Reborn as a side character with a system

conquer.

Chapter 16

"That's it... The sun has already fallen and it's gone dark. I'm fetching the boy."

Ralph's voice was flat, but his hands betrayed him, clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white as bone. He took a step toward the forest, then another, his boots crunching against the gravel. The darkness beyond the tree line swallowed everything. No light. No sound. Just the endless black mouth of the woods.

"My... my... Were you really worried for a troublesome boy like me?"

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, dripping with sarcasm, wrapped in shadows.

Ralph froze. Hilda's eyes narrowed, her expression darkening like a storm cloud rolling across the sky. Isabella's eyes widened, her hand flying to her chest as a smile burst across her face, relief so sharp it almost hurt. She released a heavy breath she didn't know she'd been holding, her shoulders dropping, her whole body swaying with the weight of it.

"Young master..." Ralph whispered, stopping in his tracks.

Footsteps echoed from the darkness. Slow. Steady. Unhurried.

A purple aura flickered to life, lighting up the path like a trail of ghost fire. It danced across leaves and bark, painting everything in shades of violet and shadow. The light grew brighter, closer — then vanished completely, swallowed by the night.

For a moment, nothing.

Then two eyes opened in the darkness. Glowing. Purple. Inhuman.

Nolan stepped out of the forest, and the moonlight hit him like a spotlight on a stage. His clothes were in ruins, torn, burned, soaked in blood and caked with sand. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and grime. But his face... his face held a smirk that didn't belong to a boy who had just survived a war.

It belonged to a conqueror.

In his right hand, he dragged a large sack. Something heavy. Something wet. Blood dripped from the bottom, leaving a trail of dark spots on the dirt behind him.

Without a word, he tossed the sack toward Hilda. It landed with a heavy, wet thud, the smell of iron and death rolling off it in waves.

Nolan pushed his hair back, his purple eyes closing for a brief moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle, but it carried the weight of someone who had crossed a line and wasn't sure he could cross back.

"I believe this will be enough for the both of you."

He passed them by without looking back, his shoulder brushing Ralph's.

"I expect to hear from you tomorrow, Miss Roselite."

Isabella's hands trembled as she reached for the sack. She pulled the drawstring slowly, the leather creaking — and froze.

Heads. Goblin heads. Dozens of them, their yellow eyes still open, their fangs bared in permanent snarls. The smell hit her like a physical blow, and she gagged, turning her face away.

But Hilda didn't look away.

She stared down at the sack, her face unreadable as stone. Then her eyes found something at the bottom. A larger head, green skin wrinkled with age, adorned with gold earrings and a crown of bone.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened just for a second, just a flicker before her mask slammed back into place.

"That's the goblin chief..." she thought, her mind reeling. "Over Level 50... How?"

She turned to face Nolan, really looked at him, for the first time since they'd met.

His clothes were torn to shreds, hanging off his frame in bloody ribbons. Sand clung to every inch of him — in his hair, under his nails, ground into his skin. He walked with a loose, easy stride, swinging the dagger Isabella had given him like a toy, whistling a tuneless melody into the night.

Hilda watched him go, her heart beating an unfamiliar rhythm against her ribs.

"Could he have awakened...?" she wondered, the words tasting strange in her mouth. "How?"

---

Nolan walked alone, his body thrumming with energy he couldn't contain. Every step sent vibrations through his bones. Every breath tasted like victory and copper. He felt like he could run forever, fight forever, burn forever.

His system window glowed in front of him, bright and beautiful, the numbers dancing like fireflies.

[Status Window]

Name: Nolan Weldon

Age: 18

Class: Mage (4 Element User)

Level: 33 (Tier 2)

HP: 1800/1800

Mana: 1500/1500

Abilities: Fire Lv.10 | Earth Lv.15 | Wind Lv.12 | Water Lv.20

Skill: Dagger Mastery Lv.19

Strength: 36 | Speed: 41 | Agility: 41 | Intelligence: 36

Free Tokens: 17

[Additional Abilities: Purple Flames Lv.1 | Ice Lv.1 | Nature Lv.1 | Spatial Warp Lv.1]

Nolan stared at the new abilities, his grin widening until his cheeks ached.

"Who knew the goblins had this much loot that they found useless..." he thought, his mind drifting back to the fortress — the throne room, the hidden chamber, the ancient tomes and crystals the goblins had hoarded like trash. "I almost died back there. If it weren't for earth, water, wind, and this dagger, I would have been a goner..."

He touched the blade's hilt, feeling the familiar weight of it.

"But it was totally worth it..."

His smile faltered, just for a moment.

"...Except for the part where I'm considered their hero."

The memory flashed to the little girls captured by the goblins thanking him tearfully, the way they looked at him like he was something holy, something worthy of worship. It made his skin crawl. He wasn't a hero. He was a thief. A cheat. A boy from another world who read the ending before the story began.

His body felt light, dizzy, disconnected from reality. Little cartoon bubbles floated around his head in his mind's eye — the system's way of telling him he was exhausted, running on fumes, about to crash.

"Young master!!!"

Ralph's shout shattered his daze. Nolan blinked, turning and found Ralph kneeling in the dirt, head bowed low, one fist pressed against his chest in a gesture Nolan didn't recognize.

"Ralph, what are you doing...?"

"He's showing his respect," Isabella explained, her voice soft with wonder. "Knights who have finally acknowledged someone they serve tend to do this. It's a sign of respect. Of loyalty. Of... devotion."

Nolan stared at Ralph, this man who had doubted him, tested him, pushed him to his limits — now kneeling in the dirt like a subject before a king.

Something uncomfortable twisted in Nolan's chest. Something that felt almost like shame.

"I see..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "You may rise now. We need to get back home. My body is tired as it is... I need rest."

He paused, turning to Hilda. Even in the dark, he could feel her eyes on him, sharp and calculating.

"Oh, and Miss Hilda... Will I be returning here tomorrow?"

He asked it with a smirk, already knowing the answer, already tasting the disappointment.

"I'm afraid not."

Her voice was cold as ever, but there was something different underneath, a current of something that might have been respect, or might have been fear. She turned and walked away, her cloak billowing behind her like a banner.

"Tomorrow you practice how to control your mana efficiently."

Nolan watched her go, his smirk fading into something softer. Something almost fond.

"Damn..." he thought, his mind drifting to the Phoenix Hatchling he'd tracked earlier, to the golden feathers and burning wings. "How could I miss the opportunity to tame a Phoenix like that..."

But then he shrugged, the motion sending a jolt of pain through his battered ribs.

"But it's no matter. I've earned books that will be of great value to me. Plus, a Phoenix isn't important till 200 chapters to come..."

The thought made him chuckle a dry, humorless sound. He was living in a story. He knew the plot. And somehow, that knowledge felt heavier than any sword.

"Fine by me then."

He followed Hilda into the night, Ralph falling into step behind him with the sack of goblin heads slung over one shoulder. Isabella walked beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm, close enough that he could smell the lavender in her hair.

None of them spoke. None of them needed to.

---

At the capital, inside a mansion large enough to swallow a village, voices echoed through marble h atalls.

"I'm telling you, Father!!! The person who saved us wasn't in a hero's party! He walked alone! His face was covered with a clay mask, and he could manipulate three elements — wind, earth, and water!!!"

Julia's voice cracked with frustration, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She was sixteen, beautiful in the way of storm clouds and breaking glass. Sharp cheekbones, full lips pressed into a thin line, and eyes the color of stormy seas, now rimmed with red and filled with tears she refused to let fall. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back in wild waves, half-loose from the battle, half-still pinned with silver clasps.

She wore a nightgown of white silk, borrowed from one of the mansion's servants, but she carried herself like she was still in armor.

"I'm telling you, Julia, there is no one except the heroes who knew of your disappearance!" her father thundered, slamming his palm against the mahogany table. He was fifty-seven, broad-shouldered and imposing, with a beard the color of old wood and black eyes that had seen too many political battles. "So there is no way a random person could appear and save you all! Stop being stubborn and understand this!"

"Julie, dear..." Her mother's voice was softer, gentler, a balm against the shouting. She was fifty-four, with long blue hair that had once been the talk of the capital and eyes the color of summer skies, now clouded with worry. She placed a hand on Julia's shoulder, her fingers trembling. "Why not head to your room and rest? It has surely been a stressful week for you."

Tears blocked her throat, but she swallowed them down. She was a mother trying to hold her family together. A wife trying to keep the peace.

Julia looked at her mother — really looked at her and saw the exhaustion etched into every line of her face. The fear. The love.

Without a word, she turned and walked away, her bare feet silent against the cold marble. She climbed the grand staircase, each step feeling like a mile, each breath tasting like defeat.

But at the top, she paused.

"I know what I saw..." she whispered to the empty hallway, her voice steady and sure.

Her memory flashed, the clearing, the battle, the masked boy appearing from nowhere like a ghost of vengeance. His mask had been half-destroyed in the fight, cracked down the middle, revealing a sliver of his face. Young. Pale. Fierce.

Blue eyes that burned like stars.

Julia's hand found the railing, her grip tightening until her knuckles turned white.

"I will find you..." she vowed, the words falling like stones into the dark. "And prove there are stronger people than the heroes themselves."