Captain Darius pulled back on the reins of his armored warhorse. The beast stomped its steel-shod hooves into the mud. It tossed its mane. It sensed the spike of adrenaline coming off its rider. Darius sat frozen in his saddle. The arrogant sneer that usually lived on his sharp features was gone. His eyes, usually half-lidded with disdain, were wide open. Fixed on the young man standing before him. It can't be possible. Darius's mind raced. He tried to reject what his eyes were seeing. He had ordered his lead mage to collapse the gorge. He had watched the stones shear off the canyon walls and bury the rear guard. He had seen the silhouette of the Shadow Wolf Alpha descending on the trapped recruits. It was a flawless execution of a necessary sacrifice. They were supposed to be torn to pieces to buy the elites time. But standing here, in the middle of the slum graveyard, was the gravekeeper. The boy he had mocked before the expedition. Not only was the boy alive. He looked different

The fog rolled off the night sky over Asteria. It smelled of ash. To the nobles and Church officials behind the white walls of the inner city, the fog was a nuisance. But in the outer slums, where tin roofs leaked and muddy streets swallowed legs, the fog was a shroud. It hid the desperate. The starving. The dying. It also hid Aren. Aren moved through the alleyways like a specter. His cloak wrapped tight. Every step was deliberate. Silent. For years he had kept his head down, terrified of the city guards and the elite hunters who treated slum residents like disposable labor. He had been a victim his whole life. Tonight, the power of the system charged through his body. The paralyzing fear was gone. He was leaving the safety of the perimeter. Sneaking outside the city walls. Stepping back into the most dangerous place known to humanity. He knew the neglected sections of the outer defenses better than anyone. He had spent countless hours burying the dead along the edges of the settleme

The merchant stood in the alley. His silk robes were a contrast to the mud and filth of the outer slums. He did not draw a weapon. He did not signal for guards. But the cold look in his dark eyes set Aren's Predator's Instinct to a low warning. This man was dangerous. Not because of physical strength. Because of the power he wielded in the criminal underworld. "I don't do mercenary work," Aren said. He forced his voice flat. He tightened his grip on the hunting knife hidden beneath his cloak. "And I am not a killer for hire." The merchant chuckled. A dry, humorless sound. It echoed off the rotting walls of the alley. "Relax, gravekeeper. I am not asking you to slit throats. I have professionals on my payroll for that. What I need is a discreet supplier. Someone who can slip outside the walls, hunt efficiently, and bring back high-grade monster materials without drawing the gaze of the Holy Church or the elite hunter guilds." He stopped twirling the silver coin. He tossed it through

The Ironhide Beast crouched. Its muscles coiled like siege springs beneath its hide. It launched its carriage-sized body up the cliff face. Aren's Predator's Instinct fired. He triggered shadow burst. He threw himself backward off the ledge. The beast's claws pulverized the stone where he had been lying a millisecond before. Aren fell toward the canyon floor. Wind tore at his clothes. He twisted mid-air. He used his agility to stick the landing. His boots slammed into the muddy ravine. He slid backward to absorb the momentum. The shockwave of the Beast landing in the mud knocked him off his feet. It was too fast for something covered in bone armor. It spun around. Acidic steam plumed from its nostrils. It charged. Aren scrambled up. He gripped his spear. He planted his boots in the slick earth. He did not back down. He used every ounce of energy his muscles could generate. He thrust the spear at the beast's chest. The steel tip struck the bone plating. It shattered into pieces. T

The lower merchant district was a labyrinth of shouting vendors, squelching mud, and desperate civilians. The morning rush hit Aren like a blow. His Predator's Instinct was a radar. It extended in every direction. He heard the anxious heartbeats of pickpockets slipping through the crowds. His newly unlocked Tracking let his violet-ringed eyes isolate the faint magical footprints of Vanguard patrols that had passed hours ago. Aren pulled his cloak tight. He slouched to hide his muscled build. He walked away from the cramped room above the tavern where Lily and Rowan slept. He needed to buy medical supplies and heavier winter cloaks before the Vanguard patrols intensified. To blend in, he engaged his Dormant State. His alpha's aura retreated into his bones. The violet rings in his irises vanished. Dull brown eyes replaced them. He let his balanced strides become a clumsy limp. As he approached the central square, the noise died. Silence rippled through the crowd. "Clear the path, yo