10x God-Tier Stealing System: Pumping S-Rank SuperHeroines Daily!-Chapter 112- A Love for Hammer
"Then... shouldn’t we have more people with us?" Darithi asked, a rare hint of sheepishness in her voice as she shifted slightly, the movement drawing the crisp fabric of her blouse taut across the soft swell of her chest. Cruxius had told her that they would be the only ones present on the train, which was now effectively a massive target for Zone 7.
From what her master had implied, this was the stage for his grand declaration—his arrival as a true supervillain.
So for them to be on that train without any backup was incredibly dangerous. If a collision between the Hero Association and the villain syndicate occurred, they would just become liabilities without the necessary manpower to protect themselves.
"Ytrisia will be enough. And... aren’t you with me?"
Cruxius shook his head and finally exited the hotel building, stepping out toward the waiting fleet of sleek black cars. He gave a teasing glance to Darithi.
She remained entirely impassive, offering only a subtle nod. She was already far too accustomed to his smooth way of speaking, finding it just another one of his word games.
Slowly following him into the spacious backseat of the car, her skirt riding up just a fraction to reveal the smooth curve of her thigh as she settled her legs, she added, "But I am weak, Master. So your life may be in danger there."
"At least you have self-realization," Cruxius said with a faint smirk, turning his attention to the translucent system screen hovering in front of him, observing Darithi’s status.
Clearly, although her skill was naturally decent, it lacked the raw potential held by others. It lacked something that might be as helpful to her as it was to him.
[Status Window: Darithi Vale]
Rank: C
Role: Bodyguard
Ability: [Resonant Edge] – Rank: B
Imbues her sword with harmonic vibrations that adapt to her opponent’s rhythm
After three clashes with a target, her blade syncs with their attack pattern
Increases critical hit chance and parry effectiveness
Sync resets if target changes or after 30 seconds without engagement
Passive: Sword hums with energy, slightly disrupting nearby magical constructs
Moderate energy drain; requires rest after prolonged use
Core Stats:
Strength: C+ 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚
Agility: A
Endurance: C
Intellect: B
Charisma: A+
Libido: NULL (Insensitive to physical touch)
’System, if I receive an ability from Lira, will that merge into you or remain intact?’ Cruxius thought, glancing critically at his own status window. Clearly, he had not received any liability through it. It appeared that Lira’s love had diluted. In a way, she had built a wall—one he knew exactly how to break—but before that, she needed something else.
A way, he thought, not only to become stronger himself, but to exponentially boost the strength of the women who belonged to him.
[No, it was a one-time thing. Hearts Over Heaven will be treated as a separate ability.]
’I see.’ Cruxius maintained an artful silence.
When he first saw the ability possessed by Lira—which the system later revealed as the core foundation of his overall power, allowing him to harvest abilities from women after making them fall in love—it had surprised him.
But then a calculating thought had crossed his mind: what if he could bring his own ability together with hers?
He possessed the power to receive the abilities of women who loved him, complete with a mechanism to boost their rank based on favorability, obsession, and the transfer of affection.
So what if he possessed Lira’s ability too? What if he had two merging abilities—where the woman who loved him would receive all of his abilities, while he retained the power to rank them up?
A natural, self-sustaining cycle would establish. Using the system’s loophole and her ability, he would gain the ultimate advantage to increase the power ranks of the women who submitted to him.
However, to establish that, he needed to win Lira’s affection once again—especially now that she had her memories intact. Though he knew it would take some effort, it was honestly less difficult than dealing with Darithi.
He cast a subtle glance beside him. Darithi, even though she was willing to go so far as to blindly throw her life away for him, didn’t even meet the minimum criteria of affection required for him to harvest her ability.
In the case of any other woman, their behavior was understandable up to a limit. But Darithi’s state of devotion was based on complete, rigid submission and sacrifice. It was an absolute loyalty, but it lacked the heat, the lust, the raw romantic love that the system required to function.
And that was exactly what made Darithi’s pristine shell much harder to crack than Lira’s.
"Darithi, want me to purchase a gift for you?"
"...A gift?" Darithi inquired, tilting her head. She looked genuinely confused by the idea, her immaculate posture faltering for just a second, given she operated under the belief that she already had everything she needed to serve him.
"Yes. Let’s buy a gift for you, first..."
The sound of footsteps echoed down the long concrete hallway as the blind man walked out of the Hero Association building.
The echo was uneven—one of his heavy work boots had a worn-out sole, making a faint, wet slap with every other step.
His long coat, heavily patched and dull with layers of city dust, swayed behind him like a forgotten banner.
He gripped his white cane in one calloused hand—plain, metal-tipped, battered from years of use. In his other hand, he held a heavy carrying case. It was the exact same one he had taken into the audition just hours ago, still tightly closed, still containing the masterwork weapons they had so casually rejected.
"Standard issue. No unique edge. No flashy augmentations. We appreciate the effort, old man," the judges had said, their voices as sharp and sterile as their expensive tailored suits.
He had simply bowed slightly, swallowed his pride, said nothing, and left.
Now, out in the open, biting city air, he muttered under his breath, a tired, bitter smile barely tugging at the corner of his chapped lips.
"Well... that’s rejection number thirty-two. Guess I’m officially setting a personal record."
He let out a heavy sigh that seemed to carry years of rusted breath and shattered dreams, and began walking. The towering city bustled around him, a symphony of chaos and progress, but it didn’t see him.
People brushed past him, caped heroes flew overhead leaving trails of glowing energy, and neon signs of greasy fast food and flashy, high-tech weapon shops lit up the block, mocking his very existence with a brightness he couldn’t even see.
"Hero Association doesn’t need sticks and screws anymore," he muttered, gripping his cane tighter. "They want miracles wrapped in shiny steel. And I only have the steel."
He stopped at a rundown street vendor. The heavy smell of burnt oil and stale spices drifted around him, making his stomach rumble hollowly.
"One... cheapest meal you got," he said, digging his thick fingers through his lint-filled pocket.
The vendor looked at him pitifully, wiping his hands on a dirty apron, but took the crumpled bills anyway, handing over a grease-stained paper-wrapped roll of something—mostly wilted lettuce and cheap rice.
"Thanks," Surben mumbled, chewing slowly as he began walking again. It tasted like wet cardboard, but it was warm. That was enough.
It took him an hour to navigate the dangerous streets and get home. His massive, drafty warehouse sat at the very edge of the abandoned industrial zone, half-swallowed by creeping rust and unforgiving time.
The heavy roller door creaked agonizingly open when he pushed it with his broad shoulder. He stumbled slightly on the uneven entry step.
"Back to the palace," he muttered dryly to himself.
As he walked into the dim, echoing space, his heavy foot kicked a tin can. It clinked sharply, rolled away, bouncing off another. Soda cans, empty beer bottles, sharp scraps of wiring, heavy bolts, and broken tools littered the stained concrete floor.
Old, meticulously drawn blueprint papers were curled at the edges from the constant humidity, the ink fading into obscurity.
He slumped heavily near his main workbench—a thick wooden plank propped up with cracked bricks. His beloved forge was long cold, the massive furnace barely functional and coated in layers of soot.
He reached blindly under the bench and pulled out his favorite hammer—black steel, worn incredibly smooth at the handle from years of sweat and friction.
"I still remember the first time I held you," he whispered, running his calloused thumbs along its heavy head. "Thought I’d be famous... Thought I’d make legendary weapons the best heroes would kill for."
