The meeting chamber of the Bluefeather Duchy exuded the scent of aged varnish and chilly stone. Rays of light from elevated windows cast pale stripes across the floor; banners displaying the duke’s emblem — a silver feather spread over deep blue — hung like vigilant guardians. At the distant end, under an arch of intricately carved oak, Bishop Vicenzo appeared magnificent in his ceremonial garments: a richly colored vestment accented with shimmering thread, a short mantle draped over one shoulder, and a simple ceremonial cap that signified his status without being showy. Behind him, two rows of church knights had formed a neat procession, the soft sound of mail and plate echoing as they shifted; a captain knight stood slightly ahead, his hand resting near the hilt of his sword, all of them impeccably dressed. On either side of the Bishop, two clerics awaited in muted black and white — one a visiting priest and the other the parish priest from the Duchy — their rosaries tucked away y

The fight with the Redbone Tiger quickly settled into a rhythm of danger and restraint. Veyra, despite being at the peak stage of the Warrior level, found her strength strangely muted before the Tiger’s bone-control ability. In theory, her higher cultivation should have allowed her to brush off such tricks as if swatting a fly. But in practice, she discovered that the beast’s manipulation pressed against her body like invisible chains, constantly tugging at her frame and bones, demanding a portion of her concentration simply to remain unharmed. She could resist it, yes, but not with the same effortless mastery Talon displayed. For her, every forward step came with the fear of her own ribs suddenly splintering against her will.So she took a cautious stance, eyes sharp, shoulders tense. She played the spectator’s role, orbiting the battlefield rather than diving headlong into it, searching for the opening that would never come freely. Her strength was shackled not by la

Talon stared at the dead Redbone Tiger for a long moment, then glanced into the shadows between the trees. “If we work together, we can kill warrior-level monsters,” he said suddenly. “Why don’t we hunt a few more?” As he said it, the logic clicked for him. That was why hunters teamed up. Alone, most adventurers hit their limits and had to avoid anything too strong. With a partner you doubled your chances, cut the danger, and increased the reward. It was simply more efficient. Veyra let out a low groan—half annoyance, half resignation. “Fine,” she said. “But if we meet something with weirder tricks than that tiger, you take the lead. I’ve got enough to worry about.” She wasn’t exaggerating. Underneath her calm, she was still fighting the blood-forged shackles that lived inside her soul. Every fight chipped at those chains and left her unable to use her racial powers fully. On top of that, her level had been forced down to Warrior, which l

After nearly an hour of running, the forest finally opened up into a small clearing. Talon slowed to a stop, his chest rising and falling as he caught sight of figures ahead. He blinked in disbelief. Magnus. Renard. Xara. Raeve. Brythan. All of them—elites of the Blue Devil Guild, and apart from Brythan, they were all at the Warrior level. A cluster of carriages and horses rested just off the path, their reins tied loosely to trees. Clearly, they had been waiting here for some time. Talon’s surprise showed on his face. Magnus noticed immediately, his sharp eyes catching the flicker of confusion. “You’re wondering how I knew you’d come this way,” Magnus said calmly. “It’s my other Profession—Discerning Mage. I foresaw we would cross paths here if I waited long enough.” Talon’s brows drew together. Something about Magnus felt… different. Stronger, heavier, like standing near a mountain. His curiosity rose instinctively, and before he realized it, he had cast his gaze inward toward