Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 368: Awakening Gift (2)

Chapter 368: Awakening Gift (2)

The silence that followed Erin’s departure was almost tangible—heavy, yet strangely hollow, like the echo left behind after a storm.

The last feather vanished into thin air, dissolving into motes of violet dust that shimmered once before fading completely. The faint traces of her mana still lingered in the room, humming through the mana-lines like an aftertaste of something sacred and dangerous.

Damien exhaled, slow and deliberate, and lowered his gaze to the artifact in his hand.

The obsidian charm pulsed once more—softly, rhythmically, as if acknowledging its new bearer.

It felt alive. Not sentient exactly, but aware, like a heart that knew it had been moved from one chest to another.

A faint notification blinked into existence at the edge of his vision.

———————

[Item Acquired: Obsidian Soulmark (Unique)]

Classification: A+ Rank

Origin: Erin Valeheart — [Black Seer]

Description:

A charm forged through the condensation of Spiritual Presence and shadow-infused mana. Contains a trace of its creator’s Mystery and traces of “****”.

Effects:

| Generates a metaphysical barrier that devours aggression and transmutes kinetic, magical, or spiritual damage into null output.

| Effective against all known forms of offensive energy or conceptual attack up to A-Rank Awakened class.

| Possesses limited autonomous activation in critical threat conditions.

| May suppress or bypass “Restrictions” temporarily within user’s domain (limited by creator’s imprint).

Usages Remaining: 3

Durability: Irrelevant (consumes activation charges instead of structure)

Note: Item classification unstable. Potential S-Rank due to anomaly in creator’s Spiritual Presence. Unable to evaluate due to insufficient access privileges.

———————–

Damien’s eyes lingered on the final line.

Traces of ‘**’… Lack of authority.

He frowned faintly. ‘Can’t name it?’

The screen pulsed in response, then flickered with a single response:

[Authority Level Insufficient.]

He leaned back in his chair, thumb brushing over the charm’s surface. It was warm now, the runes shifting slowly, aligning themselves into new configurations as if reacting to his mana.

Traces of something beside Erin Valeheart herself…

Damien turned the charm over in his hand again, watching the oily sheen of its runes slide across the surface like liquid shadow. Each pulse of light from within it felt almost aware—as if something inside was breathing, slow and deliberate, syncing with him.

‘Traces of “****.” Lack of authority,’ he thought. His jaw tightened. The words made his pulse tick up—not out of fear, but recognition. Whatever that “something” was… it wasn’t just Erin’s mana.

His thoughts flickered back to that instant—when she’d pressed her finger against his forehead and the world had turned inside out. That grotesque silhouette, the ivy made of pulsing veins and whispering faces, the darkness that had looked back at him.

He stared at the charm again.

“…It’s you, isn’t it?” he murmured under his breath.

The charm pulsed once—softly. Not affirmation, not denial. Just an acknowledgment.

Before he could press further, Vivienne’s voice broke the silence.

“Damien,” she called, her tone steadier now, though it still carried that faint tremor of maternal worry she tried so hard to mask. “Come. You’ve hardly touched your meal.”

He blinked, glancing up. The dishes that had gone cold during Erin’s visit had been quietly replaced by the attendants—fresh plates, steaming again, their scents filling the heavy silence that Erin’s departure had left behind.

Vivienne smiled at him, though her eyes were red at the corners. “You can brood later. For now, eat. You’re home.”

Damien slipped the charm into his inner pocket, the faint hum of its mana fading as it pressed against his chest. “Right.”

He returned to the table, sliding back into his chair. Dominic gave him a brief nod—a small gesture of respect that carried more weight than words. Across from them, Vivienne busied herself refilling his glass, chiding him softly as if they hadn’t just survived a confrontation with one of the most feared Seers alive.

The meal resumed—quiet at first, then slowly warming as the conversation shifted to safer ground.

Vivienne’s voice filled the room with that rare gentleness she only showed her family. She asked about his Awakening, not as an interrogation, but as a mother trying to understand the distance between the son who left and the one who had returned.

******

The vehicle hissed into being, not with the whir of mana-engines, but the low growl of combustion.

Its pitch-black frame gleamed faintly beneath the moonlight, like a beast forged from shadow. Its lines were simple—elegant, but without ostentation. No sigil-plates, no elemental routing systems. Just a pure, old-world machine.

Erin Valeheart appeared in the passenger seat without flourish.

One blink—absence.

The next—presence.

No teleport circle, no announcement of arrival. Just a veil parting in silence as her form stitched itself back into the world.

Her attendant, already seated behind the wheel, stiffened slightly but didn’t turn. The woman wore a sharp, ash-gray coat with minimal ornamentation, her black-gloved hands resting neatly on the steering wheel.

“Direction, Matriarch?” she asked smoothly.

Erin adjusted her collar, drawing her robes tighter, the faint pulse of her mana retreating into stillness once more.

“Northwest. House Ardreim.”

“The Matron’s seat?”

“Yes. It has been a while since we talked.”

“Understood.”

The engine hummed to life.

No spell propelled them forward—only the grip of rubber on stone as the car rolled out into the night. Tires crunched over gravel as they left the estate’s perimeter behind, the glow of the manor’s windows shrinking in the mirror.

Erin said nothing for several minutes. The silence was not awkward, nor contemplative. It was… active. She sat with her hands folded atop her lap, eyes watching the blur of trees and lanterns as they passed, but her mind was still in that chamber.

That moment.

When I touched him.

When she had pressed her finger to Damien’s forehead, she had expected nothing more than to anchor the artifact’s resonance into his perception—enough to give him a controlled taste of what would happen should he invoke the charm.

Instead—

My Mystery moved.

It wasn’t supposed to.

Mystery, as a branch of mana, did not obey in the traditional sense. It wasn’t wielded so much as witnessed, interpreted. It responded to intention, to veiled purpose, to riddles left half-solved. Even now, decades after her mastery, Erin knew better than to believe she commanded it.

But it moved, through him.

And more than that—

It connected.

She had felt it then. Subtle, but unmistakable. A thread of resonance pulled taut between his soul and her own—not as a reader to a target, but as one knower to another.

She didn’t show it in the moment. Wouldn’t give him—or the others—the satisfaction of surprise.

But she felt it.

And it had taken her years—years—to coax her Mystery affinity into submission. Even as a child of the Valeheart line, even under the best tutors, the concept had confounded her. It was not just a matter of power, but of perception.

The rules didn’t apply.

It requires an instinct most never develop. A mind that moves in spirals instead of lines.

And he—

She closed her eyes.

He showed it. In the first contact. Barely awakened.

Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap.

“Is it the Cradle?” she murmured aloud.

The attendant glanced briefly into the mirror. “Pardon, Matriarch?”

Erin waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing.”

The Cradle. The sacred proving ground. Few returned unchanged. Most came back with scars—both visible and invisible.

But what Damien described… and what she had just witnessed…

If he saw the future… and if he truly experienced it the way he claims… then the Mystery responded to him because of that.

She breathed in deeply, tasting the echoes of it still clinging faintly to her skin. There was no doubt anymore.

It wasn’t just that he had changed.

It was how he had changed.

It made sense now—his sudden focus, the weight in his voice, the perfect precision with which he quoted her own words back to her after more than a decade.

That didn’t come from resolve alone.

He lived something. Something real.

And Mystery—capricious, hidden, half-sentient Mystery—had acknowledged it.

This boy… no. This man… may truly have rewritten himself.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. For the first time in years, the iron-clad certainty of her vision trembled—not from doubt, but from recalibration.

She had misjudged him.

And if the resonance she felt was anything to go by, then Damien Elford Valeheart had only just begun.

“…Interesting,” she said aloud, almost to herself.

And then—finally—she smiled. Just a little.

Not fond.

Not maternal.

But sharp. Quietly thrilled.

This might become entertaining after all.

The car drove deeper into the woods, toward the distant summit of Ardreim—toward another battle waiting to begin. But behind her, in that empty hall, a single black feather remained caught on the edge of a candle’s flame.

And somewhere, far beyond the veil of now, the threads of future began to shift.

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