Lyn passed section after section when his eyes suddenly brightened.
"Mortal Fragments and Combat Theory?"
He paused.
Currently, he had no fighting techniques. No structured knowledge. Nothing reliable to fall back on. Without these, he would be useless to himself and others.
"Ever since I lost my memory, that part of me has been gone…"
It had been about five months since the incident. A collapsing ore chunk struck his head. When he woke, everything from before was gone. Only instincts and fragments remained.
He opened the book and sat down on the floor, legs crossed, posture relaxed.
"Mortal Fragments are basic techniques built around fragments of law. Instead of using a single shard in a simple way, a Mortal Fragment is a structured pattern that combines Heavenly Shards, Truth Carvings, and the Vessel Sea into a repeatable method," he murmured while reading.
He scratched his head, eyes calm, thinking.
The book rested on his lap.
"So… repetition in a strict order. Knowing how to use shards and when to use them."
He stopped and corrected himself mentally.
"It is not brute force. It is structure. Chains of actions perhaps. Steps between steps. If someone understands shards and law well enough, they can create their own fragment techniques."
He continued reading.
"As expected… the more complex the fragment, the harder it is to execute. More steps, higher risk, but also greater strength. The same technique can behave differently in different hands. Truth Carvings matter. Mind matters."
His fingers tightened slightly on the page.
"One needs to think fast to align each chain. That is why notion-type shards are valuable."
Just as he was about to read further, the words vanished.
Lyn frowned.
"One hour already?"
Knowledge was expensive and controlled. Knowing was already half a step toward immortality.
He stood, dusted off his clothes, and made his way back toward the three doors. The formation released its grip on his vision as he exited.
He nodded politely to the disciple at the front desk and stepped outside.
The cold air felt clearer than when he entered.
He slowly made his way back to his house.
On the way, he thought,
"I have no tokens now. This is not good at all. And I cannot go to the mine because it is temporarily closed after what happened…"
He frowned slightly, but his expression soon returned to calm.
He reached his house, opened the door, and closed it behind him.
"I should organize my thoughts."
A man needed a goal. If one did not have a goal in life, a dream to achieve, he usually died first. Such people were discarded and left to fight for someone else's dream. A person could not be a person without a goal.
He walked to the sink and washed his face. Every house in the village had a simple formation built into it. By focusing on an intent such as water, the formation would draw and deliver it through linked space formations. Unused water was teleported away. No drainage was needed.
The sink existed only because the formation restricted summoning to one fixed point inside the house. Toilets and other utilities followed the same principle.
Cold water slid down his face.
"I need a new job."
He paused, then corrected himself.
"No… if I want to climb in this world, I should probably be training instead of thinking about work. But then… what about income?"
Mindless people only thought about food and drink. But how could one live in this world like that? It was near impossible. Danger lurked everywhere. Even your own eyes could turn against you.
Silence settled inside the small room.
He dried his face slowly.
He leaned against the wall for a moment and let the quiet settle.
He was not panicking, but the emptiness in his pockets, the sealed mine, the quiet uncertainty… they pressed faintly against his chest like a dull weight.
He exhaled and sat at the small table.
"I need to move. Sitting here and waiting will only stack problems."
For a short moment he gazed inward, mentally entering his Vessel Realm.
The golden star hovered quietly in the distance. Silent. Watching. Offering nothing. Demanding nothing. It simply existed.
He rested his elbows on the table and tapped his fingers lightly.
"Income… training… information… survival."
He lined the priorities in his mind like pieces on a board.
He had no job.
He could not go back to mining.
Contribution tokens were not infinite.
And now he knew more about Mortal Fragments. They required patience, shards, stability, and time.
He closed his eyes briefly.
"I need something stable enough so I do not starve… and flexible enough so I can study, train, and observe this world."
His jaw tightened for a heartbeat, then loosened again.
He was not afraid. Just aware of what had to be done.
He stood, dried his hands properly, and straightened his clothes.
There were options.
None of them comfortable. He would pick one anyway.
Then suddenly, a thought clicked.
"What if I… resell information?"
He sat down on his bed, fingers tapping lightly against his knee as his thoughts continued shaping themselves.
"Yes… yes. Resell cheap information to clueless outer disciples and wandering Dao Chosen. This is perfect."
The plan built itself smoothly.
All he needed to do was buy low-tier information shards from the market. Cheap, common things anyone could access if they bothered to think. Then, change the presentation. Add weight. Add mystery. Dress simple knowledge in dangerous clothing and people would pay to feel like they were touching something forbidden.
He would only need a steady voice, a believable gaze, confident pauses, a hint of secrecy. Acting was not a problem.
Half-truths wrapped in convincing lies. Harmless things spoken like secrets. Common sense sold like rare treasure.
Outer disciples feared ignorance more than death. It was no different than poor people believing they could become rich overnight or become powerful while doing nothing.
He could profit from that.
He had one information shard already. He could start. The hard part was finding people.
Or perhaps… not that hard.
He needed distance.
Hazelrun was too familiar. Too many people remembered his face. Too many eyes had watched him survive when others did not. If attention ever started gathering around the ashrain event, staying here would be stupidity.
He rubbed his temples.
"No job, no tokens, no stability," he murmured.
The idea returned.
Information.
If there was one resource the world would never stop needing, it was fear. Fear required answers. Answers could be sold.
Hazelrun was too poor.
Blackburg was too structured.
Argindale had eyes.
Tortileburn was far.
Emberbar…
A slight smile formed.
A trade town near the border of territory. People passing through. Temporary workers. Fear of rifts. Loose coin. Weak oversight. Gullible people and more. Enough movement that if he caused trouble, he could disappear into another face the next day.
And importantly…
Not important enough for anyone to chase someone over a few lies.
He splashed water on his face once more.
The cold helped.
His chest felt tight for just a moment, like something deep inside him had sighed.
"Good enough," he whispered.
He packed light.
Bread. Dried strips of meat. A coarse cloak. A spare shirt. His notebook.
The shards floated quietly in his Vessel Realm when he checked them. No reaction. No rejection. Just obedient tools.
He paused at the doorway.
He looked back once.
Hazelrun was tolerable. Quiet. Predictable. A place where breathing did not feel like competing with someone else's ambition.
He closed the door.
Three hundred villagers lived behind him.
They would not remember him for long.
He stood at the edge of Hazelrun's main path longer than he intended.
The road toward Emberbar was not some village stroll. With the mine closed and the sect tightening its grip, traveling alone would be stupid. Beasts were one thing. People were another. Hungry people, Silent Hands, and bored Dao Chosen looking for excuses.
He clicked his tongue softly.
Walking alone would take nearly a month.
Emberbar was the closest town. This world was too huge.
He did not have a month.
He needed a caravan.
He turned back toward the old rest square near the trade route. Even if Hazelrun was small, caravans still passed occasionally. Now that the mine was silent, they were fewer.
But not gone.
Lyn waited.
A group finally appeared near sunset.
Six wagons. Two beasts pulling each. Massive, scaled creatures with dim red lines pulsing beneath their skin. Fire Beast lineage. Strong endurance. Resistant to ash and heat.
A small sect escort walked alongside. Light Path mostly, with a few Earth Path Dao Chosen to stabilize terrain when needed. Outer disciples, Rank Two and Rank Three at most.
Perfect.
He approached the caravan master, a thick-armed man with a shaved head and a face that trusted money more than kindness.
"I want to head to Emberbar," Lyn said calmly.
The man looked him over.
The youth seemed no older than nineteen, slim rather than broad, yet there was nothing fragile about him. Pale skin spoke of long roads beneath tired skies, and long dark hair framed a face that rarely offered warmth. Thick eyebrows gave his expression a constant gravity, as if his thoughts never rested.
Then the man reached his eyes and paused.
Dark green. Deep. Too deep. They did not simply see. They evaluated. They carried patience that did not belong to someone his age, an old weight that steadied them in a way most grown men did not possess. For the briefest moment, something tightened in the caravan master's chest, as if the air itself had grown heavy.
He looked away first.
"Emberbar," he muttered. "Contribution?"
Lyn handed over what he could spare.
Not much.
The man frowned.
"That does not even pay for travel. You will be dead weight."
The tone was flat. But it was still a lie. The amount was just enough. He simply wanted to see how the boy reacted. People revealed themselves when pressed. Panic showed weakness. Anger showed pride. Begging showed fragility.
He watched.
No reaction.
Those dark green eyes remained steady, calm to the point of indifference. No flicker. No shift in breath. As if the words meant nothing. The unease returned, quieter this time, but sharper. Like standing near a drop and only then realizing there is no bottom.
Lyn did not blink.
"I can scout. Light Path."
That mattered.
Light Path meant sight. Sight meant reduced risk. Reduced risk meant lives and coin saved. He weighed it, as he always did. Risk, cost, gain.
The caravan master studied him longer than he normally would. Lyn did not look away. He did not plead. He did not try to impress. He simply existed there, calm in a way that did not feel natural. As if an ancient forest were staring at you.
Eventually, the man exhaled.
"Second wagon column. If something happens, you move when I say. No heroics."
Lyn nodded once.
"If something happens, I will not be foolish."
The caravan master held his gaze for another heartbeat.
Then he turned away.
"Report to the rear quartermaster. Get in line."
Such professionalism usually reassured him. This time, it merely kept the unease steady instead of letting it grow.
Lyn had seen that too.
They left Hazelrun that evening.
He didn't look back.
The first day was calm. The second too.
By the third, the road had already grown emptier than most mortals would ever see in their life.
The world was too large.
Villages swallowed by horizon. Land stretching endlessly. Skies too wide. Forests too deep.
The caravan had its rhythm:
Walk. Stop. Check wheels. Feed beasts. Eat hard bread. Sleep with one eye open.
Lyn kept to himself.
He watched.
The more he watched, the more useful Emberbar seemed. Caravans talked. Caravans complained. Caravans carried rumors.
Which meant Emberbar received them.
Perfect.
A practice ground.
He proved useful. Light Cat Eyes extended his vision. He didn't flinch easily. Fear never leaked from him.
Twice along the way, ash winds brushed across plains. Everyone flinched.
Lyn didn't.
Each time, the caravan leader glanced at him a little differently.
By the tenth day, disciples began asking questions:
How dangerous ash was. What it felt like. If rifts were real. If Heaven punished ambition.
Lyn answered calmly.
Half-truths only.
Already practicing.
Already sorting prey.
People were like these. Most were simple, most were afraid of being alone, so they chatted about anything just so quiet does not rest.
By the fourteenth day, people spoke of Emberbar.
"Busy recently."
"Too much movement."
"Tension in the air."
"People buying fake life-saving charms."
"Rumors everywhere."
Lyn listened.
Said nothing.
The fifteenth sunrise stretched across the sky.
A darker shape formed in the distance.
Emberbar.
He adjusted his cloak.
Money. Distance. Noise to disappear in.
Exactly what he needed.
The caravan slowed as Emberbar turned from a smear to reality.
Walls first.
Not grand.
Practical.
Layered reinforced stone and hardened ash-ore. Scarred. Patched. Ugly in places. Formations pulsed faintly through carved veins.
The smell followed.
Smoke, iron and sweat, too many voices.
Emberbar was loud, alive and careless.
Perfect.
The caravan rolled into the outer plaza where caravans were inspected, taxed, and tolerated. Merchants argued before stepping off wagons. Someone was already screaming about prices. A child nearly got run over and didn't even look scared.
Lyn stepped down quietly.
He didn't thank the caravan master. The caravan master didn't offer farewell.
Just a small nod.
Respect between strangers who owed nothing to each other.
Lyn disappeared into the crowd.
Buildings stacked upward. Streets layered. Stalls everywhere. Noise feeding upon itself. Rival sect patrols glaring too long before moving on.
Information lived here.
So did trouble.
Lyn blended in easily. Clothes clean enough to not look pitiful. Plain enough to not invite greed.
He walked.
Map memory formed naturally:
Main roads. Residential areas. Cultivation markets. Taverns where tongues loosened. Alleys where deals breathed.
He stopped once near the entrance, at a message pillar hammered full of notices.
He scanned lazily.
Fire-path beast sightings. Missing people. Minor bounties. Sect announcements.
But one idea repeated again and again:
Rifts and sky anomalies.
Fear disguised as paperwork.
He filed it away.
Fear sold well.
He didn't walk toward an inn.
He checked his pouch.
Empty.
He sighed.
No bed. No meals. No safety net.
He immediately adjusted.
That night, he slept in the caravan rest yard, sitting beside crates like he still belonged. No one cared. Too many bodies passed through Emberbar daily for anyone to waste effort on one quiet presence.
Cold ground. Stale air.
Better than debt.
He slept lightly.
Woke early.
Blended into the morning crowd before responsibility found him.
By midday, he had mapped three districts, four taverns heavy with gossip, two alleys soaked in quiet business, and one plaza where desperate people naturally collected.
He stopped there.
Sat on the edge of a low stone structure like he belonged.
"What do I need first?" he murmured.
Not food. Not a room.
Income.
He needed people to look at him and think:
He knows something I don't.
He needed to become useful before he became fed.
His fingers tapped his leg thoughtfully.
Sect disciples with too much pride. Wanderers with no roots. Merchants terrified of disasters. Dao Chosen afraid of falling behind.
Plenty of prey.
A faint smile appeared.
Lyn sat in the plaza like another tired traveler, cloak wrapped loosely, posture relaxed but composed. He wasn't trying to look suspicious. Suspicious people were noticed. He looked like someone who belonged here, but wasn't important enough to remember.
Perfect.
He placed a small scrap of cloth beside him. Nothing written on it. No flashy display. Just a patch laid out like a beggar's mat except there were no coins on it.
Only silence.
He waited.
Patience was a resource too.
If a tiger is too impatient he might not catch food.
Before long, a trio of 'sect' disciples passed by, laughing too loudly. Their robes carried sect crests, but cheap fabric betrayed their rank. Young. Too much confidence. Too little sense. The type that always believed everyone else around them was stupid. They tried to pretend to be from the sect. People were divided into outer sect, sect and inner sect.
Lyn didn't call out to them.
Calling people made them alert.
He just sighed.
Soft.
Regretful.
Heavy.
The kind of sigh that said: I know something, and I wish I didn't.
They walked five steps past him.
Then slowed.
They turned.
Hook, set.
One of them frowned. "Sir, what are you sighing about?"
Lyn lifted his gaze lazily.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
As if debating whether to bother.
As if talking itself was troublesome.
Already, they leaned closer.
"Nothing important," he said quietly. "Just thinking about whether I should bother warning strangers. If I speak and I'm wrong, I look like a fool. If I'm right… well…"
He stopped.
Silence filled the space he left.
Humans hated unfinished sentences.
"What warning?" another disciple asked, slightly uneasy.
Lyn scratched the side of his face. "You're heading toward the merchant quarter, right? You should avoid it for the next few days."
They exchanged glances.
"Why?"
Lyn's expression didn't change.
"Because Heaven doesn't open rifts randomly," he said softly. "When ash patterns break twice in the same region, something is preparing to descend. Hazelrun and the ridge weren't accidents. They were signals."
Inwardly, Lyn laughed. He made all this up on the spot!
They stiffened.
He let them stew.
"I shouldn't say more," he added with mild annoyance. "Outer disciples can't outrun Heaven anyway. Forget I mentioned it."
He leaned back, like the conversation bored him now.
They were completely hooked.
"Wait!"
"Explain!"
"What do you mean signals!?"
He exhaled like someone reluctantly dragged into trouble.
"There's a pattern," he said. "Even sect records avoid printing it publicly… because panic doesn't help anyone."
Truth was nothing was actually known about the rifts. But people like them viewed libraries as too costly; majority was like this. And usually basic knowledge was passed down by parents and so forth so no need to buy an information shard.
His eyes dimmed slightly.
"But when Heaven tries to create something and fails, it doesn't stop. It tries again. Somewhere nearby. Stronger each time."
He watched their throats tighten.
Perfect.
One swallowed. "So… Emberbar is next?"
"I didn't say that," Lyn replied casually. "But if I were you, I'd avoid large gatherings. Avoid metal structures. Avoid standing beneath layered formations."
He stopped again.
Their breathing grew heavier.
"Why?" another whispered.
He tilted his head, as if weighing whether this was worth the trouble.
"Now we're getting into things the sect calls 'restricted speculation.'"
His voice lowered.
"And speculation is never free."
They finally understood.
One grimaced. "How much?"
"No cost," Lyn said.
They blinked.
He let the confusion breathe.
"I don't sell lies. If you want nonsense, there are plenty of street fakes. Information is only valuable if it keeps someone alive. So—"
He pointed lazily toward the busy marketplace.
"Go enjoy your day. If a rift opens over Emberbar this week… pretend you never met me."
He stood.
Turned to leave.
Stopped.
Just for a second.
They panicked immediately.
"Wait!"
A hand grabbed his sleeve.
He had chosen correctly. This one was anxious. Too emotional. Easy prey.
"Look… we aren't rich, but we're not broke either," the disciple forced a laugh. "If something's going to kill people, we should at least know how to avoid being the unlucky ones, right?"
Lyn didn't turn right away.
He let him sweat.
Only then did he look back, eyes calm.
Tired.
Like a man doing them a favor.
He sighed.
"I don't give complete truth," he said slowly. "Only half-truth. If you accept that, we can talk."
They nodded too quickly.
Of course they would.
People trusted honesty more when it came with limits.
He sat back down.
They leaned close without being asked.
He lowered his voice.
"Signs a city is close to being chosen:
Ash winds without clouds.
Red afterglow in normal sunlight.
Heaven symbols appearing in reflections.
Animals avoiding the area.
Formations losing efficiency."
In truth, only the part about symbols had relevance—and not even how he implied it. Ashrain was a separate event entirely, but proper knowledge cost more than they could ever afford.
They swallowed every word like medicine.
Half of it was true.
Half of it was vague.
All of it felt real.
"And the reason it becomes dangerous," he continued calmly, "is because Heaven repeats failed creation using the same spatial anchors. Territory anchors. Route anchors. Caravan anchors. If a failed creation happened near Hazelrun…"
He tapped his finger lightly on the stone floor.
"…its echo will repeat anywhere linked to that road."
What he just said was utter nonsense. However, have the confidence and people will believe you, especially poor people.
One turned pale.
Another clenched his jaw.
The third swallowed hard.
Perfect.
He leaned back.
"Believe it or don't," he finished. "Heaven doesn't care what mortals think."
He stood for real this time.
This time, they didn't let him leave.
Money appeared.
Contribution tokens.
He accepted calmly.
Not greedy.
Not demanding.
That made it feel more real.
"Last advice," he added quietly. "If ash falls again… don't run indoors. People hide. People die. Go somewhere open. Ash kills lungs, not roofs."
If they were to follow this advice they would quickly sense their lungs burning up.
He left without looking back.
He didn't have to.
Behind him:
Silence. Fear. Whispers.
They would talk.
Rumor spreads faster than truth.
He disappeared into Emberbar's streets, cloak melting into the crowd, pockets slightly heavier, steps steady.
His first lie worked.
And Heaven really was watching this region.
Which meant sooner or later…
Something would happen.
And when it did?
People would remember the quiet man who warned them first.
That was worth more than a handful of tokens.
It was the beginning of a business.
And possibly…
A problem.