After Irene calmed down, she said to Gerhart. "Gerhart, this is enough for today. Read the Home Magic Instruction Manual, and we will continue tomorrow."

"I am still bad at reading, so can you help me while Hope meditates?" Gerhart asked.

"Sure." Irene nodded.

Irene then taught Gerhart from the instruction manual while Hope continued meditating. Home magic was very simplistic, so most commoners with F-Grade magic and above could use it after several months or years of training in their spare time. Since it was helpful, anyone with sufficiently high magic would study it.

While studying, intentionally or not, Irene made subtle gestures, such as sliding back her hair, lightly touching Gerhart's arm, pointing at certain lines, and revealing her skin more while claiming it was hot.

"Is she seducing me?" Gerhart wondered. "If she wasn't born in this village, she could have got herself a stable husband, but now she is seducing a stranger just to get a child. I don't know what to think about this village."

He then looked at her and had a stray thought, his hand subconsciously clenching as his eyes flashed a silvery hue, "It would be easy to subdue her first. She is too vulnerable. I only need a blow to the back of her head. After I subdue her, I can dominate her as I please..."

Gerhart slowly lost control and was about to take action when-

Clack*

"Mommy! I'm home!" A cute 5-year-old girl entered the house, full of smiles.

"My little Bonnie!" Irene immediately got up and walked to her daughter, face full of smiles.

"I... I almost..." Gerhart was shaken awake, his eyes returning to their original brown, his hand unclenching. "I... I need to get out of here! NOW!" He thought in panic. With that decided, Gerhart stood up.

"Oh? Gerhart? Are you leaving?" Irene asked while patting her daughter.

"Yes. I think I will continue reading at home," Gerhart said, trying to hold himself back as much as possible before he did something he would regret.

"I am also done." At this time, Hope exited her meditative state and stood up. "Thank you for teaching us today."

"No problem. Take care." Irene smiled and waved goodbye.

"Bye, uncle!" The young girl waved.

Gerhart and Hope then left Irene's house and returned to their guesthouse. Once they arrived, Gerhart collapsed on a chair, holding his forehead full of cold sweat.

"Hope, I can't control myself. My thoughts are changing, overwritten by foreign desires. If I don't do something soon, I fear I will reach the no-return point." Gerhart said his worries.

"I don't know how to deal with it, but perhaps if you elevate me to an Envoy, I will have an answer," Hope suggested.

"How much energy and how long will it take?" Gerhart asked.

"Envoys cost 1,000 points each for elevation, and they get lesser powers of Conquest. The time is also shorter, an hour at most." Hope replied.

"Okay. Let's do it." Gerhart nodded.

After closing the windows, Hope lay on a bed, and Gerhart spent 1,000 points to elevate her to an Envoy.

Visually, nothing changed about her. There were no sounds, either. It was like she entered a coma.

Gerhart patiently waited, and after some time, Hope finally woke up.

When she opened her eyes and looked at Gerhart, Gerhart saw her pink eyes flashing a silvery light.

 

Thrall: Hope Farrington's Power has elevated to Envoy.

 

"Hope? Are you okay?" Gerhart worriedly asked.

"Yes, I am fine, Gerhart." Hope nodded.

"Did you see any vision or the sort?" Gerhart asked.

"No. Instead, I felt information crammed in my head. Also, I gained two powers. One, I gained an affinity for the concept of Conquest. However, it is inferior to Gerhart's. Second, I gained the ability to build Grade 1 Statues of Conquest, which can absorb energy and use it as you allow it, create Thralls, bless, and heal when controlled by an Envoy." Hope explained.

"That would be convenient... If I wanted to build a force." Gerhart pursed his lips.

"I know, right?" Hope scratched her cheek.

"So? Any ideas about how I am supposed to control this power?" Gerhart asked.

"There are two ways to use your powers. The first is instinctive, uncontrolled reactions to emotional impulses. I think you used it when we were doing magic meditation." Hope said.

"So that's what it was..." Gerhart recalled how the magic particles suddenly obeyed him like servants. "And the other method?"

"The other method is to Conquer yourself," Hope said, pointing at Gerhart.

"Conquering myself?" Gerhart raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. Conquer yourself before you Conquer the world. That is a core teaching of how to wield the power of Conquest."

"Conquer yourself... before you Conquer the world..." Gerhart muttered and then smiled. "I like that saying. Would it solve my desire for Conquest?"

"No." Hope shook her head.

"What? Why?!" Gerhart felt like his last chance got destroyed.

"Your power is not entirely yours at the moment. If I were to describe it, it is more like you are riding an untamed horse you can't dismount. You might be able to steer it for some time, but it will eventually lose its patience, taking you wherever it wants. However, conquering yourself is like taming the horse, allowing you to steer it as you please. But the paradox lies with the power of taming it. How would you tame Conquest when you are borrowing the power itself? The answer is that it is impossible unless you fuse with the horse, IE, Conquest. You can command it as you wish by fusing with it, but by doing so, you will willingly receive its will." Hope explained. "Of course, this is much better than not being in control."

"Is there no other way?" Gerhart warily asked.

"None. The original owner of the power you wield was no fool. He wouldn't leave a loophole for you to exploit. Perhaps only the gods can separate you at this point, but they seldom meddle in mortal affairs. Even then, they are likely to either kill or seal you rather than help you." Hope shook her head. "I am sorry Gerhart."

"... Shit..." Gerhart bit his lower lip, his hands clenching.

He knew he didn't have long before the power inside him would start controlling his actions. He almost assaulted Irene in her house.

After a few deep breaths, Gerhart asked, "If I do this... Will I still be me?" Gerhart asked.

"Of course, but you will experience a change of mentality into that of a conquerer. As for what kind of conqueror, that is up to you." Hope replied.

"... Okay. Let's do this. How do I conquer myself?" Gerhart asked, resolving himself.

"Go to the bed, close your eyes, and try going deeper into yourself. You will instinctively know the rest." Hope instructed.

Gerhart nodded and did as told, lying on the bed and closing his eyes. And then he tried going deeper into himself, although he didn't understand what it meant.

The next moment, under his closed eyelids, his brown eyes shined with a silver hue as he felt himself plunging into darkness.

.

.

.

"You can open your eyes." Gerhart heard a familiar yet unfamiliar voice.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a pitch-black space, with only one visible figure in front. He saw a rough-looking and scarred man in his late twenties, a head shorter than him, dressed in roughspun slave clothes.

Gerhart recognized the figure. It was Deadmeat.

"Hello... Me. Or should I say future me?" Deadmeat sheepishly smiled while scratching his unkempt beard.

"Why are you here? Am I supposed to conquer you to conquer myself?" Gerhart frowned and asked.

"No... I am merely your guide in your journey to conquer yourself. To conquer yourself, you must first reflect on your past. You know as well as I do that this won't be a pleasant ride." Deadmeat gave a bitter smile.

"Hah... I know. But we must do it." Gerhart sighed, readying himself to the hell that was his life as Deadmeat.

"Are you sure? You sealed those memories to cope with the mental trauma it caused. It might drastically change your disposition." Deadmeat warned.

"I know. I am ready." Gerhart grimaced, clenching his fists.

"Hah... Very well." Deadmeat sighed and snapped his fingers.

The next moment, the black background shifted to a podium on a bustling street. In front of Gerhart's eyes, many demi-humans of many races bid prices.

"30!"

"35!"

"45!"

"50!"

Gerhart looked down at his arms and saw childish arms, that of a young boy barely four or five years old.

"Ah... My first memory. I was dumb, and my memory was poor, so this traumatizing memory of being sold in an auction is my first memory." Gerhart thought.

He didn't even know who his parents were, likely slaves themselves. He was bred and sold like livestock.

"70!" Finally, a fat dog-type demi-human called.

"70 once! 70 twice! Sold for 70 Silver Coins!" The auctioneer called.

"That's right. I got sold for a few days of laborer work. That was the worth of my life." Gerhart thought.

The scene then shifted to Gerhart's second traumatizing memory. In front of a fireplace, a branding iron got heated before marking Deadmeat's childish back.

"GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"

"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

Gerhart felt the excruciating pain as his flesh was burnt and seared by the red iron, scarred for life for no reason other than sadistic enjoyment.

And then, as Deadmeat collapsed and drooled on the ground, spasming, his face got grabbed by a furry hand. The next moment, Deadmeat saw the face he hated for the rest of his life.

"Let's see... I'll call you Deadmeat. Hehehe..." The dog-eared fat man menacingly laughed, smoked a cigarette, and blew a cloud of smoke at his face.

The scene then shifted again. Gerhart found himself on a bed.

Creek* Creek* Creek* Creek*

"Hahahaha! Tighten up!" The detestable voice sounded from behind him.

"Uu... I don't want this! It hurts so much!" Deadmeat mentally cried.

Gerhart, who remembered this event, became infuriated, almost losing his mind. "THAT MOTHEREFUCKER!!! ARGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! I WANT TO KILL HIM AND BUTCHER HIS WHOLE FAMILY AND FEED THEM TO GOBLINS!!!!!!!"

It wasn't a one-time thing. It continued until Deadmeat was 11, or in his owner's words, too old.

And unfortunately, his tormentor never got his just desserts. When he was 11, he got sold again. This time, they made him go to the mines, where he spent seven years, miraculously surviving.

By luck, the mine ran out of ore, and there were too many mining slaves, so he got sold as a luggage carrier due to his Pack Mule talent.

For another ten years, Deadmeat changed hands, gaining experience as a veteran luggage carrier, surviving by tooth and nail countless times. This reputation of surviving all the time allowed him to join the subjugation party against the Great Labyrinth of Terror.

"Perhaps it would have been a blessing if I died. I don't know why I clung to life so desperately." Gerhart thought.

The scene paused as the adult Deadmeat appeared.

"Do you not know? Or are you deliberately forgetting?" Deadmeat questioned. "Have you forgotten it? Your ambition? Your wish?"

"... Shut up..." Gerhart frowned, gritting his teeth.

"He... Hehehe. Hihihi. Hahahaha!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Deadmeat burst into maniacal laughter as the scene shifted.

Gerhart then found himself in a grand hall. In front of him stood his four masters, facing their greatest challenge, a black-clad armored knight with burning white eyes.

"Deadmeat! Go into cover!" His Transcendent Elf master yelled.

"Yes, Mistress!" Deadmeat replied and went to hide behind one of the pillars. But nobody noticed the sinister smile on his lips.

The battle then raged on, Deadmeat feeling the tremors and aftershocks. And soon, everything turned quiet. Deadmeat remained unharmed, unscathed.

"Deadmeat! Come out! We need potions!" His Transcendent Elf Mistress yelled again.

"Coming!" Deadmeat masked his sinister look and made an urgent look like a try-hard bootlicker.

When he stepped out, he saw that his High Oni Saintess and Mountain King Dwarf masters were unconscious, with his Dragon Man master missing an arm and a leg and his Transcendent Elf Mistress panting and out of mana.

As for the final boss, it was dead, shattered into pieces. On the throne, he saw a white crystal floating in the air, tiny lines inscribed inside.

"We finally won. Hurry up and give me a mana potion!" The Transcendent Elf Mistress said, wiping her sweat.

"Yes, Mistress." Deadmeat took out a blue potion and gave it to her.

"Thank you, Deadmeat. When we get out of here, I will have you emancipated. You earned it." She smiled.

Deadmeat had a slightly complicated look in his eyes before smiling. "Thank you, Mistress. It was an honor to serve you."

Not understanding the implications of his words, his Mistress drank the potion without worry while Deadmeat went to treat his Dragon Man master.

"Sorry, Deadmeat, for how we treated you all this time. Without you, we would have probably died in the dungeon several times." The Dragon Man said and drank a healing potion Deadmeat gave while Deadmeat bandaged the now-scabbed wounds with bandages.

"It is alright, Master. You are my best masters by far." Deadmeat earnestly said.

He wasn't lying. The heroic party was indeed his best and most caring. Compared to his other masters, that is.

Deadmeat then ran to his other two unconscious masters and gave them potions one after another.

Just as he finished feeding his Great Oni Mistress—

Pfft*

The Transcendent Elf Archmage suddenly spat black blood, her beautiful face filled with black veins.

"W-Wha... Ah..." She uttered in shock. "Deadmeat! Bring me an antidote! Quickly— Ah..."

But then she saw Deadmeat's twisted smile as he finished feeding the Saintess a Mana Potion.

"Y-You bastard!" The elf Archmage became infuriated and pointed her finger at him. "DOOM LIGHTNING— PFft!"

Her spellcasting not only failed, but it also worsened her condition.

"DEADMEAT! YOU BA— COUgh* Cough*" The Dragon Man Grand Knight coughed blood, his veins bulging and popping.

"One of the first rules is to never entrust your potions in the hands of someone you don't trust." Deadmeat gloated, watching the scene in glee. "I spiked your potions with the most horrible poisons I could get my hands on. Luckily, you guys made a mana-purge hell-snake and a blood-eroding doom-bat drop their venom sacks. You were so tired that you didn't even notice the difference!"

Pfft*

The dwarf and Oni masters coughed black blood, evidently inflicted with the exact ailments.

"How... Did you do it? You are under contract..." The elf Mistress weakly asked.

"Ah? That thing? I could completely resist it at lvl 83." Deadmeat confessed.

"Level 83?! When?!" The Dragon Man widened his bloodshot reptilian eyes.

"Long story short, I had many close shavings with death and always trained myself in secret, and then used Magic Stones I secretly stole to level up, not that any of my masters noticed since they made me settle the money, including you," Deadmeat apathetically said.

"But why?! Why betray us!" The Dragon Man roared, his body growing more and more numb.

"Betray you? Me?" Deadmeat tilted his head, his smile growing wider. "I was never on your side in the first place. I am just a slave. It is rebellion, not betrayal. I never thought of you as friends but as oppressors. You are no better than all my other shitty masters, you bunch of bloody hypocrites."

"He... Hehe. So that's how it was..." The Dragon Man mournfully laughed before collapsing, dead.

By this time, the elf archmage and the other two also died. The only winner was Deadmeat.

"Hehe... Hihihi. Hahahaha. AHAHAHAHA!!!" Deadmeat let out a maniacal laughter and then looked at the crystal.

"According to my now-dead masters, this crystal is a relic of untold power... I want it..." Deadmeat, unhinged, walked over to it with unbridled ambitions.

"Oh, relic. Give me power. Give me the power to change my destiny, fulfill my ambitions and overthrow the rotten order of this shitty world!" Deadmeat said with a crazed voice, about to grab it.

Stab*

"Hah?" Deadmeat uttered as he looked down at his chest, pierced with a sword. It got him right in the heart.

"Fuck you... Plop*" The Dragon Man, who threw the sword, uttered his last words and collapsed, exceptionally dead this time.

"Shit... Cough*" Deadmeat spat red blood on the pure-white crystal.

Funnily enough, the blood he spat got absorbed, and it responded by flying into Deadmeat's chest.

And then, Deadmeat died.

Yes. What killed Deadmeat wasn't the Final Boss but a retaliation blow from one of his masters after backstabbing them.

The scene then faded, returning into the pitch-black space.

Gerhart then found himself with the maniacally grinning Deadmeat. "Well? What do you think? Little Gerhart? How does it feel to witness your REAL memories? Hm?"

"... It sucks," Gerhart said, a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I know, right?!" Deadmeat had a twisted look. "It sucked so badly that you refused to accept them! That's why your mind tricked itself into changing them into something barely acceptable! But now, you know. You are an ambitious evil-doer wanting power over all, created by the filth of this world! Maybe we should be called Rottenmeat instead, hah?"

"Perhaps you, but not us." Suddenly, another figure showed up.

This one was a figure Gerhart was more familiar with. It resembled Deadmeat but looked much younger and less scared by life.

"Ah... The loser is here." Deadmeat scowled.