Marco's body crashed through three consecutive walls before he finally arrested his momentum by jamming his sword into a support beam. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and pain exploded across his back where the knight's shield had connected. He hung there for a moment, feet dangling, tasting copper as blood filled his mouth.Second Transition, Level Two at minimum, he assessed grimly, dropping to the floor. Maybe higher.Dust billowed through the ruined building—what had once been a textile shop, now reduced to wreckage. Bolts of silk lay scattered like corpses among shattered looms and splintered furniture. Marco pressed himself against a thick stone pillar, wiping blood from his lips with the back of his hand.Heavy footsteps crunched through debris. The rebel knight entered through the hole his charge had created, his armor barely scratched despite the violence of their collision. Holy light wreathed his shield, casting dancing shadows across the ruins."Where are you, boy

The hunter circled Marco slowly, his movements fluid despite his massive size. Behind him, the surviving students huddled together, their weapons trembling in exhausted hands. Rocco struggled to stand, one hand pressed against his bruised throat."Before I kill you," the hunter said conversationally, "I'm curious. How did a First Transition brat manage to take down three of our squad?"Marco wiped blood from his mouth, buying time for his Lionheart bloodline to work. "Skill. Luck. Stupidity on their part. Take your pick.""Hmm." The hunter's scarred face showed something like respect. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But you don't understand what you're facing.""Enlighten me.""Second Transition isn't just about level." The hunter tapped his chest. "It's about the Three Abilities—Development, Resistance, and Energy. Every Second Transition professional develops these at different rates."He raised one finger. "Development—your base stats, combat power, skill potency. Most mana

Raymond led the battered group through Portland City's chaotic streets, his Third Transition aura clearing a path through the fighting. Rebels and city guards alike gave the powerful mercenary a wide berth, too focused on their own battles to challenge him.Marco walked beside him, still favoring his left side where ribs continued knitting together. "This isn't just Portland," he said quietly. "The rebellion is spreading across the entire empire."Raymond's expression didn't change. "I'm aware.""The Eight Great Families are orchestrating it. They're trying to overthrow Emperor Constantine.""Good for them." Raymond's tone was utterly disinterested.Marco stared at him. "Good? The empire's tearing itself apart, and you don't care?""Why should I?" Raymond shrugged, his massive shoulders rolling easily. "I'm a mercenary, boy. I've fought for the Empire, against the Empire, and for various factions within the Empire. My loyalty goes to whoever signs my contract and pays on time.""But—"

Five days of hard travel through dense forests and mountain passes had left the group exhausted but alive. They'd encountered demon beasts—a pack of Shadow Wolves on the second day, a territorial Earth Bear on the fourth—but nothing powerful enough to truly threaten trained academy students. Marco had simply pointed at the creatures and ordered attacks, letting the students gain experience while conserving his own strength.Now, finally, Adventurer's Market Town rose before them.The settlement sprawled across a wide valley, its wooden walls reinforced with stone at key points. Unlike proper cities with their organized districts and grand architecture, this place had grown organically—buildings packed together in chaotic clusters, dirt streets winding between them like veins. Smoke rose from countless chimneys, and the distant sound of hammering echoed from forges.At the main gate, a dozen mercenaries in mismatched armor scrutinized everyone entering. Their leader, a scarred man with

The innkeeper's eyes snapped open, and he surged upright with a strangled gasp. His hand immediately went to the lump on his forehead, wincing at the tender swelling. Memories flooded back—his daughter screaming about perverts, rushing to defend her, then... darkness."PAMELA!" He stumbled toward the back room where students had left her, then froze when he saw the common area.Marco sat calmly at a table, cleaning beneath his fingernails with a small knife. Around the room, various students lounged in chairs or sprawled across benches, looking thoroughly exhausted but unharmed."You," the innkeeper hissed, his voice shaking with fury. "What did you do to my daughter?!""Your daughter knocked herself unconscious," Marco replied without looking up. "Twice. By running into doorframes.""Lies!" The innkeeper's face flushed crimson. "You attacked her! You perverted mercenaries—""She's fine and resting in the back room," Marco interrupted calmly. "Your paranoid delusions aren't my problem