A hunter with his dark black hood down, staggered through the hall.
Blood had soaked through his sleeve, dried in dark layers along the fabric. Not fresh. Not recent. His hand clenched a crumpled mission slip so tightly the parchment cracked at the fold.
He went to the clerk, went to the clerk to ask for rewards.
"Good. you'll get your rewards after we're sure of mission completion"
A few glanced up, measured the situation, then looked away.
The man reached the board and tore another request free—too hard, the edge ripping unevenly—before turning back. He didn't limp. He forced himself steady.
Crazy...
Noise filled the space again.
Voices rose, coin struck wood, someone laughed too loudly while a chair scraped hard against stone. Nothing stopped for long here.
Alex while looking around wandering came there.
The very large board stretched across the entire wall, layered with parchment—fresh ink over faded, new seals stamped over older ones. Names were scratched out and replaced, rewritten in hurried strokes.
Nothing here stayed certain.
"First time measuring your chances?"
Alex glanced to the side.
A man leaned against a pillar, posture loose but not careless. Unshaven, with a thin scar along his jaw, his eyes didn't settle—they moved, tracking motion, weighing it.
"Something like that," Alex said.
A quiet breath left him.
"Yeah. That look fades."
He pushed off the pillar.
"Rovan."
"Alex."
Rovan's gaze ran over him once, taking in clean lines and controlled stance—noble, or close enough.
The corner of his mouth tilted faintly.
"You'll want something simple for your first time," he said, glancing toward the board. "Though simple's not always the case."
Alex didn't respond.
Rovan gestured loosely.
"Collection. Hunts. Escort. Elimination. Investigation, etc.," he said, tapping parchment as he spoke. "Till Low, mid, peak Initiate realm, tempered body realm, are here. From Meridian Flow Realm etc., you'll get issued specific missions as per your reputation"
Alex scanned the board.
"And rewards?"
"Coin. Materials. Sometimes techniques." Rovan shrugged. "Depends who's paying."
"Who posts them?"
"Anyone can." A brief pause. "Merchants. Villages. People who need something done"
His voice lowered slightly.
"Houses."
Alex's gaze shifted—barely.
Rovan saw it anyway and let out a humorless breath.
"They don't dirty their hands," he said. "They pay for distance."
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then—
"Sometimes Cults too, in disguise."
Alex's attention sharpened.
Rovan's expression didn't change.
"They're everywhere," he said with a hint of rage and sadness. "Some weak. Some not. You never Know until it's too late."
Alex moved.
His fingers stopped on a request.
Caravan escort failed. Missing cargo and personnel. Southern ridge road. Suspected bandit interference.
No numbers. No report. No detail.
Hmm...
He pulled it free. Went to the register.
The clerk didn't look up.
Alex placed the request down.
"I'm taking this."
A glance.
"Badge?"
"I'm here to register"
"Real or codename?"
"What's the Difference?"
"Codename gets you seventy percent."
"Why?"
The clerk finally looked up.
"We don't leak your identity if you don't want it revealed ."
Alex nodded once.
"Codename."
The pen hovered.
"Name?"
"Jester."
Ink scratched across parchment.
A light brown metal token slid toward him.
"Don't lose it."
"You chose that one."
Alex turned.
The woman stood a few steps away. Up close, her posture was sharper—not relaxed, but controlled—and her gear carried no ornament, only precision. Expensive without display.
Her eyes rested on him, not dismissive, but measuring.
She glanced at the slip, then back at him. irritated.
She turned and left.
He glanced at her and went his way.
The southern ridge road cut through dry, broken land, where loose gravel shifted underfoot and sparse trees cast uneven shadows across rising and dipping ground.
After two days of travel.
The first wagon came into view.
Overturned.
One wheel crushed inward—not broken, but compressed, as if force had come from above rather than the side.
Alex slowed.
The second wagon stood upright.
Empty.
No bodies. No blood.
Too clean.
His gaze dropped.
Tracks—organized, no panic, no scatter.
And a dark smear along the wood.
Burnt.
But without flame marks.
Different.
A shift brushed his awareness.
Not sound.
Intent.
Behind him.
"You can come out," Alex said.
A pause.
Then she stepped into view, unhurried.
"You noticed."
"Yes."
Her gaze moved over the wreckage and paused at the crushed wheel.
"Same pattern," she said quietly.
Then—
"They're here."
Alex didn't trust her.
But the pressure building at the edge of his perception—
That was real.
Two figures stepped into the open.
Violet robes. Marked with strange symbol at the centre.
Their Qi flared.
Both Peak Initiate !!
This was supposed to be a simple bandit mission...
Alex's grip tightened.
The first moved—fast, without hesitation.
Alex stepped in.
Falling Petal Cut—
Steel met reinforced Qi, and the impact slammed up his arm, dull and heavy, forcing his grip tighter as the vibration lingered in his wrist.
The cultist held.
Didn't break.
The second came from the side, angle tight—too tight.
Alex shifted, his foot slipping half an inch on loose gravel—
Flowing River Guard—
The strike scraped past him, close enough that fabric snapped against his ribs.
The woman moved.
Her blade cut in clean, precise, with no wasted motion.
The first cultist adjusted immediately.
Not reckless.
Coordinated.
Alex stepped back, breath steady—then hitched as his ribs stung where the strike had grazed him. Minor, but enough to break rhythm.
That mattered.
Illusion.
A flying dart flickered near the broken wagon.
One cultist turned to block it, surprised. —
He didn't feel the dart hit
Illusion !!
Alex moved.
Silent Draw Strike—
Steel bit into flesh, and this time the impact landed fully, snapping the man's breath and breaking his stance just enough to create an opening.
The second didn't pause.
Didn't hesitate.
He adapted, closing in faster now.
Pressure built.
Two peak initiates, working together.
Alex's channels tightened, the flow slowing just slightly, like resistance building in a current.
Every movement cost more.
The woman stepped in again and held both for a moment—barely—as their strikes forced her back a step, then another, their focus tightening on her.
NOW!
Pain tore through the back of his skull, sharp and blinding, as his vision snapped into brutal clarity—edges too sharp, time narrowing to a single, precise line.
Cultists emotions panicked suddenly, not knowing why lost his focus for a moment.
Steel was already descending.
The blade clipped his shoulder—not deep, but enough to send a shock through his arm and loosen his grip for a fraction of a second.
Too long.
The second strike came immediately.
No gap. No mercy.
Falling Petal Cut—
His blade cut across cleanly.
The first cultist dropped.
The second cultist didn't hesitate.
Didn't retreat.
He continued advancing toward her.
Alex stepped forward again, breath tight, vision steady but pulsing faintly at the edges from strain.
Another illusion...—short, unstable, barely held—but enough to fool and dodge.
The cultist's strike shifted half an inch and missed.
That was when the girl moved.
'Too fast' Alex thought.
Sarah's blade cut through the cultists neck.
Clean.
Final.
Silence fell, heavy, broken only by the faint rattle of loose gravel settling underfoot.
Alex didn't lower his sword immediately.
His breathing slowed, forced steady, while his shoulder throbbed—not deep, but real—and his channels burned faintly beneath the surface. The back of his head pulsed in sharp intervals.
She wiped her blade, calm and unbothered, like this confirmed something she already knew.
Alex turned toward her. wary.
"What the hell's going on?"