Novel's Extra: I Awakened The Strongest Physique From The Start

The Damien Estate loomed like a brooding shadow at the edge of the first peak.

Unlike ordinary students, who had to live in quarters, he had the privilege of having his own mansion.

Right now, the mansion's high iron gates were open. It was just enough to let in the lone figure that approached under the grey light of dusk.

Ben.

His steps were firm, his expression carefully neutral, but behind his eyes burned a storm. He stopped before the towering double doors of the mansion and knocked once—loud and deliberate.

Soon, the door creaked open.

A man stood there—tall, sharp-featured, and dressed in a black butler uniform so immaculate it seemed part of his skin.

His eyes, cold and calculating, looked Ben over with a gaze that stripped away pretense.

"Yes?" The servant's tone was chilly, almost disdainful.

Ben dipped his head in a polite nod. "I'm here to inquire about someone. A friend who's gone missing."

The servant raised a brow. "We're not the academy patrol."

"She was last seen with someone who lives here," Ben continued, voice steady. "Her name's Margaret."

A flicker.

Momentarily, the servant's eyes changed—an almost imperceptible narrowing, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He knew who and what Ben was talking about.

Ben also noticed that, but he said nothing.

His fists clenched behind his back, nails biting into his palms, but he stayed quiet, recalling Alex's words.

'Don't do anything until I give the signal,' Alex had said. 'If she's really there, any rash move might kill her.'

The servant recovered quickly. "I'm afraid my master is busy."

"I insist," Ben said, his voice colder now. "I only need a few words."

The tension rose, and the silence thickened like smoke. For a moment, it looked like the servant might close the door then and there.

But then—

"Let him in."

The voice, smooth and charismatic, like wine over silk, echoed from within the mansion.

It was Damien—Ben could tell.

His fists tightened as the servant stepped aside, allowing him into the estate.

Inside, the mansion felt... haunted. Shadows curled unnaturally along the walls.

The chandeliers flickered as if the mana crystals within resisted the very air, while the halls remained deathly quiet—too quiet for a mansion this size.

Ben followed the servant through a hallway of maroon carpets and old oil paintings—faces that seemed to watch him pass. The tension gripped his chest like claws.

Then they reached a lavish sitting room.

There he was—Damien.

He sat on a leather chaise, legs crossed, sipping wine as if he didn't have a care in the world. His suit was unbuttoned just enough to look relaxed, but his posture was anything but casual.

His eyes gleamed like twin blades under candlelight.

"Ben, was it?" He said with a charming smile. "You look better than I expected, considering your recent... condition."

Ben didn't bother with greetings. "Margaret's missing."

Damien blinked, then frowned softly. "Yes... I heard something about that. Such a tragedy."

Ben stepped forward, gaze locked. "She was last seen with you."

"Was she?" Damien's voice was velvet, his tone perfectly calm. "That's odd. I remember offering her lunch. She seemed... hesitant. Perhaps she wandered off?"

"She won't hesitate when someone offers her lunch. Also, I know who you are. You were the one who kept pestering her—obsessively proposing every day."

Damien chuckled. "Oh, Ben. It's not an obsession. It's love. Isn't persistence the sign of true affection?"

Ben's jaw clenched. "You're the biggest suspect."

"And yet I sit here, unbothered," Damien replied, swirling his glass. "That should tell you something, shouldn't it?"

Ben said nothing.

He couldn't attack. Not yet.

The servant behind Damien radiated pressure like a mountain. Ben knew he couldn't take him on yet. Worse yet, one wrong move could result in Margaret's suffering.

His instincts screamed she was here—somewhere in this mansion. But he had no proof. No way to act.

So, he stayed.

"…I'll wait," Ben said at last, lowering himself into the opposite chair, though every muscle in his body remained coiled like a loaded spring. "Until you're 'less busy' and ready to talk."

Damien raised an amused brow. "Oh, but I'm quite free now."

He poured a second glass and pushed it toward Ben.

Ben ignored it.

Their eyes met.

Ben's was hard and burning. Damien's, cold and playful.

This was the game Alex had told him to play.

He had to distract Damien and buy time until he got the signal.

But Ben's heart thundered with rage beneath his still face.

Somewhere behind these walls, Margaret was being kept like a bird in a cage. He couldn't sense her—couldn't hear her.

But he knew.

He just had to wait.

Wait until Alex finds her.

Wait until the real storm begins.

................................

Meanwhile, at the backdoor of the mansion, which was used only by the servants of the mansion, stood two people, staring at a man lying unconscious on the ground.

They were Alex and Lilia, and the one lying on the ground was one of the mansion's servants.

Lilia crouched down, her violet eyes glowing faintly in the dim light as her fingers traced a rune in the air.

Her tone was calm. Almost cold. "He's out cold. You didn't have to hit him that hard."

Alex shrugged. "If I hadn't, he would've screamed. We don't have time for that."

Lilia smirked faintly, then stood.

With a subtle twirl of her fingers, threads of illusion coiled around her like mist. Her purple hair bled into a muted black.

Her eyes dulled to a steely grey. Her posture straightened, mimicking the unconscious man's with unsettling precision. Even her uniform changed, down to the exact creases on her collar.

In moments, she was the servant—expressionless, professional, and forgettable.

Then she turned her gaze to Alex.

"Let's change your look now," she whispered. "Hold still."

Alex blinked as shimmering mana wrapped around him, reshaping his presence. His distinct silver eyes dulled to a muddy brown.

His jawline softened slightly, his uniform morphing into that of a simple servant.

Within seconds, the sharp aura of a fighter faded beneath the skin of an invisible man.

He frowned, flexing his fingers. "Ugh. I feel weird."

It wasn't that his body had changed, but the layer of mana covering him, making him look like someone else, made him uncomfortable.

He felt his movements restricted. It felt like this layer would crack if he were to move like he used to do.

Lilia, however, nodded her head.

"Good," she said, her voice flatter now—already slipping into character. "That means it's working."

Without another word, she stepped through the backdoor, Alex following close behind.

The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, the kind used only by servants to shuttle between rooms unnoticed. The scent of polish and faint decay clung to the air.

Soon, a servant passed them, carrying a silver tray. He paused, eyes narrowing at Alex.

"You," he said, pointing. "I haven't seen you before. Who are you?"

Lilia tilted her chin just slightly—arrogant, but not rude. "He's new. I brought him in today. Thought I'd wait until the guest leaves before presenting him to Master Damien."

The servant grunted. "We don't need more hands."

"Take it up with the Master," Lilia said coolly, brushing past.

Alex lowered his head and followed as a new recruit should.

Their work here was simple—looking for Margaret. They had to do it while Ben kept Damien engaged.

Once that was done, they would either move away or all hell would've broken.

In any case, they wouldn't meet Damien, so using Damien's name right now was the best possible move.

They kept moving.

Another hallway. Another turn. More stares.

They passed a group of servants gathered by the kitchen entrance. One whispered something while another frowned at Alex.

Again, Lilia answered before the questions could be asked.

"New recruit," she repeated. "Temporary. Master hasn't decided if he's keeping him."

Although not satisfied, the servants backed off.

Alex leaned closer, whispering, "We should speed up. There's a chance that one of the servants we met knew the guy you're impersonating."

Lilia nodded, her expression serious. "Alright. We don't want to be caught before our work is done."

They continued moving through the mansion's labyrinthine corridors.

Most rooms were locked, and the ones that weren't were either storage spaces or empty quarters.

They paused outside each one, listening closely for anything unusual, failing to detect anything.

Room after room, the silence echoed like a curse.

Finally, they reached the base of a stairwell that spiraled downward—toward the cellars. The air changed here. It was colder. Staler.

Alex felt it.

There was something below.

"Below," he whispered.

Lilia nodded once.

She glanced around, then led him down the narrow steps, careful not to make a sound. Her illusion remained perfect, even as the shadows grew longer.

As they reached the bottom, they were met with a heavy steel door—reinforced and warded with weak enchantments meant to keep things hidden rather than protected.

Alex moved forward, knelt, and pressed his palm against the ward. A wisp of dark purple energy left his palm, turning the enchantment into ashes.

Click.

A soft sound was heard, making Alex and Lilia exchange a glance.

Soon, they entered.

The air was damp and the walls were old stone.

Candles flickered weakly along the corridor ahead. Small cells lined the walls, some with doors open, others locked tight.

Lilia stepped forward first.

Then she stopped.

"…Here," she whispered.

Alex looked where she was pointing. '...fuck.'

There were bodies. Many bodies of dead girls lie around in that cell.

"For how long has he been doing this?" Alex gritted his teeth, while Lilia just stared at all this with a cold expression.

She could see the pain on the faces of those dead girls. She knew that their deaths weren't painless. And that angered her.

But for Margaret's sake, she kept her calm.

This evidence alone was enough to drag Damien into jail, but their objective wasn't that. They had to rescue Margaret.

Then they heard a voice—barely audible. It was soft, weak, and frightened.

Most of all, it was coming from the pile of corpses, making both of their eyes sharpen.

But before they could move, a voice echoed from behind.

"Who are you? Servants aren't allowed here."

The servant who always stood beside Damien was here. The dagger in his hand made it clear that he wasn't here to chat.

"Lilia," Alex called out, and Lilia, without a word, moved toward the cell, ready to search for the source of the voice they heard.

The servant, however, growled. "You think I would let you?"

With a flash, he zoomed toward Lilia, only to meet Alex's blade.

Clang!

With Verathian in his hand, his guise cracking, Alex asked, "And you think I would let you?"