Mirion stood with arms folded, watching the warriors he had handpicked strain against the snow and ice. The training field rang with the dull thuds of ice blocks being lifted and dropped, the ground trembling under their weight.

Not a single mage was present - Mirion had no intention of wasting time judging what he could not. That duty he had left to Aria, just as he had left the archers to Nia. They would each send him their best, and he would decide who was worthy to march at his side and who was not.

"Why do we have to participate in this?" Rodon groaned, his voice strained as he pressed a block of ice over his back, lowering himself into push-ups. His breath came in foggy bursts, his arms quivering with each descent, yet pride forced him to continue.

Next to him, Avenor cursed through gritted teeth, straining his body to match the pace even as his face twisted with effort.

Only Lucas kept his expression calm. Or rather, he refused to let the torment show. His body betrayed him. His sweat-soaked tunic clung to his back, his trembling hands betraying the truth. He was never built for feats like this. His frame was lean, honed for silence and speed, not brute strength.

Still, he pushed on. His arms shook violently as he forced the ice block upward one final time before dropping it beside him with a thud. His chest heaved, each breath sharp and ragged as though the winter air itself cut his lungs.

Mirion's low chuckle rolled over them, annoying them even more.

"Is that all you've got?" His eyes moved over the field, noting the bodies collapsed in the snow. Only three endured, just as he had expected.

"You want to come on this quest, but you can't even handle this?" His tone hardened. He took a step forward, and his shadow seemed to stretch across the snow, the torch behind him creating a more dramatic effect. "What happens if the fight drags on longer than a few moments? Will you ask your enemies to give you a break?"

One Velmoryn opened his mouth but froze when Mirion's gaze fell on him. The cold stare silenced him better than any blow could.

"I'll tell you what you'll do," Mirion thundered, his voice rising until it filled the field. "You'll force one of your allies to cover for you, and you'll put their lives at risk!"

His anger seemed to flare without cause, spilling into every word. Even when I looked into his thoughts, I found nothing that would explain it. Perhaps it was something deeper - buried grief, fear, or guilt.

"I don't despise weakness," he continued, fists clenched at his sides. "You are all free to grow stronger at your own pace. But know your limits. Bravery is admirable, yes, but charging into battle without sense, dragging others down with you, is nothing short of idiocy."

The silence that followed was heavy. Even Avenor, who had cursed his way through the training, lowered his gaze. His earlier irritation vanished, replaced by shame.

"I did it again," he thought, shoulders tightening as he shook his head. "I forgot what this world really is, how dangerous that quest might be… Even now, I sometimes think of this world as a game… but it isn't. This is real. And it's much more unforgiving and merciless than Earth ever was."

And then, Avenor lifted his head slightly and addressed me.

"Verde… is the link between us truly gone? I mean… is there no way it can be repaired?"

It was the first time he had spoken of it. After the initial shock, I had tried everything to reclaim him as my vessel, though there wasn't much I could do… Yet he had never shown regret. In truth, I had begun to think he preferred it that way, free of me.

But now, here he was, asking.

Unfortunately, I had no answer. Even the advanced Guidance revealed nothing about repairing the severed bond. All I could do was hope that, as my power and knowledge grew, I might one day discover how to reclaim my vessel.

"Mirion," Rodon called as he approached him, glancing toward the Velmoryns who stood in the field, stealing cautious breaks under their commander's glare. "Why don't you bring that kid I fought in the ritual with us? If master Drukyr forges him a weapon that can compensate for his lack of strength, I think he could be useful."

"He is too young," Mirion replied at once, the certainty in his tone making it clear he had already weighed the matter even before Rodon brought it up. "I will not put his life at risk when he hasn't even fully awakened."

"What is full awakening?" Avenor asked, his curiosity slipping out instinctively as he leaned in to follow the conversation.

Mirion nodded as if recalling that Avenor didn't remember anything before meeting Roy.

"Some Velmoryns awaken their class or skills one additional time before reaching maturity," he explained, lifting a wooden axe from the rack and turning it in his hand. "It's rare, but still happens. In our tribe, only one managed it so far…"

"Aria," Avenor muttered.

Mirion nodded. "Yes. She awakened as Silver Rank when she was only seventy-five, and reached Gold by the time she matured." He set the axe aside, grunting, and picked up another, hefting it before frowning again.

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"Everyone awakens when they come of age. For them, the lowest rank is Bronze. But if one awakens earlier, we call it half awakening, because they will awaken again upon becoming an adult." He tossed the second axe down with clear annoyance. "Who crafted these? The balance is dreadful. No one could learn proper technique with them."

"Does using an axe really require finesse?" Avenor muttered with a faint grin. "Isn't it just… like chopping?"

The grin on his face froze as Mirion's glare snapped toward him.

"If you are that confident," Mirion said, a dangerous smirk forming, "why don't we spar? I have been eager to test my new skill, and you will help me."

Avenor shifted uncomfortably, as if still weighing Mirion's proposal.

But I knew better.

"I can't believe it was this easy. Now all I have to do is trick him into explaining how his skill works, and then I'll be able to copy it." Inwardly, Avenor was celebrating. He had been waiting for this moment, trying to trick Mirion into issuing the challenge himself. If Avenor had volunteered, Mirion would have brushed him off, dismissing him as unworthy. And even if he had agreed, he would never have explained the mechanics of his skill, which was one of the requirements to use Mimic Shell.

"Alright…" Avenor muttered, sulking as if his pride had been wounded. "But to balance the odds and give me a chance at victory, explain to me how this new skill of yours works… and don't hide anything!"

"Haha! At least you know your place!" Mirion boomed, planting his fists on his hips and staring down at Avenor like a father about to lecture a stubborn child. "I won't use my full strength. You can even bring your sword and shield if you want, haha…"

Avenor's brow twitched, but he forced himself to stay calm. "No, I can't get annoyed. The brute is about to hand me a new skill."

"Don't sulk like that! You only learn by fighting stronger opponents!" Mirion declared, clapping him on the back so hard that Avenor stumbled forward, nearly dropping to the ground face-first.

This one definitely wasn't acting.

The whole thing was amusing, even to me, though time was not something I had to spare. Still, I decided to indulge myself.

I'll watch just long enough to see if he manages to copy the skill, then I'll return to what must be done.

I could have relied on my multitasking ability, observing the spar while most of my focus turned to my new experiment. But I chose not to. Whenever I split my mind, each part lived its own thread, and when they merged, the recollection felt secondhand, like looking through a memory rather than experiencing everything firsthand.

And for a deity starved of diversion, Avenor's spar with Mirion promised rare entertainment. Especially since I fully expected Avenor to be beaten soundly by the veteran Velmoryn.

And I wanted to enjoy the spectacle.

Avenor and Mirion were already standing in the training field. The rest of the tribe had stepped back, clearing a wide circle in the snow, though the space felt tight with so many eyes fixed on the two who were about to spar. A hush settled over the field, broken only by the crunch of boots shifting for a better view.

"My new skill feeds on my stamina," Mirion announced, his voice breaking the silence. He rolled two short axes in his palms, testing the grip, then gave them a quick spin, the wooden blades boringly reflecting the light of the torches. These were the weapons he had chosen. "In return, each strike I land grows heavier than the last. The last time I tested it, I managed around twenty blows before my body failed me. After that, I couldn't continue. But I've been training hard to strengthen my endurance, and today I want to see how far I've come."

Avenor nodded slowly. On the surface, he carried himself with feigned reluctance, but his eyes betrayed his true emotions. Inside, he was barely able to contain his grin. After endless failures, Mimic Shell had leveled up, and now he was eager to test it.

[Mimic Shell – Advanced]

Creates a temporary imprint, allowing the next skill used by a visible target to be permanently copied. The target must activate the skill within one minute, and it must be fully observed and understood. Copied skills will have reduced (Intermediate) effectiveness. Cannot replicate abilities from beings whose Rank is 2 or more tiers higher. Current cooldown is 56 days; each successful use doubles the cooldown duration.

Avenor's eyes locked on Mirion as the veteran activated his skill. The axes in Mirion's hands began to shine with a faint golden hue, the light dancing across the snow.

And when Mirion charged, I already knew Avenor had succeeded. Not because he had revealed the same skill, but because of the grin tugging at his lips.

"Finally. It took me nearly two months to copy another skill, but I did it!" His thoughts brimmed with satisfaction as he slipped out of the axe's path, dodging with ease.

While Mirion was definitely stronger than Avenor if he used his Feral Surge, without it, he had absolutely no chance. And yet, I knew why this match was already lost for Avenor. He was hiding his true strength, deliberately underperforming, because he feared being thrown into a role more dangerous than what he was ready to face.

"You're faster than I expected," Mirion admitted with a smirk, closing the distance once more. His axe nicked Avenor's shoulder. "But still slower than me."

Avenor groaned loudly, staggering back as if badly hurt, though anyone paying close attention would have seen that Mirion's blows barely grazed him. He acted like he was on the verge of collapse, but every sound was feigned, every stumble part of the act.

Alright… this isn't as fun as I expected.

I had thought I would at least see Avenor struggle, that I would be entertained by his irritation boiling over. Instead, he was not even trying to sell it properly, and the fight was just… boring. Disappointed, I turned my focus elsewhere.

If my estimations were correct, I had two weeks until winter began to break, and I needed that time for preparation. At first, I had considered crafting weapons for my elites, but Gundir's work was already good enough. Not perfect, not superior, but reliable and far more practical.

So my thoughts drifted another way. When Avenor faced the spider mutants, it had not been his strength alone that impressed me. It was Huanir. That beast had fought with ferocity beyond expectation, even though he was not particularly strong. He had been the first creature I branded, and his blessing had somewhat failed. Yet still, he had mattered.

That was the seed of my new idea. I would create companions for my believers. Not unique creatures, not one-of-a-kind monsters, but enough to make a difference on the battlefield and more importantly, enough to make a statement.

I needed to impress the other tribes. Because this so-called monster nest extermination quest was never just about killing spiders. It was about conversion.

And once the hunt ended, I would no longer be speaking of tribes in the plural.

I would be uniting all Velmoryns.

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