The dust still hung heavy in the air of the ruined bedroom, swirling around the jagged hole where Robert Layton had crashed through the wall. Kayle Westeros stood unsteady on his feet, the faint hum of the mechanical arm strapped to his right forearm a strange comfort against the ache of the Bloodline Curse. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his legs trembled from the exertion of standing—something he hadn't done in months—but the fire in his chest burned brighter than the pain. He'd won. Against all odds, he'd sent that smug bastard running like a whipped dog. For the first time in years, Kayle felt alive.
Lilia's small hands tugged at his sleeve, her wide green eyes shimmering with a mix of awe and worry. "Brother, are you hurt? That thing on your arm—what is it?" Her voice trembled, but there was no mistaking the pride beneath her fear. At fifteen, she was a frail wisp of a girl, her auburn hair tangled from rushing upstairs, yet her presence anchored Kayle in the chaos.
Old Tom hobbled in behind her, his weathered face creased with concern. The steward leaned heavily on his cane, his gray eyes flicking from the wreckage to Kayle's glowing arm. "Young Master, I've seen a lot in my years, but this… this is something else. You drove him off, but the Laytons won't take kindly to that." His voice was gruff, steadying, like the creak of the manor's old bones.
Kayle forced a weak smile, his gaze dropping to the mechanical arm. The blue glow pulsed faintly, gears clicking as he flexed his fingers. "I don't know what it is, exactly," he admitted, his voice hoarse but firm. "But it's mine now. And it's going to change everything." The system's panel flickered in his vision again, a translucent screen only he could see: "Reward dispensed: 10 Initial Evolution Points. Mechanical Arm Blueprint unlocked. Host advised to allocate points for survival optimization." He blinked, willing it away for now. There'd be time to figure it out—after he caught his breath.
Before he could say more, a piercing shout cut through the silence outside. "Westeros trash! You think this is over?" Robert's voice, ragged with pain and fury, echoed from the courtyard below. Kayle staggered to the shattered window, Lilia and Tom crowding beside him. Through the cracked glass, he saw Robert limping toward a horse-drawn cart, his fine cloak torn and blood staining his tunic. Two more figures emerged from the shadows—Layton family servants, clad in rough leather and wielding short swords. They'd been waiting outside, it seemed, and Robert's glare promised retribution as he pointed up at Kayle. "You're dead, you hear me? My father's going to burn this heap to the ground!"
Kayle's grip tightened on the windowsill, splinters digging into his palm. The mechanical arm whirred, as if sensing his anger. "He's not done," he muttered, more to himself than to Lilia or Tom. "He'll be back—and not alone."
Old Tom's jaw clenched. "Young Master, the Laytons have been sniffing around our lands for months. That mineral vein under the estate—it's what they're after. Robert's just the runt of the litter. His father, Ironfist Layton, he's the real threat." The old man's tone darkened. "They'll send more than a spoiled brat next time."
Kayle's mind raced. The mineral vein—Old Tom had mentioned it before, a buried secret from their ancestors' days, rich with some kind of rare ore. He'd dismissed it as a fable, a desperate hope clung to by a dying house. But Robert's greed confirmed it: there was something down there, something worth fighting for. And now, with this "Evolution System" in his head, Kayle had a chance to fight back.
The system chimed again: "New task issued: Repel the Layton Retaliation. Reward: 15 Initial Evolution Points + Enhanced Trap Blueprint." Kayle's lips twitched into a grim smile. "Good," he said aloud, startling Lilia. "Let them come. I'll be ready."
"Brother?" Lilia's voice wavered, her hand still clutching his sleeve. "What are you talking about?"
Kayle turned to her, softening his expression. "Stay with Tom. Keep the servants calm. I'll handle this." He glanced at the mechanical arm, then at the courtyard where Robert's cart was rattling away, his curses fading into the wind. "They won't catch me off guard again."
Old Tom hesitated, then nodded. "I'll get the boy—Ryan. He's scrappy, good with his fists. He'll help you." The steward shuffled off, leaving Kayle alone with Lilia for a moment.
"Be careful," she whispered, her eyes glistening. "I don't want to lose you too."
Kayle ruffled her hair, a gesture he hadn't managed in months. "You won't," he promised. "Not anymore."
Minutes later, Ryan burst into the courtyard, his wiry frame bristling with energy. The orphan boy was barely sixteen, with a mop of dark hair and a feral grin that spoke of too many street fights. He'd been taken in by Old Tom a year ago, a stray who'd proven his loyalty hauling firewood and chasing off thieves. "Young Master!" Ryan called, skidding to a stop beside Kayle. "Tom said trouble's coming. I'm ready to crack some skulls!"
Kayle chuckled despite himself, the sound rough but genuine. "Good. Grab those rocks over there." He pointed to a pile of broken stones near the manor's crumbling wall. "We're setting a trap."
Ryan's grin widened as he obeyed, hefting the stones with practiced ease. Kayle scanned the courtyard, his mind—sharpened by years of strategy games in his past life—already piecing together a plan. The Laytons would send a small force first, he figured, a test of his strength after Robert's humiliation. He'd make them regret it.
The sound of hoofbeats rumbled in the distance, growing louder with every passing second. Kayle's pulse quickened, but the mechanical arm steadied him, its hum a quiet reassurance. "Ryan, pile those rocks by the gate," he ordered. "When I say, drop them."
Ryan nodded, stacking the stones into a precarious heap atop the gate's archway. Kayle positioned himself just inside the courtyard, the mechanical arm gleaming faintly in the dim afternoon light. He didn't have to wait long. Four Layton servants stormed through the gate on foot, their swords drawn and faces twisted with contempt. They wore the same rough leather as Robert's lackeys, but these men moved with purpose, their leader—a scarred brute with a missing ear—barking orders. "Find the cripple! Cut him down and torch the place!"
Kayle stepped into view, his frail form silhouetted against the manor's shadow. "Looking for me?" he called, his voice steady despite the tremor in his legs. The mechanical arm clicked, gears grinding as he raised it.
The scarred leader laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "So the worm's got a toy now? Doesn't matter. You're still dead." He charged, sword swinging in a brutal arc toward Kayle's neck.
"Now, Ryan!" Kayle shouted. The boy shoved the rock pile with all his might, sending a cascade of stones tumbling down. The leader yelped as a boulder smashed into his shoulder, staggering him mid-swing. Kayle seized the moment, lunging forward with the mechanical arm. His fist crashed into the man's chest, bones snapping under the impact. The brute flew backward, slamming into the gatepost with a sickening thud, blood trickling from his mouth as he slumped, unconscious.
The other three hesitated, their bravado faltering. Kayle didn't give them a chance to recover. He darted toward the nearest one, the mechanical arm swinging again. The servant raised his sword to block, but the metal fist shattered the blade like glass, driving into his gut. The man crumpled, gasping, as Kayle spun to face the next. "Who's next?" he snarled, his voice carrying a newfound edge.
One fled outright, sprinting back through the gate, while the last charged in desperation, sword aimed at Kayle's heart. Kayle sidestepped—awkwardly, his body still weak—and grabbed the man's wrist with his mechanical grip. He twisted hard, snapping the bone, then slammed his fist into the servant's jaw. Teeth scattered across the courtyard as the man collapsed, out cold.
Silence fell, broken only by the groan of the wounded. Ryan whooped, leaping down from the gate. "Young Master, that was insane! You smashed them like they were nothing!" His eyes shone with hero-worship, and Kayle couldn't help but smirk.
The system chimed: "Task completed: Repel the Layton Retaliation. Reward dispensed: 15 Initial Evolution Points + Enhanced Trap Blueprint." A rush of energy surged through Kayle, dulling the curse's ache. He flexed the mechanical arm, feeling its power meld with his own. "Not bad," he muttered, then turned to Ryan. "Drag these fools outside. Let them crawl back to Robert."
As Ryan hauled the bodies away, Kayle leaned against the manor wall, catching his breath. Lilia peeked out from the doorway, her face pale but beaming. "You did it, Brother!" she cried, rushing to hug him. Old Tom followed, his stern expression softening. "Young Master, you've got fight in you yet. But this is just the start. Robert'll run to his father now—Ironfist Layton won't let this slide."
Kayle nodded, his gaze hardening as he stared toward the horizon where Robert had fled. "Let him come," he said, voice low and resolute. "I've got something they'll never see coming." The mechanical arm clicked, as if in agreement, and the system's panel flickered: "Host strength increased. Prepare for escalation."
He'd survived the first fight. Now, it was time to win the war.