As the caravan moved west, something bothered Liam.
The silence.
No pursuit.No probing pressure.No distant killing intent trailing his steps.
The kingdom's assassins did not simply give up.
Liam walked beside the caravan, senses extended—not searching, just aware.
Why aren't they following?
By dusk, the merchant began speaking more freely.
Nothing suspicious on the surface. Stories of trade routes. Of Arcane's changing borders. Of losses endured and profits barely earned.
Too smooth.
Night fell quickly.
They made camp beneath broken stone formations, firelight flickering weakly against the dark. The merchant prepared porridge—simple, warm, comforting.
They ate in silence.
Then the merchant smiled.
"We should rest," he said gently. "I'll take the first watch. You look like you've walked too long without sleep."
Liam met his gaze.
The suggestion was reasonable.
Too reasonable.
Still, he nodded and lay down.
Let's see what you're planning.
An hour passed.
Then—
"Help!" the merchant shouted suddenly. "Someone—!"
Liam's eyes opened.
Movement surged from the darkness.
Figures rose from concealment—every shadow unfolding into a blade-bearing form.
Assassins.
Dozens.
No hesitation.
They struck.
And hit nothing.
Liam vanished.
A heartbeat later, his voice came from above.
"So," he said calmly, "you were one of them."
Liam stood atop a stone outcrop, Red Core glowing faintly, eyes cold.
The merchant stared upward, shock flashing across his face before twisting into irritation.
"That's impossible," he said. "I fed you sleeping medicine."
Liam tilted his head.
"Then who drank the porridge?"
The merchant's expression darkened.
"Kill him."
The assassins moved as one.
Steel clashed against shadow.
Liam summoned his minions—black forms tearing free from the ground, meeting the assassins head-on. The fight exploded outward, blades flashing, mana colliding violently.
These were not ordinary killers.
They coordinated perfectly.They adapted quickly.They killed undead without fear.
Liam felt it.
Mana drain.
Slow. Persistent.
Deliberate.
Tactical exhaustion.
His eyes locked onto one man standing apart—the true leader.
A master.
Liam dismissed his minions abruptly.
Then he moved.
The clash between them was brutal.
Magic tore the ground apart. Blades screamed through space. Liam took wounds—real ones. His mana dropped dangerously low.
But the leader made one mistake.
He assumed Liam would retreat.
Instead, Liam advanced.
His first mage beta —silent until now—appeared behind the assassin leader and struck.
The blade pierced cleanly.
The man froze.
Liam stepped close.
"Your timing was good," he said quietly. "Your bait was clever."
Then he released it.
A compressed blast of Red Core energy erupted outward.
The night screamed.
When the light faded, most of the assassins were gone—burned, shattered, erased.
Liam didn't collapse until he was certain he was alone.
Pain arrived all at once—deep, internal, exacting. Not the kind that screamed, but the kind that reminded him, with every breath, how close the margin had been.
He found a narrow cave cut naturally into the cliffside. Jagged stone. Limited entry points.
Good.
"Guard the entrance," Liam ordered.
Shadows detached from the ground, settling into position without sound. At his next gesture, several more peeled away and flowed into the forest.
"Search," he added. "Medicinal herbs. Anything that stabilizes flesh and mana."
They dispersed instantly.
Only then did Liam allow himself to sit.
Beta manifested partially, its presence precise and efficient.
Internal damage first.Mana channels second.Residual contamination from assassin techniques last.
The pain sharpened.
Liam didn't move.
When the minions returned, their findings were… excessive.
Bundles of high-grade herbs. Roots that only grew in mana-rich dead zones. Crystalline leaves that should have taken weeks to locate.
Liam noticed.
But said nothing.
Beta processed the herbs, refining them into treatment. Liam worked methodically, restoring himself piece by piece.
No disturbances came.
No scouts.No beasts.No assassins.
Two days passed in unnatural quiet.
By the third morning, Liam stood.
Weakened—but stable.
He dismissed the guards and continued west.
Arcane was close.
Arcane
The world began to fracture before his senses warned him.
Sound dulled.Wind bent unnaturally.Mana reversed flow, then stilled.
The road simply… ended.
Ahead stood Arcane.
Not a city.
A contradiction.
Structures stitched from incompatible eras leaned against one another without touching. Streets curved upward and vanished. Towers existed at angles that denied gravity.
No walls.
No gates.
No barrier.
Liam stepped forward.
Nothing resisted him.
Inside, the air felt unclaimed.
Death Sense went silent.
Beta did not respond.
For the first time since his awakening—
Liam felt unregistered.
"You passed."
The voice came from behind.
Liam turned.
A man stood near a fractured pillar, cloak worn, presence unstable yet undeniable. One eye was gone. The other burned with clarity sharpened by loss.
"You made it," the man continued. "That alone disqualifies most."
Liam studied him.
"You're Arvane's friend."
The man smiled faintly. "Once."
He straightened.
"My name is Gor."
Liam frowned slightly.
"Passed… what?" Liam asked.
Gor looked at him for a long moment.
Then said calmly—
"All of it."
Silence fell hard.
"The demons," Gor continued."The assassins.""The caravan.""The ambush.""The cave."
Liam froze.
"You think it coincidence," Gor said, "that your minions returned with herbs most healers would die trying to acquire?"
Understanding struck like ice.
"And the silence," Liam said slowly. "No pursuit. No attacks."
Gor nodded.
"I allowed nothing to interfere," he said. "Not because you were weak."
"But because the test wasn't about strength."
Liam's jaw tightened.
"Why?" he asked. "Why test me like this?"
Gor's single eye hardened.
"Because Anchors die the moment they believe the world owes them safety," he said.
He stepped closer.
"I needed to know whether you could walk through manipulation, exhaustion, and betrayal—and still choose your own direction."
Liam exhaled slowly.
The pieces aligned.
The unease he felt around the merchant.The precision of the ambush.The unnatural calm of his recovery.
"You were testing my judgment," Liam said.
"Yes," Gor replied. "And your restraint. And whether you would collapse once protection vanished."
Liam looked around Arcane.
"So," he said, "what's next?"
Gor smiled—not kindly.
"Now," he said, "you learn how to grow without permission."
He turned toward the broken city.
"Arcane is where Anchors either become weapons…"
He glanced back.
"…or become problems the system cannot solve."