Luke stared at Samael. He had interrupted the conversation about his demonic bloodline—because, to him, there was something far more important at stake.

"My mother joined a tutorial years ago... and never came back," Luke said, his voice firm. "The reason I ended up in this tutorial… is because I want to know how she died."

Samael went silent. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened—focused.

"It's possible to find out," he replied. "You want to know if she died because of a challenge—one crafted by a god, or simply at the hands of another human, don't you?"

Luke nodded. "Exactly."

"You really want that answer now?"

"I do."

Samael snapped his fingers. A mirror appeared in his hand. He extended it toward Luke.

"What do you see?"

Luke took the mirror. For a second, he didn't understand. Then he looked—and all he saw was his own reflection.

"It's just me."

Samael stepped closer, his eyes shimmering faintly. "This is who you are now. The real question is: if the version of you from a few months ago looked into this mirror... would he see the same person?"

Luke paused. His mind ran through everything he'd lived since this all began—the battles, the near-deaths, the revelations, the small moments of clarity in a storm of chaos. The boy who had agreed to System integration had been lost, fragile, desperate for answers. The person standing here now… was different. He knew the answer.

"No," he said quietly.

Another snap. The mirror vanished.

"You made it this far because you had a purpose. A fire. The search for the truth about your mother lit that flame. And that flame… has saved your life more than once."

Samael crossed his legs again, calm as ever. "If I gave you that answer now, I'd be stealing something from you. Cutting your path short. Robbing you of the fire that still needs to grow. But I don't decide for you."

He leaned forward, just slightly.

"I can find out now. And tell you. Or… you can carry that question with you. Let the future you deal with the answer—when you have the strength to face it. What do you choose?"

The words hit hard. Like a hammer breaking through ancient walls. This was the question. The one that had haunted him since he was five. Since the day she disappeared. Now it was here. The truth he had craved, offered to him freely.

Part of him screamed for it—as if he deserved to know. Needed to know. But another part… feared what it might bring. Maybe this wasn't the time. Maybe he still wasn't ready to carry that kind of weight. And in the end, hesitation was the answer.

He exhaled. Looked down. "Can I ask you some things about the bloodline?"

Samael smiled. Then nodded—like a man recognizing a good move in a quiet game of chess.

"Ah. Very well."

A golden coin dropped into Luke's hand, materializing out of the air. It was warm. As if it had just been forged. A subtle glow pulsed along its surface, though it reflected no light—it seemed to emit it. Soft. Alive. Luke held it carefully, sensing that the small object carried the symbolic weight of a crown.

"Azazel gave you the treasure of his legacy. A unique gift. You and he now share the same blood. But don't be mistaken—he didn't give you a path." Samael's voice lowered. "He gave you a direction."

Samael laced his fingers together, resting his chin atop them. "You get to choose whether to walk the path laid before you… or carve your own. A bloodline isn't a sentence. It's a tool. A key."

He paused. "And you haven't even started opening the right doors yet."

With a snap of his fingers, the golden coin vanished.

"Why did Azazel give me his bloodline?" Luke asked. "Not that I'm ungrateful—I mean, it did save my life... I just want to understand."

"Don't try to make sense of a Primordial God's decisions," Samael said, calmly. "Not even I can fully grasp their intent. In truth, I came here for a few reasons… one of them being to deliver warnings—and prohibitions."

Luke blinked. "Prohibitions?"

His heartbeat quickened. Until now, everything had felt like a path of discovery—layer upon layer of secrets unfolding. But prohibitions? That sounded like a threshold. A boundary. And something beyond it… dark.

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"Hmm. I might've skipped a few steps," Samael said with a slight smile. "Let's go back for a moment. Remember what I told you about the chosen ones from the World Government? The individuals who serve the gods?"

"I remember."

Samael picked up a roll from the tray and began spinning it between his fingers.

"The gods took that bread from the tutorial… and upgraded it. Turned it into a hot dog, or a burger, or spread peanut butter on it." He chuckled. "What I mean is—through divine orders, humans receive enhancements. They're offered evolution paths: a unique class mutation, a sacred skill, an item, a blessing, a profession, a philosophy, a direction, a title… countless rewards, tailored for mortals who dedicate themselves."

He bit into the bread, chewing thoughtfully.

"And the further they go… the more they gain. With enough effort, a mortal can even become a god."

Luke listened intently. Every word felt like a seam tearing open in the curtain that had long covered his understanding of the world around him. Things were finally falling into place.

"So you cultivate gods too," he murmured.

"Sometimes. Some apostles are exactly that—mortals who, by following a divine order, ascend and become gods themselves. They act as extensions—tentacles—of that deity within the universe. You see where I'm going? What a god actually earns from this... I can't tell you. But there are many rewards tied to creating a divine order and acquiring followers."

Samael crushed the remaining bread in his hand. Crumbs spilled like dust onto the floor.

"Bloodlines are the pinnacle of what a god can give. And even then… there are limits. It's like a god removing a piece of themselves and giving it to someone. So yes—it's extremely valuable. In our universe, where my master Azazel reigns... let's just say, there are people who wanted you dead the moment they found out."

"Dead?" Luke echoed, tension rising.

"Yes," Samael said. "They're fanatical worshippers of my master. They saw you as unworthy of receiving his blood. I was one of them. But… who am I to question the will of a Primordial God?"

Luke suddenly realized something he hadn't before: he hadn't just inherited power—he'd inherited attention. Divine, political, dangerous attention. Receiving Azazel's blood had made him a point of interest on a board far larger than he'd imagined.

"But don't worry," Samael added. "No one from our order will kill you. Still, I do need to give you some warnings. Or rather… precautions. You carry a very valuable bloodline. Relax—it's not something that can be stolen from you. However..."

"However?" Luke asked, cautious.

Samael's expression grew serious.

"You're mortal. So, be very careful if you ever plan to… have sexual relations with human women. There's a risk of getting someone pregnant. So, you know… use protection. Be responsible."

"…What?" Luke blinked, thrown completely off. "That's the warning?"

"Yes. A very serious one," Samael said without a hint of irony. "Use protection. Don't just go spreading your seed around. Be mindful of my master's legacy."

"Hahahahahaha!" Artemis burst out laughing inside the necklace.

"With Luke?" she scoffed. "Please. No woman's in danger of getting pregnant. This guy's dense as hell! Hey! Don't squeeze—!"

Luke clenched the necklace hard, trying to silence her.

Samael, on the other hand, remained stoic. To him, the topic was clearly not a joke.

"I'm not going around getting random women pregnant. Don't worry," Luke muttered.

"I see," Samael nodded solemnly. "I believe you."

"You believe me that easily?"

"I used a powerful ability to tell whether you were lying. And besides… you can't fool an experienced demon, kid. I'm practically a master at manipulating mortals."

Luke raised an eyebrow, part skeptical, part impressed. That would explain the way Samael had been looking at him the entire time—he hadn't just been listening. He'd been reading him. Peeling him apart.

"Makes sense," Luke admitted.

"I think that settles the most urgent matter. I can finally reassure some people back home."

"So, theoretically… is it possible to pass this bloodline to someone else?"

"Not directly," Samael replied. "Only if you become strong enough to transmit it. And even then, your child would only access that power after reaching a ridiculously high level on their own."

"Wait—so there's no risk of me being, like… kidnapped by some crazy woman wanting a demonic heir?"

"Oh! What, kidnapped by a gorgeous woman and forced to have sex? I think that falls into the 'teenage fantasy' category," Artemis snorted with sharp sarcasm.

Luke crushed the necklace again.

"No one's going to abduct you for that," Samael said dryly. "There are rules among the gods. So don't worry about enemies of my master. Most of them are already dead. The others have no interest in starting a conflict with him. As long as nothing you do directly harms him, they won't come after you."

He paused.

"But you, as an individual? You'll have your own problems. If a god decides to hurt you—not because of Azazel, but because of you—they won't hesitate."

Luke narrowed his eyes. "So, in short… it's like I never inherited the bloodline, right? As long as I don't cause trouble or piss anyone off, no one will even know I exist—and therefore, no reason to kill me. Correct?"

"Yes," Samael said. "Besides, very few even know about your bloodline. So there's no reason for you to go announcing it. The multiverse is vast, and you're just an insignificant ant crawling across it. You're not walking around with a glowing target on your back."

Luke nodded slowly. It made sense. And truth be told, he had zero interest in provoking a god. When he got out of this tutorial, he planned to live his life quietly—whatever that meant now.

"And, of course… remember the rule about children. If you do impregnate someone, let me know," Samael added.

"Don't worry. Luke would never—" Artemis began, but was instantly cut off as Luke crushed the necklace in his palm.

Samael stood from his chair. His expression shifted.

The motion was calm, almost ceremonial. Like he was closing a ritual, not just a conversation. The air around them seemed to hum, the space between them thickening, as if acknowledging the transition.

"We've reached the end of the question phase," Samael said. "Everything you could've asked… has already passed. There's no going back."

Luke rose to his feet. "So that's it? You're leaving?"

Samael smiled, extending a hand.

"Me? Leaving? Who said that?"

He turned toward one of the shelves. Several books lifted into the air, circling him slowly, pages rustling in a silent current.

"You forgot the mission, didn't you?"

The system interface opened on its own in front of Luke. A glowing notification pulsed to life:

[Special Mission Orb: Locate the Inventor Objective: Find Samael, the Inventor of Artemis Location: (???) Reward: Profession]

[Mission Complete]

"I'm here to grant you your profession," Samael said. He raised his arm, power flickering at his fingertips. "Luke… I came to teach you witchcraft."

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