Chapter 8-A Man Greedier than a Demon King

The gymnasium loomed before them—a vast, cavernous space with soaring ceilings and a palpable intensity that bordered on intimidating. The floor bore the scars of countless training sessions, each mark and scratch a testament to the unleashed power of the Awakened. Along the walls, racks bristled with various weapons and well-worn training dummies.

Jonathan stood at the center of the gym, commanding immediate attention. Dressed in a sharply tailored black suit that starkly contrasted with the casual athletic gear worn by the trainees, he exuded an air of authority. In his hands, he held a finely polished wooden sword, its surface reflecting the overhead lights with a quiet gleam. The ground at his feet had been transformed into a lush patch of grass—a deliberate anomaly that softened the harshness of the gym’s scars and added an unexpected element of nature to the sterile environment.

“Welcome, everyone, to your first day of training,” Jonathan announced, his voice calm yet resolute. “Your original instructor is…um, sick, so I—the facility manager—will be taking over today.” His tone was professional, but a fleeting sigh betrayed the weight of unspoken tragedy—the previous teacher had been killed by a monster that had escaped from its containment a week ago.

“So please, try to attack me,” Jonathan said with a slight, almost theatrical bow, his eyes twinkling with a mix of challenge and playful defiance.

A spark of mischief lit up Charles’s eyes. “We get to beat up a teacher? Sweet,” he exclaimed, already reveling in the chaos that might ensue.

Jonathan offered a measured nod. “If any of you would like to test out a weapon, feel free to choose one from the racks on the wall. And Jacob, if you need any toys, they’re available too.” His gaze swept the room, setting the stage for an afternoon that promised both discipline and unpredictability.

Iris approached the weapons rack with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Her fingers grazed the smooth surfaces of various wooden arms until a bow and a quiver of arrows seemed to beckon her. With a soft gasp, she reached out and claimed them, an immediate, inexplicable connection sparking within her. Nearby, Charles eagerly selected a handful of small daggers, his eyes alight with anticipation. Theo opted for a practical combination—a sturdy shield paired with a crossbow, a balanced blend of offense and defense. Jacob, true to his nature, gathered an assortment of dolls, each ingeniously rigged with a tiny explosive, while the rest of the group decided to rely solely on their inherent abilities.

Though crafted from wood, the weapons boasted impeccable balance and craftsmanship, rendering them formidable tools in the hands of a skilled trainee. The group gradually spread out, forming a loose circle around Jonathan, who stood at the center with a relaxed yet poised demeanor. Off to the side, Celia hid behind Theo and his shield, her eyes peeking out with a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Would any of you like to make the first move?” Jonathan asked with a bright, inviting smile.

Without missing a beat, Charles hurled a volley of daggers toward him. Each blade whistled through the air in a coordinated assault. Jonathan’s eyes sparkled as he regarded the incoming projectiles. With a graceful flourish, his practice sword began to change: the polished wood seemed to come alive, sprouting numerous twisting branches that reached out to wrap around and snare each dagger. One by one, the daggers were relinquished from their deadly flight and dropped harmlessly to the floor.

In that moment, Jonathan’s sword transformed entirely, revealing its true form. The handle morphed into a sturdy trunk-like grip, and the blade, crafted from blackened wood yet honed to a razor-sharp edge, shimmered with an otherworldly aura. Jonathan held the newly revealed weapon aloft, and as it continued to twist and branch, binding each of the students, delicate blooms of flowers and clusters of fruit blossomed along its limbs. With a playful glint in his eye, he plucked a perfectly formed apple from one of the branches and took a satisfying bite.

“Now, allow me to explain the true key to combat: artifacts,” Jonathan declared, his tone light yet authoritative, his smile full of secrets.

“Let’s go,” Charles grumbled, attempting to retaliate by launching a piece of fruit with his telekinetic ability. But Jonathan deftly dodged the attack, his movements fluid and precise.

“Unless you possess an authority-type ability like Alice or Markus, you always want to keep an artifact on you,” Jonathan continued, his voice resonant as he paced slowly before the assembled trainees. “Once you become a full agent—even at the lowest level—you’ll typically carry a rank two artifact. The only exception is Markus, who is banned from using artifacts, though he’s a special case naturally. Most of the executives, like me, are allowed multiple rank 0 artifacts. For example, this is one of mine: 0-47, the Branch of the Tree of Life.”

Iris stared at the artifact, an inexplicable connection stirring within her as she traced its smooth, mysterious surface. Its design was intricate and otherworldly—a relic that seemed to hum with hidden power.

“This particular artifact was discovered in a small town called Applecrest. It was quite a lucky find. For reasons beyond my understanding, the Bookkeeper banned us from ever entering that town without explicit permission, after I found this,” Jonathan said with a warm, reflective smile.

“Applecrest?” Iris muttered, almost in disbelief.

“Oh, that’s right,” Jonathan replied, his smile deepening as he paused thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, that’s the very town you once called home. What a curious coincidence, don’t you think?”

Before Iris could respond, a thick vine shot out from the shadows, swiftly wrapping around her arm. It tightened, draining a small amount of her blood. A sharp yelp of pain escaped her lips as the vine’s grip caused a sting.

“Sorry about that, but Wallace insisted I do it since you weren’t cooperating,” Jonathan said, his tone oddly light as if the act were a minor inconvenience.

Enraged and hurt, Iris’s eyes blazed as she erupted in flames. The fire roared around her, not only breaking free from the vine’s hold but also dispersing Jonathan’s subtle binds on her and even affecting her classmates nearby.

In a burst of defiant energy, Iris quickly conjured an arrow, igniting it with searing heat before hurling it toward Jonathan. With practiced reflexes, he intercepted the projectile, deflecting it away with the swift swing of his transformed blade.

As the echoes of the near-miss faded, Jonathan’s expression turned introspective. “I wonder why the Bookkeeper is so obsessed with her,” he mused quietly. “He’s never shown genuine care for anyone—but when she arrived, he kept probing me with questions.” His thoughts drifted, laden with a mixture of curiosity, regret, and something unspoken that hinted at deeper, more intricate secrets yet to be revealed.

“Let's have some fun,” Jonathan declared with a playful smile.

In a flash, he sprang into action—a swift, fluid motion so casual it seemed rehearsed. He charged at Xavier, his feet barely touching the floor. With a wide, graceful arc, Jonathan swung his sword; the blade sang as it sliced through the air. At the same time, Iris nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring back with precise determination. The arrow cut a clean line through the gymnasium, only to be effortlessly deflected by a mere flick of Jonathan’s sword.

Without missing a beat, Xavier summoned a surge of icy power, freezing the ground beneath Jonathan’s feet and locking his legs in place. Then, in perfect synchrony, Charles’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he hurled a barrage of daggers. With uncanny control over his telekinetic gift, he guided the blades in unison, each one aimed squarely at Jonathan’s neck.

“How predictable. Don’t make your killing intentions so obvious,” Jonathan taunted coolly, and with a snap of his fingers, a ring of twisting vines burst forth around his neck, intercepting the deadly projectiles.

Taking advantage of the ensuing chaos, Theo raised his crossbow and fired a bolt, while his other hand held a sturdy shield in front of Celia. Jonathan, shuddering free of the icy restraint, sidestepped the bolt effortlessly, watching as it embedded harmlessly in the frozen ground.

Jacob’s dolls, previously arranged in strategic positions around the gym, sprang to life—tiny figures armed with explosive charges. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed in focus as he spotted them; in a swift, calculated motion, he summoned large, thorny vines that exploded outward, effortlessly shredding the animated toys into splinters.

Meanwhile, Iris nocked another arrow, her calm focus contrasting with the turbulent battle. At that moment, Xavier enveloped Jonathan in a swirling snowstorm, providing a frosty shield to mask Iris’s impending attack. Simultaneously, Theo manipulated his power to momentarily rob Jonathan of his hearing, turning his ears an eerie shade of black.

With a deep, determined breath, Iris pulled the bowstring back again and let the arrow fly. At first, Jonathan’s keen eyes caught the glint of the projectile in flight, but Charles, quick on his feet, used his ability to boost its speed at the last possible second. The arrow—now a blur of deadly precision—struck Jonathan directly in the stomach.

For a breathless moment, silence fell over the gymnasium. Then, with a slow, measured nod of approval, Jonathan’s eyes softened. “Well done,” he said, a hint of genuine pride coloring his tone. “I had a feeling this would be an interesting class, but to actually hit me… that is quite an impressive feat.”

“Within this facility, with the exclusion of Markus Valentine, of course, I am the strongest,” Jonathan declared, his tone mixing pride with mischief. “Even among the council, I’d wager I rank fifth in power—though a skirmish against Eliza and that freak Frank could tip the scales either way. But make no mistake, I’m formidable, especially when you factor in the multiple rank 0 artifacts I wield. Truly, you brats are quite fascinating—especially you, Iris.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Iris’s eyes widened slightly, uncertainty mingling with admiration. “Thank you?” she ventured hesitantly.

Jonathan’s smile widened as he stepped closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Since I doubt anyone would object, allow me to demonstrate something truly dangerous. The real beauty of rank 0 artifacts lies in the moment you awaken them.” He dripped a bead of blood onto his sword, and as if on cue, the blade began to glow with an ethereal light. Flowers blossomed along his arms, and a halo of sharp, twisting thorns erupted around his head. The ground beneath him transformed as vibrant flora—flowers, fruit trees, and lush grass—burst forth from the scorched earth.

“I can’t hold this power for long,” Jonathan laughed, a wild gleam in his eyes. “But just one strike for fun.” With a sweeping arc, he swung his sword away from the students, carving a large, jagged section out of the gymnasium wall. The destruction, paradoxically, seemed to breathe life into the surrounding area, as nature reclaimed the ruined patch with exuberant growth.

Before he could launch his next strike, a figure materialized and grasped Jonathan’s arm firmly.

“That’s enough for today,” the stranger said, his tone both firm and teasing. “I know you get bored sitting at your desk all day, but can’t you think of something better than annihilating everything in your path?”

The man, clad in a black suit and red tie, was a curious sight: both hands were hidden beneath pristine black gloves, and his skin was entirely obscured by bandages. Atop his head, a paper bag labeled ‘LUNCH’ with two small eyeholes peeked out, lending him an absurd, almost surreal appearance.

Jonathan’s eyes lit up with a mix of amusement and begrudging respect. “Oh, bag head—it’s you. I suppose I do have a tendency to go a bit wild sometimes.” With a theatrical flourish, he deactivated his transformation, the blossoming aura fading as he returned to his normal form.

The mysterious man, adjusting his bag with a slight frown, replied, “I’d appreciate it if you would at least address me by my codename.”

“Harvester? I’ll do so when you take that stupid bag off your head,” Jonathan teased. “You showed your face to Sabrina, so why won’t you do the same for the rest of us council members?”

The class exchanged confused glances at the strange individual as murmurs rippled through the room.

Harvester’s tone then shifted. “I heard there was a Michello sighting. Tell me about it.”

Jonathan’s eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and gravitas. “This might be your best chance to catch him. Apparently, he’ll be in the U.S. much longer than usual… Give me one minute,” he said, momentarily distracted as he recalled he was in the middle of teaching.

“Class dismissed. Have a good day, everyone,” Jonathan finally announced with a dismissive wave.

Turning to his colleagues, he added, “Follow me—I have to meet up with Wallace.”

Later, Jonathan burst into Wallace’s office, where he found Markus sound asleep on the floor, a random comic book resting on his head, while Wallace sat at his desk, engrossed in files.

“What did I do wrong this time to warrant a surprise visit—especially with bag head in tow?” Wallace asked, clearly puzzled.

Jonathan reached into his coat and produced a small vial filled with dark, viscous blood. “Here you go. Analyze this—it’s Iris’s. Get it done quickly… please,” he said, hurling the vial at Wallace, who caught it deftly.

“A please would be nice, asshole,” Wallace snapped, depositing the vial of blood into a sleek, humming machine.

Jonathan grinned mischievously. “Anyway, I bet you Michello will be on vacation for at least a year.”

Harvester’s voice, muffled slightly beneath his bag, cut through the banter. “What makes you think that?”

Jonathan rubbed his temple and feigned a headache. “You know, I’m suddenly suffering from memory loss—must be the stress. Maybe I’d be less stressed if my bank account were a little fuller.”

Harvester glared from beneath his paper bag. “If we ever do encounter the Devil of Greed, I doubt they could compare to the bottomless void you’ve made your bank account.”

Jonathan chuckled. “This facility has been forced to take many budget cuts. Surely you wouldn’t want our poor children to suffer. Just look at Wallace—he’s overworked from the lack of staff. Don’t you want to help him out? Look at those bags, for crying out loud.”

Harvester huffed. “Bastard, fine—I’ll play whatever game you want.”

With a theatrical flourish, Jonathan reached into his pocket and produced a detailed bill. “You and your soft spot for Wallace, here’s the bill.” He spread it out on the desk, the absurd line of items clearly listing exactly what each penny would be spent on.

Harvester’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the ridiculous charges. “How long have you been planning to rip me off?” he demanded.

“Since you were in your mother’s womb,” Jonathan quipped with a cheeky smile, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Now, take a seat—you’ll be paying for its replacement, after all.”

Harvester slumped into a chair, a heavy sigh escaping from beneath his paper bag. He looked down at the detailed bill Jonathan had just produced, its absurd line items clearly outlining every cent that would be deducted from his account.

Jonathan leaned back, his smile widening as he continued, “According to the spies I’ve personally placed within the cult, the afterlife is changing. In the next few months, things will get a lot more intense. With these changes come who Michello’s been tasked to search for—though not even he knows who it is yet. And the best part? They’re within the U.S. Now, best of all, Michello will be made to stay here to protect them.”

Harvester managed a wry smile, his tone laced with resignation. “Thank you—I appreciate it, even if it does cost me nearly all my money.”

Jonathan’s eyes twinkled as he leaned forward. “Would you like to leave a tip? Or perhaps make a donation to the Wallace Sleep Schedule Foundation? With your contribution, we can ensure Wallace gets at least six hours of sleep a night instead of his usual two and a half. And, of course, we’ll improve the quality of coffee here—since you know that’s his favorite addiction.”

Harvester raised an eyebrow. “How much will this donation be?” he asked, bracing himself for another of Jonathan’s outrageous proposals.

“Ah, a donation is however much you wish to give—but here’s what I’d recommend,” Jonathan said, pulling out a second, equally ludicrous bill. He let the numbers speak for themselves before adding,

“How convenient—it’s exactly the remaining balance in my bank account. How did you get access to my bank information?”

Jonathan’s smile turned sly. “The Bookkeeper owed me a favor.”

Harvester grumbled as he left, “Fine, fine. Just take my money.”

“Thank you so much, kind patron,” Jonathan laughed, his tone light and gleeful. “I do hope we can do business again.”

Wallace, who had been quietly observing the exchange, interjected skeptically, “Are you actually going to fulfill those promises?”

“Of course,” Jonathan replied confidently. “You know, we need more staff around here. And I won’t deny I’m a fan of expensive coffee, too. With our dear friends’ help, we’ve managed to recover the funds the boss diverted to his secret project.”

Switching the conversation, Jonathan asked, “So, how’s the blood sample test coming along?”

“It’s almost done. Give it a few moments,” Wallace answered, glancing at his computer.

Jonathan then strode over to where Markus was still asleep on the floor, a comic book comically perched on his head. With a swift, playful kick to Markus’s stomach, he said, “Wake up, you shouldn’t be sleeping on the job. I’m docking your pay for a week.”

Markus groaned, “How much longer are we stuck in this shitty facility? I hate relying on this man for a paycheck.”

Jonathan’s tone grew indignant. “I’ve requested that you two stay here permanently. This facility is the most important part of A.E.G.I.S., and it deserves us three to protect it. Even the Beta facility boasted powerhouses like Ivan, Frank, and Octavian. Here, all I had was that nut job, Anastasia.”

Markus grumbled, “Well, nobody wants to work for you. At least Frank is a pushover of a boss.”

Jonathan’s laugh turned bitter. “Frank is a literal punching bag, Octavian does all the work there. Frank is a council member in name only. Regardless, you two are stuck with me. I’d like to tie down bag head sometime—I have the ‘slave contract’… I mean, the normal employment contract ready; I just need to hook him up with more Michello intel.”

Markus stood up, his eyes flashing with exasperation. “You truly are a monster.”

“The blood test is finished, though I’d like to get another sample to confirm the results… Apparently, she isn’t entirely human,” Wallace said, his tone turning grave.

A perplexed frown creased Jonathan’s face as he processed Wallace’s words. “So that’s why the Bookkeeper was so insistent on her arrival. He clearly knows more than he’s willing to reveal. I’m getting sick of all these secrets…” Jonathan sighed, rubbing his temples in weary frustration.

“I agree,” Wallace replied, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Of all the council members, the Bookkeeper is by far the most suspicious. And don’t even get me started on the boss and that bag-faced bastard.” His voice carried a note of exasperation.

Jonathan’s tone shifted to urgency. “Wallace, have you seen anyone in the facility named Matteo Howel?”

Wallace looked genuinely puzzled. “Matteo Howel? I haven’t even heard of anyone by that name. Why bring it up?”

Reaching into his pocket, Jonathan withdrew a small, pristine white orb and infused it with his aura. In a moment, a file labeled Project: Dark Sun materialized in his hand, which he promptly handed over to Wallace. “Look over this document. If you find anything, let me know. I trust you—make sure nobody else learns about this.”

Wallace accepted the file, his eyes alight with renewed curiosity. “Alright, I’ll do my best. Once I’m fully finished analyzing her blood, I’ll send you the data. Whatever the Bookkeeper is hiding, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Jonathan nodded, determination burning in his eyes. “We will.” With that, he turned and left Wallace’s office, leaving his colleague to his thoughts and the enigmatic file.

Meanwhile, deep within the Alpha Facility, a hidden corridor stretched out in shadow—a long, narrow passage lined with cold, black steel that absorbed even the faint overhead light, casting eerie, dancing shadows along the floor. Each unmarked door along the corridor, secured by intricate locking mechanisms and guarded by stern, black-clad sentinels, concealed a world of secrets within seventy-two soundproofed rooms.

In the midst of this fortress of solitude and hidden mysteries, a man walked purposefully down the dark hallway. As he passed the guards, their expressions tensed in silent alert. His cyan hair, streaked with red, framed a pair of indifferent blue eyes. Dressed in a pristine white suit with a luxurious fur coat draped over his shoulders, he exuded effortless elegance and quiet menace. Remarkably, he floated slightly above the cold steel floor, his bare feet barely brushing the air with each measured step. A purple ring, inscribed with a glowing rune, adorned his left hand, while a tattoo of a clock without hands marred his right. This imposing figure was Alexander Jones, the leader of A.E.G.I.S.