The neon lights of Sector D's lower district bled into the rain-slicked pavement, creating a kaleidoscope of artificial colors that masked the grit and grime of the city. Roman walked with his hood pulled low, his movements fluid and silent. Every step felt different now. With Stage 3 Bone Hardening complete, his center of gravity felt anchored to the planet's core. He wasn't just walking; he was moving with the terrestrial weight of a mountain.
Inside his chest, the Solstice Core had gone dormant, but it left behind a lingering warmth. The "Lightning Snake" bloodline had been refined—no, forged—into something that no longer resembled a snake at all.
I need to test the limiters, Roman thought, glancing at a rusted steel beam protruding from a demolished hab-block.
He didn't strike it. He simply leaned his weight against it as he passed. The reinforced steel groaned and buckled, leaving a deep indentation of his shoulder in the metal. He hadn't used a single watt of energy—just raw, skeletal density.
A group of "Dredgers"—unawakened thugs with cheap, black-market neural-jacks—watched him from the shadows of an alley. Usually, a lone Academy student in a "Normal" uniform was easy prey. They moved to intercept him, their lead pipe-wrenches sparking with low-grade batteries.
Roman didn't even look at them. He just kept walking.
As the lead thug reached out to grab Roman's shoulder, a faint, violet static discharged from Roman's skin—a passive defense mechanism of his new marrow. The thug was thrown back five feet, his neural-jack short-circuiting in a shower of sparks. His companions froze, watching the hooded boy disappear into the smog without a word.
"Don't," the fallen thug wheezed, clutching his charred hand. "That wasn't a student. That was a ghost."
The next morning at the Academy Spire was unusually quiet. The news of Roman Carter's "disappearance" had circulated through the Normal Class like a wildfire. Most assumed he had finally succumbed to his injuries or, worse, that Brent had finished the job in the shadows.
When the Maglev hissed to a halt at the Academy platform, the students filing out were met with a sight that made the morning air feel even colder.
Roman Carter was standing by the pillar, leaning against the obsidian wall, calmly reading a digital scroll on his tablet.
His "mask" was perfectly in place. The nano-pigment had been reapplied, his hair a dull, unremarkable brown. The tinted lenses hid the emerald forest and the white sparks of his eyes. He looked exactly like the weak, Level 2 failure everyone expected him to be—except for his posture. He was no longer slouching. He stood with a terrifying, silent stillness.
"He's... he's alive?"
"How? I saw Jax hit him with a Kinetic burst that should have shattered his ribcage."
The whispers followed him like a physical wake as he walked toward the lecture hall. Roman ignored them all. He was focused on the rhythmic thrumming in his marrow, a secret song that only he could hear.
Roman entered the history hall five minutes early. Professor Alistair Thorne was already there, sitting behind his mahogany desk, staring at a flickering holographic star-chart. When Roman walked in, Thorne's grey eyes snapped up.
The Professor didn't say a word. He didn't offer a greeting. Instead, he stood up and walked slowly toward Roman. The air in the room grew heavy, a localized gravity field manifesting around Thorne as he approached. It was a silent test—a "Pressure Scan" used by High-Level cultivators to measure the foundation of their subordinates.
Roman felt the weight. It was like a giant's hand pressing down on his shoulders, trying to force his knees to the floor. In the past, the old Roman would have collapsed instantly.
Now, Roman simply adjusted his stance by a fraction of an inch. His Stage 3 bones locked into place, absorbing the pressure and grounding it into the floor tiles. The concrete beneath his boots developed hairline fractures, but Roman didn't budge. He looked Thorne directly in the eyes.
"Good morning, Professor," Roman said, his voice as steady as a heartbeat.
Thorne's eyes widened for a micro-second—a rare display of emotion from the silver-haired man. He pulled back the pressure, and the heavy atmosphere vanished.
"Stage 3," Thorne whispered, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and grim fascination. "In a single night. You didn't just mend your bones, Roman. You replaced them."
"I found some 'scrap' that was useful," Roman replied, keeping his voice low-key. "Xylia sends her regards."
Thorne let out a soft, dry chuckle. "Xylia? That gremlin in the Dross Pile? You're playing a dangerous game, boy. You're building a foundation that the Academy's scanners will eventually flag as 'Anomalous.' When that happens, the Board of Directors won't see a student. They'll see a specimen."
"Then I'll just have to make sure they're too afraid to touch the specimen," Roman said.
The door to the hall slammed open, hitting the wall with a resounding bang. Brent Carter marched in, flanked by four Elite students. His face was a mask of livid purple rage. He had spent the night being mocked by his peers for "losing" his prey, and seeing Roman standing there, unharmed and talking to Thorne, was the final straw.
"Roman!" Brent roared, his Level 5 Wind Wyvern aura erupting. High-speed currents of air began to swirl around the room, sending tablets and papers flying. "Where were you? You skipped the medical check-in. You bypassed the security gate. You've been branded a 'Security Risk' by the branch elders!"
Roman turned slowly. He didn't manifest his lightning. He didn't even raise his guard. He just looked at Brent with a gaze so cold it seemed to freeze the swirling winds.
"I was busy, Brent," Roman said. "Unlike you, I don't need a team of medics to fix a few bruises."
"You dare..." Brent's hand blurred, his fingers forming a claw. A concentrated blast of wind—a Vacuum Blade—shot toward Roman's throat. It was a lethal move, one meant to decapitate.
The Normal Class students screamed, diving for cover. But Roman didn't move. At the last possible second, he raised his hand.
He didn't dodge. He caught the blade.
The pressurized air shrieked as it ground against Roman's palm. The skin broke, a trickle of blood appearing, but the blade stopped dead. The sound of metal-on-metal echoed through the hall as Roman's Stage 3 bones resisted the sheer force of the Level 5 ability.
With a sharp twist of his wrist, Roman crushed the wind-blade, dispersing the energy into a harmless puff of air.
"Your footwork is still bad, Brent," Roman said, wiping the blood from his palm onto his trousers. "And your output is flickering. Are you sure you're a Level 5? You hit like a Level 3."
The silence that followed was heavier than Thorne's gravity. Brent stared at his own hand, then at Roman. He was shaking—not with fear, but with a reality-shattering confusion. A Level 2 had just caught a Wind Wyvern's blade with his bare hand.
"I'll kill you," Brent whispered, his aura turning dark and violent. "I'll burn this entire floor down to kill you!"
"That's enough," Thorne's voice rang out, vibrating with a hidden power that made everyone's ears ring. "Mr. Brent Carter, you have just attempted to murder a fellow student in front of a faculty member. Aegis!"
[User: Brent Carter. Violation: Tier 1 Assault. Status: Suspended. Security Drones dispatched.]
A swarm of silver, orb-like drones descended from the ceiling, their red lasers locking onto Brent's vital points.
"This isn't over, Roman!" Brent screamed as the drones forced him toward the exit. "The family duel is in three days! I'll see you in the Pit! No teachers! No drones! Just me and you!"
As the door slammed shut, Roman finally let out a breath. He looked down at his palm. The cut was already closing, the violet light of the necklace working beneath his skin.
He looked at Thorne, who was watching him with a strange, pensive expression.
"Three days, Roman," Thorne said. "Brent will use the Carter Family's -DragonElixir to reach Stage 5 Flesh Refining by then. Your bones are strong, but if your flesh is weak, he will tear the muscles right off your skeleton."
"Then I guess I have three days to become a dragon-slayer," Roman said.