The door to the room opened suddenly.
The old wood creaked softly, and the cold air from outside poured in. Bumantara—or Astryan—opened his eyes, his breathing steady after completing a cycle of meditation.
In the doorway stood a familiar figure:
Eras.
The old man stared at him with sharp eyes that always seemed to know more than he let on.
His face was stern, unsmiling.
His tone was flat, but it cut like a blunt knife.
"Hm. So, is this your progress today?"
Bumantara stood slowly, holding back a slight ache.
"Yes, Grandpa. I—"
Eras raised a hand, silencing him.
He eyed Astryan like a strange piece of rock he hadn't yet decided was valuable or trash.
Then he spoke appraisingly:
"Elementalist core… Warrior rank one, one star."
He clucked his tongue softly.
"Slow. Very slow."
Bumantara clenched his fists, slightly offended, but tried to remain calm.
Eras walked over, touched Astryan's wrist, checking her energy pulse. His fingers were cold as frozen metal.
"Hmph… your body's breathing has reached the Body Tempering Stage – Intermediate."
He snickered again.
"Not bad, but still lacking."
Bumantara nodded slowly.
He was prepared to accept the criticism—after all, this body did have many limitations.
But as Eras examined Astryan's mental flow… he paused.
His old eyebrows raised slightly.
Just for a second.
A flash.
But it was enough to show his surprise.
"…Meditation of your mind and soul," he murmured softly.
He closed his eyes for a moment, observing the core of Astryan's consciousness.
"Fertilization… peak level."
There was silence.
Cold.
Sharp.
It was as if the mountain breeze had also frozen.
Bumantara swallowed.
"Is something wrong?"
Eras opened his eyes.
His face was stoic again, but the look in his eyes was different—sharper, more alert.
"No."
He let out a small breath, as if to hide his surprise.
"No problem. Just… not what I expected."
He turned slowly, his shabby robes brushing the floor.
"For someone with a ten percent affinity and seven elemental cores…"
He continued, his tone slightly heavier.
"You should have only reached the early or intermediate level of Fertilization."
He stared at Astryan for a long, deep moment.
"You've reached the peak level."
Bumantara was a little surprised himself.
He had felt the meditation was going well—but he hadn't expected the results to be so high.
"Is that good, Grandpa?"
Eras snorted.
"Good? Not really."
His sharp gaze pierced like a judgmental hawk.
"It means your mind is stronger than your body. Your balance is poor. If you force your way to a higher level now, you'll either die or become an idiot."
Bumantara fell silent.
Eras continued, walking around Astryan as if inspecting a warrior.
"Warrior Core is divided into three levels.
Each level has three stars."
Eras's voice was cold and stern, like a merciless teacher.
"You're still at the first stage of Warrior, one star.
At the bottom of the valley of power.
At the point where even a village peasant could defeat you."
He stopped right in front of Astryan, staring straight into her eyes.
"…But your soul has begun to exceed its proper limits."
Bumantara swallowed again.
There was something in the way Eras spoke—as if he saw "danger," not "potential."
Eras let out a long sigh, the longest Astryan had ever heard him.
"Mm. Not good," he said finally.
"You're improving… but in the wrong way."
The old man turned around.
"We'll start new training tomorrow morning. If you don't learn to balance your body, core, and soul… you'll be destroyed before you can fight."
He walked out of the room, but before the door closed, he added without looking back:
"…And keep your meditation progress hidden from everyone. Including me."
The door closed.
Leaving Bumantara in silence.
And for the first time—he felt something he hadn't felt since arriving in this world:
Not fear.
Not surprise.
But Eras's unnatural fascination.
As if the old man knew something…
about him.
about this body.
about the mysterious mask that had become fused with him.
And chose not to say.
The truth was that Eras didn't know.
Eras was just surprised and suspicious.
Dusk began to sink slowly behind the mountains. The last orange light faded, giving way to a dark purple creeping in from the east. The air turned cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and rustling leaves touched by the mountain breeze.
Astryan stepped out of the wooden house, his steps slow, his shoulders still heavy from Eras' training and assessment session. The afternoon was on the verge of evening—the sky wasn't completely dark, but only a few streaks of sunlight hung like the last embers from a giant bonfire.
To the right of the house, a natural pool reflected the dim colors of dusk. The surface of the water was beginning to darken. like a mirror preparing to welcome the night. Nocturnal insects begin to appear
His voice was soft but filled the air with a steady rhythm.
Astrian stood at the edge of the pool.
"I don't even know what I look like yet…"
As he crouched and stared into the water, the remaining twilight touched the surface, casting a faint but distinct reflection. Seconds passed, and the sky slowly turned a deep blue. In the transition between dusk and night, a face emerged.
His face.
A teenager of about fourteen, his body was firm and well-proportioned—the result of Astryan's rigorous training before he, Bumantara, took over this body. His skin was fair and flawless, reflecting the last rays of dusk and the light of the rising moon. His black hair fell to his neck, slightly messy but adding to his wild charm.
Astrian smiled faintly.
"…Not bad."
He then adjusted his hair slightly.
"It's natural that I'm handsome," he murmured, letting his small ego show.
The sky finally darkened completely, replaced by the light of the slowly rising moon. Astryan began to undress to clean himself. But as soon as his body came into full view under the dim nightlight, he froze.
"B—big…"
He covered his face briefly with his hands, both embarrassed and in a state of uncontrollable shock.
But something else completely silenced him.
There wasn't a single wound.
No puncture marks.
No bruises.
No trace of the pain he'd experienced the first day he'd arrived.
"…Completely healed."
Only one person could have done that: Eras.
Astryan lowered himself into the water. The water was cold, almost icy, yet refreshing. The moonlight reflected off the surface, creating silvery ripples that brushed against his skin. The sensation was soothing, as if the night water were washing away the chaos from his mind.
When he was done, he put his clothes back on, his body more relaxed. The night sky was full, sprinkled with tiny stars twinkling through the thin mountain mist.
Astryan returned home. As soon as his body hit the straw mattress, the accumulated fatigue immediately dragged him to his senses. In his old world, sleep was the enemy. In this world, his new body demanded rest, just as any living creature should.
Within seconds, his breathing was calm and rhythmic.
Astrian fell asleep—protected by the stillness of the mountain night, as if this new world were welcoming a newcomer who could finally rest from the chaos of his first day.