The shadow did not descend. It avalanched.
It was not a creature flying so much as a piece of the mountain itself deciding to relocate. The air screamed in protest. Ancient pines, stout as castle towers, snapped like twigs in its wake. A plume of displaced snow and shattered rock bloomed upward, a white funeral shroud for the valley's peace.
The tranquil potato farm, Sai Ji's chosen sanctuary of the mundane, shuddered as if the ground beneath it had turned to water. The farmer's prize milk cow let out a panicked moo and kicked down its stall door.
Sai Ji stood in the yard, the burlap sack of Frostfall Reds clutched to his chest. It was a pathetic shield, smelling of earth and normality. He stared at the cataclysmic approach, and a profound, weary clarity settled over him. The last flicker of his "normal adventurer" hope guttered and died.
He spoke, his voice not a scream, but a flat, resigned statement to the uncaring sky. "If that thing so much as bruises one of these potatoes, I am filing a formal complaint with the universe. I will find a manager. I will escalate."
Nyx shifted, his casual posture dissolving into the lethal readiness of a drawn stiletto. He positioned himself not just in front of Sai Ji, but at a precise angle to cover Aeliana's casting lane as well. "Master," he said, his tone clinical, "that entity is not native to this altitude. Its presence is an ecological violation."
Aeliana's eyes glowed faintly with diagnostic magic. "Classified. Its mana signature is… archaic. Pre-Imperial. It's not just S-rank. It's a relic."
Midnight Wolf wasn't vibrating with excitement anymore. He was pressed against the farmhouse wall, his face the color of the snow. "Bro… we took a potato delivery quest. The quest log said 'ambiance: pastoral.' This is NOT pastoral! This is a raid event spawning in a starter zone! The devs have personally decided we suffer!"
The farmhouse door burst open. The farmer, a stout man named Bram, stumbled out, followed by his weeping wife and two wide-eyed children. Instead of running for the root cellar, Bram's wild-eyed gaze swept over the armed professionals—and landed squarely on Sai Ji.
"YOU!" Bram bellowed, pointing a shaking, dirt-stained finger. "You look important! Heroic! Please! Save my potatoes! Save my family!"
Sai Ji blinked, the sack heavy in his arms. "Why me? I'm the delivery guy!"
Bram's wife wailed, "Your face! It's a noble face! A destiny face!"
"IT'S A 'WANTS-TO-BE-LEFT-ALONE' FACE!" Sai Ji shot back, but his protest was lost in the thunderous final impact.
The beast landed.
The world became sound and fury and frozen shrapnel. When the snow-dust cleared, it stood revealed in the ruined north field.
It was a creature of living geology. Larger than the farmhouse, it was shaped like a bear forged by glaciers—limbs thick as ancient oaks, a back ridged with jagged plates of crystal-blue ice that glowed from within. Its head was a brutal wedge, dominated by six eyes that burned with a cold, intelligent blue light, arranged in two rows. Breath plumed from its maw in great gouts of super-chilled vapor, freezing the air with each exhale. This was no mindless beast. This was an Ice Behemoth, a wanderer from the highest, most magically-charged peaks, a creature that napped in avalanches and considered lesser dragons a nuisance.
It lowered its massive head and took a deep, rattling sniff that pulled snow from twenty feet away.
All six glowing eyes swiveled, pinning their focus with unnerving unison.
On Sai Ji.
A chill that had nothing to do with the creature's aura shot down Sai Ji's spine. "Oh, come on," he whispered. "Not again. I'm not even leaking aura! I have a potato!"
Nyx's blade hummed a low, deadly note. "Master, it is not looking at you as prey."
Aeliana's hands were wreathed in golden light, a complex shielding spell half-formed. "It's… analyzing. Like it's checking a signature."
The Behemoth took one earth-shaking step forward. Then another. Its movements were deliberate, testing. It ignored the screaming farmers, the armed bodyguards, the glowing mage. Its entire world had narrowed to the young man holding the sack.
With a speed belying its size, one massive forelimb swept out. The claws, each as long as Sai Ji's arm and gleaming like polished sapphire, didn't aim for him. They aimed for the burlap sack in his hands.
A primal, utterly irrational possessiveness flared in Sai Ji's chest. This was his quest. His boring, normal, completed task. This sack represented everything he was fighting for. It was a symbol.
He didn't think. He reacted.
As the claw descended, he twisted, hugging the sack to his chest with one arm, and brought his other hand up in a frantic, backhanded swat—the gesture of someone shooing away a bothersome insect from their lunch.
His open palm connected with the leading edge of the Behemoth's middle claw.
The contact made a sound like a cathedral bell being struck by a feather.
BWOONG.
A visible ripple of force, silvery and subtle, pulsed from the point of impact.
The Behemoth's head snapped back as if yanked by an invisible chain. Its entire multi-ton bulk skidded backward through the frozen loam, plowing a deep trench, before its hindquarters slammed into a glacial erratic the size of the farmhouse. The ancient boulder didn't just crack; it split cleanly in two with a sound like a continent sighing.
Silence, deeper than before, flooded the valley.
Sai Ji stared at his hand. It didn't hurt. It didn't even tingle. It felt like he'd patted a particularly cold, hard wall.
Aeliana's shield spell fizzled out, forgotten. Her mouth was slightly open.
Nyx had not moved a muscle, but his eyes held the sharp focus of a mathematician witnessing a new law of physics being written.
Midnight Wolf made a small, strangled noise like a stepped-on mouse.
The Behemoth slowly pushed itself upright. Shards of its own ice-armor clinked to the ground. It shook its massive head, the six blue eyes blinking in sequence. It looked at the trench it had made. It looked at the split boulder. Then, all six eyes slowly focused back on Sai Ji.
There was no rage. No renewed aggression. Instead, a profound stillness settled over it.
With a grace that seemed impossible, the colossal creature dipped its head. It didn't just lower its gaze; it pressed its massive, icy snout into the churned snow at Sai Ji's feet, in a gesture of unmistakable, abject submission. A low, rumbling sound vibrated from its chest—not a growl, but a deep, resonant purr of deference.
Sai Ji took a step back, the potato sack held before him like a talisman. "No. Absolutely not. No bowing. I have a strict no-followers policy. I'm not adopting a… a walking glacier!"
Nyx let out a slow, controlled breath. "It did not perceive an attack, Master. It perceived a correction. You did not repel it. You established a boundary. A Sovereign's boundary."
Aeliana nodded, her voice hushed. "It recognizes the authority in the act, not the force. To a creature of primal magic and instinct, you just wrote a law in a language it understands."
"A new subject pledges itself, my King," Sal Vera murmured, her voice warm with approval. "One cannot help what they are born to inspire."
"I CAN HELP IT BY LEAVING!"
The thunder of dozens of booted feet echoed up the path. Frostfall's response force, led by the swordswoman Brynn and her now-serious party, crested the hill, weapons drawn, battle-auras flaring. Mages hovered, spell circles already rotating above their staffs.
"WHERE IS THE BEAST?!" Brynn roared, her eyes scanning the devastation. They found the Behemoth first—then followed the line of its submissive posture to the figure standing before it, casually holding a sack of root vegetables.
The entire rescue party skidded to a halt.
Brynn's sword arm slowly lowered. "…What," she said, the word flat and disbelieving, "is happening?"
The dwarf from her party spat out his tobacco. "Is it… sitting for him?"
A rogue cursed softly. "No gods-damned way. He didn't tame an Ancient Behemoth. You can't tame those. You avoid them, or you die."
Sai Ji, in a moment of pure, unadulterated social panic, did the only thing he could think of. He shuffled sideways, using the enormous, submissive monster as a living barricade between himself and the stunned adventurers. "Nothing is happening!" he called out, his voice too high. "Everything's fine! It's just… saying hello! Politely!"
The Behemoth, sensing his movement, shifted its bulk slightly to maintain its protective position beside him, letting out another low, grounding rumble. It then gently, carefully, nudged Sai Ji's shoulder with the side of its head—a gesture that would have sent a cart horse flying, but which merely made Sai Ji stagger a step. The intent was unmistakably affectionate.
The collective mental strain was too much. Two of the younger mages in the rescue party made simultaneous, soft thump sounds as they fainted.
A clear, melodic chime sounded in Sai Ji's mind, followed by lines of serene blue text.
[ Title Acquired: Beast-Tamer of the Unlikely Heart ]
Your presence communicates an ancient, calming authority to creatures of instinct. Beasts of high magical sensitivity may misinterpret your desire for peace as a command for allegiance.
Effect: Passive. Increases likelihood of non-hostile encounters with magical beasts. May inadvertently attract followers.
Sai Ji stared at the notification. " 'Misinterpret my desire for peace'? It's not a misinterpretation! It's a catastrophic system error! This isn't a title, it's a public liability!"
Midnight Wolf, having slid down the wall into a sitting position, looked up at him with eyes full of stars and terror. "Bro… you're not playing the game. The game is playing around you. You're the environmental variable."
---
The Guild Hall – Later
The walk back to Frostfall was a silent, surreal procession. The Behemoth, after a final, longing look at Sai Ji, had apparently received some unspoken dismissal and turned to lumber back into the high peaks, leaving a valley of shattered trees and shattered expectations. The rescue party followed Sai Ji's group at a cautious distance, whispering fervently.
The guild hall felt different when they returned. The usual clamor was there, but it hit a wall of silence as they crossed the threshold. It wasn't the stunned silence of his first entry. This was the heavy, watchful quiet of a crowd that has heard a wild rumour and now sees the alleged source.
Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence. A clerk at the high desk fumbled a heavy ledger, the thwack as it hit the floor startling everyone.
Sai Ji kept his head down, beelining for the quest completion desk. His disguise—the "Mortal Veil"—was holding, technically. He looked human. But the amulet couldn't hide the way people's eyes lingered, drawn by the impossible charisma, or the new, unshakeable aura of consequence that clung to him like frost. He had gone out to deliver potatoes and had casually redefined a local apex predator's social hierarchy. Whispers had wings in Frostfall.
"Why," he hissed under his breath to no one in particular, "does my 'low-profile' setting still broadcast on every frequency?"
"Because you are the signal, my King," Sal Vera replied, her mental voice a study in affectionate mockery. "The world is merely the receiver. You cannot blame the radio for playing the song."
"Sal, I swear to whatever god is listening, I will learn mental exorcism."
"You would miss me."
"I would enjoy the quiet!"
One of his bodyguards, Fern, glided beside him, his movements too fluid, too efficient for a simple hireling. "Master," he murmured, voice barely audible. "The attention is… intensifying."
"Yeah," Sai Ji muttered back. "I got that from the guy who just walked into a door frame staring at us."
Before they could reach the desk, the guild's ornate double doors were flung open not with panic, but with entitled force.
A party of four strode in, their entrance a performance. Their armor was not just functional; it was artfully engraved, enchanted to gleam with a soft, personal light. Their weapons hummed with tuned mana. This was the Crimson Talon, Frostfall's resident celebrity A-rank party. Their leader, Vesperion, was a man sculpted for tavern-ballad close-ups—chiseled jaw, artfully tousled silver hair, eyes the colour of a winter sky. He wore his confidence like a second, more expensive cloak.
His gaze, accustomed to sweeping rooms and collecting admiration, scanned the hall. It passed over the usual rabble, dismissed the gawking rescue party, and snagged on Sai Ji's group.
It wasn't Sai Ji he focused on first. It was Fern and Lura. Their disguised forms were, as per the amulet's unavoidable side-effect, breathtaking. They possessed a kind of poised, lethal elegance that made Vesperion's practiced glamour look cheap and theatrical.
A flicker of something hot and unpleasant crossed Vesperion's face—the rage of a peacock discovering two more vibrant birds in its garden. He altered his course, his party falling in behind him with familiar, smug synchrony.
"You," Vesperion announced, his voice cutting through the quiet. It wasn't a greeting. It was an accusation. He stopped before them, looking down his nose. "New faces. What's your rank?"
Sai Ji, heart sinking, slowly held up his wooden F-rank token. "Bronze. Just turning in a completed quest."
The Crimson Talon stared. For a second, there was pure, uncomprehending silence.
Then Vesperion's female archer, Lyra, let out a snort. It became a giggle, then a full-bodied laugh that she had to stifle with a gauntleted hand. "F-rank? You?" She gestured vaguely at their group. "You look like you fell out of a stained-glass window depicting the gods' favourite children. That's not an F-rank aesthetic. That's a 'hidden legendary quest-giver' aesthetic."
The party's hulkin' tank, Goran, grunted. "Guildmaster playing games again?"
Vesperion's ice-blue eyes remained locked on Fern, who met his gaze with polite, empty indifference. This seemed to infuriate Vesperion further. He took a step closer, the temperature in their immediate vicinity dropping noticeably. "You. The quiet one. You're trying too hard."
Fern blinked, genuinely perplexed. "I am… standing here."
"Exactly!" Vesperion snapped, as if this were a profound accusation. "You're just standing there, being… that! It's disruptive!"
At a nearby desk, the receptionist buried her face in her hands with a groan that spoke of many past incidents. "Please," she mumbled into her palms. "Not in the lobby. The last time you got into a pissing contest over who had better hair, we had to replace three tables."
Sai Ji felt a familiar, unwelcome ping in his perception—a system notification tinged with red.
[ Warning: Illusion Stability Fluctuating. ]
Cause: Intense Directed Emotion (Envy/Resentment) from high-density mana sources.
Note: The 'Mortal Veil' operates on sympathetic resonance. Powerful, focused negative emotion in your vicinity acts as a dissonant frequency, straining the spellform.
"Jealousy is breaking my disguise?!" Sai Ji whispered, aghast. "What is this, a magical teen drama?!"
"The magic of this world is woven from belief and desire, my King," Sal Vera explained, as if discussing the weather. "His envy is, in its way, a powerful act of focused will. It's scratching at the paint."
Vesperion, mistaking Sai Ji's horrified mutter for defiance, drew his sword. It was a masterpiece of silvery metal and frost-forged crystal, and it sang as it cleared its scabbard, leaving a trail of glittering ice crystals in the air. He pointed it not at Fern, but at Sai Ji, the tip hovering a foot from his chest.
"Enough deception," Vesperion declared, his voice ringing with theatrical gravity. "I challenge you, 'rookie.' A test of truth. If you are truly as harmless as that token claims, you won't mind proving it. One strike. Defend yourself."
The guild hall collectively held its breath. This was the Crimson Talon's leader, an A-rank duelist known for his flashy, overwhelming opening moves. Against an F-rank, it was less a duel and more a public demonstration.
Sai Ji's bodyguards didn't tense. They went utterly still, a different kind of readiness. Nyx's hand rested lightly on the pommel of his own, far plainer sword. Aeliana's fingers twitched, a specific, complex combat sigil half-formed in her mind.
"Master," Sal Vera's voice was a calm anchor. "Do try to remember he is, technically, a citizen. A fragile one."
"I'm not going to kill him!" Sai Ji thought back, frantic.
"I know. But your subconscious defenses might not share your pacifist intentions. Your passive 'Reality Pressure' is… territorial."
Vesperion didn't wait for assent. He moved. It was a beautiful, textbook-perfect lunge, Frostfall's Kiss—a technique designed to overwhelm with speed and a devastating cone of piercing cold magic that burst from the tip of his blade. The air crackled, and a spear of jagged ice shot toward Sai Ji's heart.
Sai Ji didn't dodge. He didn't block. He didn't have time to think.
He just… looked at it.
He saw the flow of mana, the elegant structure of the spell, the precise vectors of force. To his nascent Sovereign perception, it wasn't an attack; it was a sentence written in a simple, childish script, declaring itself law in his immediate space.
His existence, the sheer silent weight of what slept within him, disagreed.
The spear of magical ice did not shatter. It un-wrote itself. Two feet from his chest, the complex matrix of water, intent, and mana came apart. Not with violence, but with dissolution. The ice sublimated directly into a harmless, sparkling mist. The focused cold simply ceased to be. The beautiful lunge ended with Vesperion's sword point hanging in empty air, the spell's energy gone without a trace, not even a wisp of cold remaining.
The silence this time was deafening. It was the sound of fundamental understanding breaking.
Vesperion stared at his sword, then at Sai Ji. His face, once full of arrogant certainty, was blank with shock.
One of his own party members whispered, "He didn't… move."
"He didn't cast," another breathed.
"The spell… it just stopped," Lyra said, her voice hollow.
The guild members who had seen the Behemoth incident exchanged stunned looks. This was different. The beast was primal, instinctual. This was cold, hard magic, negated by presence.
Sai Ji looked at his own hands, then at the bewildered, humiliated A-ranker before him. A wave of cold dread washed over him, colder than any ice magic. This wasn't strength. This was something else. Something that broke the rules of the world he was trying to live in.
He slowly lowered his hands, the F-rank token feeling like a piece of kindling in his grip. He met Vesperion's shocked gaze, and in his own eyes was not triumph, but a weary, profound apology for a game he never asked to play.
"See?" Sai Ji said, his voice quiet, tired, and utterly sincere. "Harmless."
He turned and walked toward the completion desk, leaving a guild hall full of people who no longer saw an F-rank adventurer, but a walking, talking question mark dressed in a mundane disguise that was fraying at the seams.
The path to normalcy, he realized, wasn't just uphill. It was a cliff face, and he was fresh out of rope.