Evenson tossed the two reference books back into his storage space.
"All right," he muttered. "Let’s see the real rewards."
The next instant, his eyes nearly burst out of their sockets.
"...No way."
There they were.
Three Artifact Weapons.
His Artifact Weapons.
The signature relics of every Warlock specialization.
Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester.
A massive soul-drinking scythe.
The Scepter of Sargeras.
A staff capable of tearing open the Twisting Nether.
The Skull of the Man’ari.
A grinning demonic skull accompanied by its spine-forged ritual dagger.
In World of Warcraft, Artifact Weapons were practically common property. Millions of players wielded them.
Reality was another matter entirely.
Compared to ordinary magical equipment, these things weren’t merely stronger.
They were in a different category altogether.
The difference between an epic weapon and an Artifact was the difference between a pistol and a ballistic missile.
Or worse, depending on who was holding it.
Evenson had only one response.
"...I’m screwed."
Artifact Weapons were treasures beyond imagination.
For most people, finding one would be the opportunity of a lifetime.
Warlocks, however, knew better.
No class pursued power with greater obsession.
History had proven that repeatedly, usually ending with someone attempting world domination.
Every Warlock dreamed of wielding the Three Artifacts.
Almost none were foolish enough to grab one bare-handed.
The lucky victims merely had their minds corrupted.
The unlucky ones lost their souls before they understood what had happened.
Only legendary Warlock masters with ironclad wills could truly command these relics.
Everyone else became their servants.
Or their meals.
Evenson looked at the three weapons resting peacefully inside his inventory.
Peacefully.
That was the terrifying part.
Forget wielding them.
He didn’t even dare take them out.
If he released Ulthalesh, every living thing within at least a kilometer would likely have its soul harvested on the spot.
Humans.
Animals.
Probably bacteria.
The Scepter of Sargeras would rip open a breach into the Twisting Nether, unleashing Shadow and Fel fire powerful enough to erase an entire city block.
The Skull of the Man’ari would begin corrupting every intelligent mind nearby before opening portals for demons.
If he somehow managed to summon all three...
He wasn’t entirely sure the planet would survive the experiment.
Touching them now would be safer only by comparison to hugging an active nuclear reactor.
"Nope."
He firmly shifted his attention elsewhere.
There was one final item inside the storage space.
A black-bound book.
Its cover was inscribed with sinister runes that seemed almost... soft beneath his fingertips.
He immediately recoiled.
"I really hope this isn’t made of human skin."
The symbols weren’t written in any language he recognized.
Yet somehow he understood them instinctively.
The meaning reached him directly through his soul.
The Complete Warlock Spellbook.
Evenson blinked.
"...That’s... surprisingly straightforward."
He’d expected something with an ominous title.
Book of Eternal Damnation.
The Black Grimoire.
Secrets of the Abyss.
Instead...
The Complete Warlock Spellbook.
It sounded less like forbidden magic and more like something you’d buy at a college bookstore.
He began experimenting.
"Open."
Nothing.
He tapped the cover twice.
Nothing.
"...Blood?"
He sighed, pricked his finger, and let a drop fall onto the cover.
Still nothing.
"Oh, come on. Don’t tell me this one’s useless too."
A voice echoed directly inside his head.
"What exactly is this idiot doing?"
Another answered.
"He’s trying everything except reading the book."
Evenson’s entire body froze.
He slowly looked back into the storage space.
The Skull of the Man’ari was staring straight at him.
Though it lacked flesh, he could have sworn the skull was smirking.
Nearby, crimson light pulsed faintly along the blade of Ulthalesh.
"We could always teach you ourselves," the skull continued smoothly. "All you need to do is..."
The storage space slammed shut.
Silence.
Evenson remained frozen for several long seconds before exhaling.
Cold sweat drenched his back.
"I knew it..."
He took another shaky breath.
"I knew Warlock Artifacts couldn’t possibly be that simple."
He’d nearly accepted.
The realization alone made his stomach churn.
Warlock Artifact Weapons weren’t just enchanted objects.
Some were alive.
The Skull of the Man’ari housed the soul of Sataiel, the first eredar to study demonic magic and the former mentor of Archimonde himself.
Ulthalesh imprisoned the soul of the dreadlord who had dared challenge the fallen titan Sargeras.
Only the Scepter of Sargeras lacked a living consciousness.
The other two had ruined countless owners over millennia.
A normal fourteen-year-old stood absolutely no chance against them.
Looking back, Evenson realized how easily he’d been tempted.
The offer had sounded perfectly reasonable.
That was the frightening part.
He made himself a solemn promise.
Until he became a true master of the Warlock arts...
He would never willingly hold another conversation with those two ancient manipulators.
Ever.
The artifacts had, however, reminded him of one painfully obvious fact.
"Right..."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Books are meant to be opened."
Maybe years of reading isekai novels had done permanent damage to his common sense.
He opened the Spellbook.
Read the table of contents.
Then immediately threw it across the room.
"What kind of nightmare is this?!"
Instead of mystical enlightenment...
The first pages resembled an advanced university curriculum.
Theory.
Exercises.
Diagrams.
Spell construction.
Mana mathematics.
Practice drills.
It looked less like learning magic and more like preparing for graduate-level engineering.
He picked it back up with a sigh.
Complaining wouldn’t change anything.
The good news was that everything inside could genuinely be learned.
Study diligently.
Complete the exercises.
Master the fundamentals.
Eventually he’d be capable of casting real Warlock magic, bargaining with demons across the Twisting Nether for knowledge and power, and perhaps even binding a few to serve as his minions.
The path existed.
It was simply paved with homework.
He stared at the endless pages.
"If I’d worked this hard in my last life..."
Maybe he’d have earned a prestigious degree.
Maybe he’d have climbed the corporate ladder instead of arguing with strangers over Legendary drop rates.
Knowledge really was power.
In this case...
Literal power.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"So what if I slacked off in my first life?"
He closed the book carefully.
"I’ve got another chance."
This wasn’t about getting into a good university.
This was magic.
Real magic.
After indulging in several wildly optimistic fantasies about his future, Evenson finally noticed the pale morning light spilling through the window.
Breakfast time.
He took a deep breath, straightened his clothes, and stepped confidently through the orphanage door, ready to embrace his new world.
The world immediately rewarded that confidence by blindsiding him with something so unexpected that he stopped dead in his tracks, utterly dumbfounded.
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