In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

[Ability activation conditions not met.]

As his irritation grew, Michael's gaze shifted toward the temporary coffin containing Lincoln's body. He had avoided looking at it, unwilling to confront the mangled remains of the brother who had once shoved him off a castle wall. But now, there was no other option.

With a deep breath, Michael opened the coffin. Lincoln's body lay in a grotesque state, his neck torn clean from his torso. The sight stirred conflicting emotions within Michael. Though Lincoln had wronged him, he couldn't suppress a pang of pity.

Steeling himself, Michael reached for Lincoln's severed head.

[Mana fully absorbed. Activation conditions met. Would you like to resurrect this individual? Yes/No.]

The prompt made Michael freeze. What's the difference this time? He dismissed his curiosity, unwilling to risk reviving Lincoln.

[10 seconds elapsed. Resurrection option expired. Would you like to extract a random ability? Yes/No.]

"Yes!" Michael mentally shouted, closing his eyes.

The familiar vision of a starry sky appeared, and a single bright star descended into him.

[Extracting the ability 'Noble Demeanor' from Lincoln von Crassus. Would you like to explore the origin of this ability?]

Michael nodded, and Lincoln's compressed life story played out in his mind.

[Lincoln von Crassus took immense pride in his noble heritage. He considered refinement in dance, rhetoric, and appreciation for fine arts essential traits of nobility. Believing bloodline trumped talent, he whipped two servants to death for perceived disrespect and pushed his gifted younger brother off a castle wall. While fleeing the barony, he was caught and executed by Alfred von Vittelbach, his grandfather.]

Michael's breath caught. Executed? By Grandfather? Something didn't add up.

"Grandfather…?" Michael murmured, confusion and unease blooming in his chest.

Michael felt cold sweat trickle down his back. Executed? Lincoln was executed by Grandfather?

His grandfather's words echoed in his mind: "I am the agent of vengeance and the executor of death."

Alfred knew. He knew that his grandson Michael was dead and that his body was now occupied by someone else. The execution of Lincoln wasn't a coincidence—it was justice for Michael's death. But when had Alfred realized the truth?

The weight of the revelation pressed heavily on Michael. Was he next? Would Alfred include him in his list of targets for revenge? Without knowing Alfred's exact standards for judgment, the uncertainty gnawed at him.

Michael had only one course of action. He would confess and throw himself at his grandfather's mercy. Running away wasn't an option—where could he go in a world he barely understood? And besides, wasn't he a victim too? The body was still technically Alfred's grandson's, so perhaps Alfred wouldn't kill him outright. Michael could only hope.

"Michael, is something wrong? You look pale. Are you feeling ill?" Clara's concerned voice pulled him back to the present.

Michael forced a smile, trying to mask his unease. Survival required strategy. "No, Aunt Clara. I'm just worried about what to say when Grandfather gets back. Do you think he has anything he particularly likes? Maybe I could use that to break the ice."

"Are you nervous about becoming the heir?" Clara asked gently. "He'll understand. It's not like you had a choice. Don't overthink it."

After a moment's thought, she added, "If you want to ease the conversation, he does love his pipe. Maybe you could prepare some tobacco for him? Bring it to him and start the discussion there."

Michael's face brightened at the suggestion. Of course—his pipe! He could clearly picture Alfred sitting by the hearth with his pipe in hand. Why hadn't he thought of that?

Alfred returned later that evening, his broad shoulders slumping as he removed his hat and settled into the armchair by the fireplace. He looked weary, and Michael's stomach churned. He knew why his grandfather was so exhausted—he had likely used those hands to take Lincoln's life.

Alfred's sharp gaze didn't miss Michael's anxious fidgeting. In Michael's hands was a small box.

"What's that?" Alfred asked gruffly.

Michael stepped forward and handed the box to him. It contained finely shredded, high-quality tobacco leaves—an expensive purchase from the market. Alfred opened it, inhaled the rich aroma, and packed his pipe with the fresh leaves. After lighting it, he took a deep drag, exhaling slowly.

"Is there something you wish to say?" Alfred asked, his tone neutral as he observed Michael.

Michael forced another awkward smile. "It's... hard to talk here. Would you join me for a walk?"

Alfred drew deeply from his pipe again before shaking his head. "Tomorrow. After the villagers' funerals. I'm too tired tonight."

He rose and retreated to his room, the thick wooden door creaking as it closed behind him.

The next day, Michael stood beside Clara during the funeral, clutching a handkerchief as she dabbed her eyes. The service for the five lumberjacks was solemn but well-attended. A village clerk oversaw the proceedings, and compensation from the castle had reportedly been delivered.

Alfred presided over the rites, his commanding voice carrying the prayers for the deceased. Michael watched in silence, his mind racing as he planned how to confess.

"You're the heir now," Clara whispered, handing him a small object. "Show some sincerity. This is a relic passed down through my family. They say it brings blessings to the departed. Place it on the coffins and offer a prayer."

Michael accepted the relic, a pendant shaped like radiant light, representing the Church of Radiance. Just as he held it, that familiar, eerie voice spoke in his mind.

[Would you like to absorb the mana?]

No! Absolutely not! Michael shouted internally. He couldn't damage Clara's family heirloom.

Following Clara's instructions, Michael placed the pendant on each of the five coffins in turn, reciting the standard prayer that everyone in the land knew. While his family followed a different faith centered on death and vengeance, the Church of Radiance was so widespread that its rituals weren't foreign to them.

After the ceremony, Michael retreated to a secluded spot behind the annex. Once alone, he finally let out a stifled cry of pain.