Chapter 242: 242 | A God’s Favor, and its Price

The dream felt different this time.

I stood in a massive library with shelves stretching into infinity. Every book glowed faintly purple, and when I pulled one down, the title read "Divine Milking System - User Manual."

Great. Even my subconscious was trolling me.

Someone coughed behind me.

I turned to find an old man sitting at a desk that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago. White beard down to his chest. Reading glasses perched on his nose. Robes that looked stolen from a fantasy convention.

"You’re doing well, young Monroe."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your benefactor. Your patron. Your divine sponsor." The old man smiled. "I’m the reason you’re not dead."

Right. The mysterious entity who’d transmigrated me into this body with a perverted power system and a death timer.

"Thanks for the nightmare fuel."

"You’re welcome. Though I prefer to think of it as an opportunity rather than a nightmare." He closed his book. "You’ve impressed me these past three weeks. Adaptation. Resourcefulness. The willingness to do what’s necessary."

"Is this where you tell me the real game is just beginning?"

"The real game began when you woke up in that amphitheater. This is where things get interesting."

Of course. Because my life wasn’t complicated enough already.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to survive. Thrive. Become strong enough to—" He paused. "Well. That would be telling."

"You’re about as helpful as a chocolate teapot."

"And you’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, yet here we are." The old man stood. "Vale has taken an interest in you. Good. Use it. Learn everything he’s willing to teach."

"Because?"

"Because Dominic Vale is the closest thing this world has to a god among hunters. And gods don’t bother with mortals unless they see potential for godhood."

The library started fading around us. Shelves dissolving into mist.

"Wait. I have questions."

"You always do. Here’s an answer you didn’t ask for." The old man’s eyes glowed gold. "The Divine Milking System chose you for a reason. Not random chance. Not cosmic accident. You specifically."

"Why?"

"Because you’re the only one shameless enough to use it properly."

Then I woke up.

The ceiling fan spun lazy circles above my bed. Morning light bled through my blinds in horizontal strips, painting everything gold.

I checked the time. 5:23 AM.

My body felt like someone had beaten it with a bag of hammers. Swamp gate yesterday. Federal heist last night. Vale’s cryptic warnings about Davenport coming after me.

And now apparently I’d been handpicked by some divine entity to be the poster child for perverted power systems everywhere.

My phone exploded with notifications.

Belle in the group chat. Misato wants emergency meeting at seven. She sounds PISSED.

Naomi. Are you okay? You seemed really shaken last night.

Aurora. Still on for breakfast? I’m making pancakes.

And one from an unknown number. 0800 sharp. North field. Wear something you can move in. - Vale

Right. Because a relaxing Sunday was apparently too much to ask for.

I dragged myself to the shower and stood under scalding water until my skin turned pink. The conversation with Vale kept replaying in my head. Johnathan Davenport asking questions. IHC officials getting curious. Guild recruiters watching my gate runs.

I’d spent three weeks treating this place like a survival game. Kill monsters. Steal abilities. Seduce women for lifespan points. Rinse and repeat.

But Vale was telling me the real game operated on a different level entirely. Politics. Influence. Institutional power that could crush lottery kids who got too big for their britches.

Blair’s father sat on the IHC advisory board. He had connections that reached into government agencies and guild hierarchies. If he decided I was a problem, he could make me disappear and nobody would ask questions.

The System had given me powers. Vale was offering protection.

But protection always came with strings.

I dried off and pulled on workout clothes. The grey henley Aurora picked out fit perfectly across my shoulders. Six months ago I would have looked ridiculous in something this fitted. Now the fabric clung to actual muscle instead of soft tissue.

The transformation still felt surreal. Looking in the mirror was like staring at a stranger wearing my face. Sharper jaw. Broader shoulders. Defined arms that actually looked capable of violence.

The Divine Milking System had rebuilt me from the inside out. Every extraction with Naomi. Every session with Belle. Every encounter with Aurora. The sexual training multiplier stacked with essence boosts and Limit Breaker until my body literally couldn’t stop improving.

But here’s the thing nobody talks about when discussing power fantasies and progression systems.

Getting strong felt incredible. Watching stats climb felt addictive. Seeing yourself transform from trash tier to legitimate threat fed something primal and hungry in your brain that made you want more, always more.

But it also made you a target.

When you’re weak, people ignore you. When you’re strong, people notice. And when you improve too fast, people start asking questions.

Blair already suspected something. Charles was watching me with murder in his eyes after I’d beaten his pull-up record. Hikaru probably had a detailed dossier on my training schedule and behavioral patterns.

And now Johnathan Davenport was sniffing around.

Vale’s mentorship offered cover. If the academy’s strongest hunter vouched for me, guild investigators would think twice before digging deeper.

But that cover came at a price. Vale didn’t do charity. He’d invested time and energy into setting up an elaborate test specifically for me. That meant he wanted something in return.

I just didn’t know what yet.

My phone buzzed. Misato in the group chat.

Seven AM. East field. Everyone better be there or I’m coming to your rooms personally.

Belle replied with a skull emoji.

Jordan sent a crying face.

Naomi asked if we were in trouble.

Probably, I typed back. But we’ve been in trouble before.

I grabbed my spear from where it leaned against my desk. The weight felt familiar now. Comfortable. Three weeks ago I could barely hold it without my arms shaking. Now I could throw it twenty meters and nail a moving target.

Progress. The kind that showed up in fights and saved lives.

The kind that made people nervous.