg, its surface iridescent and smooth, pulsing with a light that seemed to resonate with his very soul.

Wait… Is that the SSS- Grade item I was about to receive after defeating Lordy?

Aamon's hand trembled as he reached out to touch it.

This is it, then. An SSS-Grade item! This is what I need. This will make him see me… make him acknowledge me.

But before his fingers could close around the egg, a searing pain exploded in his back.

Aamon gasped, his vision blurring as he stumbled forward, blood soaking his clothes. He looked down to see the hilt of a dagger protruding from his chest.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, the egg slipping from his grasp.

Behind him, a cold, familiar voice whispered, "This is the end. Goodbye, Bastard."

Teran's Assassin.

Aamon's vision darkened, the pain fading as his blood pooled beneath him, creeping toward the egg. And as his life ebbed away, the egg began to glow brighter, pulsing faster, feeding on the blood that stained the stone.

The last thought that crossed Aamon's fading mind was not of Teran or his father or even Valera.

It was of the cruel truth… the answer to the question he had always asked to himself.

So, you never loved me, father…

---

[DING! HOST DETECTED! EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY!

HOST'S LIFE SPAN DECREASING!

TRANSFERRING HOST'S SOUL… 89%... 99%... 100%.

TRANSFER SUCCESSFUL!]