The Esperand Rite

Esperand Mansion, great hall.

About twenty of the Esperand children had gathered in one place. Outside the stained glass windows with their vibrant hues, thunder and lightning still crashed down relentlessly. The children, who had been staring out the windows with bored expressions, soon began to murmur among themselves.

"The instructor's late today."

"When's this gonna start?"

"If he doesn't show, that's fine by us..."

At that moment—thwack—a red-eyed man raised his hand. It was Camille Esperand, the eldest son of the Esperand family, twenty-five years old this year. He said nothing, but the murmurs died down at his gesture.

Today was an important day. All the training they'd done so far had been mere theory and basics. The true Esperand curriculum was only just beginning. And today was the day they would receive the Esperand Assassin's Manual.

Every bit of training up to now had been rehearsal for this moment. Only after passing through today's ritual would they truly become members of the Esperand family. This was the day they would finally rise as Esperand assassins.

Camille's eyes curved into a smile. The ritual was today. For one day only, the Esperand armory would open. The weapons stored there were treasures collected by the Esperand family—weapons that wouldn't pale in comparison to the finest gear from the Hunter Association, judged purely on quality.

The Esperand children gathered here would each select their weapon from among them—the one they would wield together from here on out. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Miss it, and they'd have to procure their own gear at personal expense.

Of course.

"He wouldn't skip out today, would he?"

Camille's gaze swept across the great hall. His brow soon furrowed.

'As expected, he's not here.'

One seat was empty. The name of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the missing Esperand bloodline member was...

'...Shion Esperand.'

The guy who'd vanished right after losing to me. Shion Esperand hadn't shown his face for nearly a fortnight. It was odd. No matter how dull and pointless the training had been, that arrogant prick had never once skipped. And yet, just because he'd lost a duel, he'd holed up in his room like a loser.

It nagged at him, but Camille quickly dismissed the thought. Shion would handle it fine. The guy had always pulled through, no matter what.

"He's not coming today either?"

"He'll figure it out on his own. Ignore him."

Camille wasn't the only one who felt that way. Shion Esperand's name spread through the now-quiet hall. Camille didn't bother stopping it.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from beyond the door. The murmurs ceased in an instant. All eyes turned to the grand entrance.

Creeeak—the double doors swung open. The man who appeared through the lighting wasn't the instructor. Some sighed in relief; others swallowed hard.

Black hair, green eyes. A tall, handsome noble whose face wouldn't lose to anyone.

...Shion Esperand.

He stepped into the great hall. Though all eyes were on him, Shion showed no sign of shrinking back.

Thud. Thud.

If anything, he strode forward even more boldly.

"...That bastard."

"Finally decided to show up, huh."

Some of the children looked like they had plenty to say, but none approached him first. They kept their distance with a few awkward coughs, like rivals who mutually disliked each other. Only Camille Esperand exchanged a glance with Shion.

In the heavy silence, no one spoke. The quiet held until the instructor arrived.

"Everyone's here. You all know what ritual we're performing today."

The series of rituals to transform them into true assassins resembled a baptism in the Holy Church. The Esperands called it the coming-of-age ceremony. The children's ages varied, so it wasn't literal adulthood—but in Esperand terms, becoming an adult meant being a full-fledged assassin capable of pulling your weight.

After this ceremony, they'd begin training to become proper assassins. Rain poured outside amid thunder and lightning, filling the hall with an eerie atmosphere. All the more fitting for the Esperands.

"Focus, all of you."

Before receiving the assassin's manual, each child was handed a small wooden box. Several instructors in suits took the stage, watching like overseers.

"What you hold is an elixir crafted by the Esperand family's alchemists. You must chew and swallow it here and now."

Some children gulped and opened their boxes. I did the same. Inside was a pill-sized elixir, about the size of a 500-won coin. A subtle, mysterious scent filled the hall.

As if by prior agreement, everyone took hold of their elixirs. But no one rushed to put it in their mouth. The instructors stood solemnly on stage, and the heavy mood hung over us.

Pathetic, the instructor seemed to think, adding, "This isn't like the poisons you've taken before. The elixir will refine your mana, purifying it. Every Esperand must consume it."

Only then did they slowly bring the elixirs to their lips. Camille Esperand was the first to swallow his.

"...!"

The family heir and likely successor. Was that why he'd led by example?

"What are you staring at? Eat it."

Led by Camille, who chewed and swallowed his demonstratively, the children began popping theirs in. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

'Elixir, my ass.'

Technically, it was an elixir. It would help refine mana—that much was true. But the moment you swallowed it, there was no turning back.

This elixir carried a curse. Straight from the setting documents.

The Esperands ruled the family with it. The instant I ingested it, I'd be bound to obey the family's commands. Defy them, and your mana circuits would shatter, killing you. Elixir? More like Gu Poison.

But there was no escaping without taking it. The instructors watched every move, and it was a mandatory rite for any Esperand. The instructors on stage, the elders above them—they'd all taken it. Even the current head, Duke Esperand.

Refuse, and they'd force it down your throat or kick you out. But every curse ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cure.

'No choice but to take it for now.'

I put the elixir in my mouth and chewed before the bitterness hit. A bitter energy spread down my throat, sharp and clear. Nothing felt drastically different—disappointing, but expected. My body wasn't attuned to mana anyway. I'd realized soon after possessing it that magic and I didn't mix.

The elixir's effects would kick in soon enough. Along with the Esperand curse taking root. Problem.

The instructor confirmed we'd all swallowed, then signaled the assistants, who stepped forward.

"Good. On to the next."

A long table was covered by a cloth, something bulky piled beneath.

"You are now true Esperands. Hellish training awaits. Some of you will despair; others will revel in achievement."

But first—he coughed twice.

"You'll need weapons befitting that."

At his signal, the cloth was pulled away. A trove of treasures and artifacts collected by the Esperands gleamed: swords, spears, bows, crossbows, whips, knuckles. Countless weapons, their radiance incomparable to the wooden practice swords we'd used.

"Those are..."

"All real artifacts."

The children's stern faces lit up, eyes locked on the table. Even Camille, who'd been watching seriously, was hooked. He stared at one sword—a cross-shaped blade. His signature weapon in the original story, unnamed but strikingly beautiful even to a sword noob like me.

Gulp—Camille swallowed hard.

"Gate simulations, beast combats—grueling trials await. The weapons you choose now will be comrades at your back inside gates. Choose wisely. All decisions are yours; I won't interfere."

The treasures sparkled like jewels, but no one rushed forward recklessly. They stood like soldiers awaiting orders.

"Proceed in order."

Only then did they approach. Some tense, some bold. A powder keg, but they eyed each other and picked without conflict. Most chose swords. Some bows or wands. Shields, gauntlets. One took a short dagger oozing dark mana.

"If you're not picking, move aside."

A girl wrapping a whip around her arm brushed past me with a glance. Everyone had chosen.

Except me.

"Shion Esperand."

...I hadn't picked yet.

"If you're having trouble, I can recommend one."

The kids with their weapons and the instructor on stage looked at me. Choice paralysis was real—I'd looked carefully, but nothing called to me. These flashy treasures? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I was a modern Earthling who'd never touched a sword or spear. All alien to me.

This weapon would be my partner through training—maybe beyond. The others had chosen based on talents they'd discovered early, unleashing their potential.

But I didn't know mine. The original Shion Esperand hadn't existed in the story. I had no clue what he'd done before I possessed him.

"Shion Esperand, what weapon do you want? Choose carefully."

He called my name twice, then went silent, arms crossed. But I could feel the invisible countdown starting.

I scanned the table again. First, the swords most had picked.

'Not this.'

My sword experience? Kitchen knives and army bayonets. Shion's hands had no calluses. A swordsman would've bulked up; he hadn't. Pass.

Bows and wands next. With Shion's pathetic strength? No bow. Wand? No magic books in his room, and his mana pool was trash. If he'd been into it, there'd be clues.

'Nope.'

No magic gear. Pass.

Plenty of options: spears, knuckles, ranged weapons. But I couldn't grab just anything—I'd never handled them outside games.

"..."

But one. I knew this one.

I reached out and picked it up. Among the masses, a small black-framed item stood out. The grip felt familiar.

Maybe this was the angel's promised perk.

"That's your choice, Shion Esperand?"

"Yes."

"No take-backs once chosen. Sure?"

"No regrets."

Murmurs rippled around us.

"Why pick that? A bow would've been better. Won't even pierce a low barrier."

"Locked in his room too long, lost it."

"Didn't he use daggers? Why switch?"

Stares bored into my back. No wonder—my pick was worlds apart from their cold weapons.

A handgun. Grip perfect for one hand. A pistol like Earth's Glock.

Why a gun amid swords and spears? It was an artifact too.

...What a genre-soup mess. Figures it'd have one.

To explain this mishmash, you need the original game's history. The world I possessed—Grimoire Tales—was originally a modern fantasy RPG with collection elements. Until updates.

Should've seen it coming with the season pass. Like any trash game, updates piled on story and content, bloating it into a genre Frankenstein.

'Goddamn trash game.'

I remembered a gun-only run for the concept. Guns were trash here—outgunned by bows/wands, clunky reloads, ammo issues. Players ignored them. But as a supporter for the main cast, they were perfect.

Click—the slide racked automatically. Magical artifact vibes pulsed from the pistol. I holstered it with its set.

...A ear-splitting ring tore through my head right then.