The backdrop of a clear sky made the arena look almost peaceful. Except for the echoing booms filling the air. The sound was coming from the two fighters who were having a heart to heart with their fists. Neither warrior bore weapons, nor used protective armor. Their stone-hard fists pummeling the other's equally tough body. But neither of them looked out of breath or in pain.

Aenon and Ignar were going at it without restraint, their clashes sending out sonic booms with each hit. The slack jawed audience—comprised of all the fresh new talent being trained by Jenny and Velastra—sat in the stands while witnessing the insane mock fight with reverence. The young fighters had seen Ignar in action on the battlefield. Many had assumed his strength to be at the pinnacle, not expecting that a mage/rogue could go toe to toe against the berserker.

"Watch their footwork," Aenon heard Jenny yell at the stunned recruits. "It's all in the footwork."

But Aenon didn't have any leeway to focus on what she said next as Ignar charged at him with renewed ferocity. Aenon barely managed to block the attack with his arms. But the impact made his bones groan under stress. Without Nocthrya's presence, he lacked the +200 stat boost. And since Ignar had instructed him to weather the blows instead of dodging like he usually did, his body was paying the price.

Ignar followed up his assault with a relentless chain of punches and kicks, all being borne by his poor arms. Within minutes, his hands felt like jelly. And without them the punches landed on his exposed torso. Aenon groaned but took the beating stoically. Showing weakness in front of his captivated audience would be a poor demonstration of their city leader's capabilities. Even if he was hamstringing himself from using his best talents.

The one-sided pummeling continued for almost an hour. Just as Aenon felt he couldn't take it anymore, Ignar thankfully stopped. He groaned in silent relief while standing straight.

"And that is how it's done," Ignar's voice boomed. "Just because you are a mage, doesn't mean you can take it easy on your physical fitness. There will be countless times when your mana will run dry. Which is when it is your body that will keep you alive long enough for the mana to recover."

Ignar went on and on about the benefits of physical conditioning, but Aenon wasn't in a mood to listen. He silently walked away to the side, and sat down at a bench that hid him from the others. Every muscle felt sore, every bone pulverized. The big brute hadn't held back anything during the demonstration.

Aenon had come to Ignar an hour ago to ask for advice on how to strengthen his body beyond merely stats from leveling. He was expecting some tips and tricks, maybe even physical exercises to train his body. He didn't anticipate the sadistic beatdown. Unfortunately, looking at the results he couldn't really complain.

+1 STR | +1 CON

Aenon was still massaging his wrists when Jenny joined him with a cheeky smile. "Didn't expect you to last that long," she said with a smirk.

"Wasn't expecting to be treated like a punching bag either," Aenon spoke in a low whisper. He didn't want the trainees to hear him. He had to maintain his image after all.

"Hahaha," Jenny laughed at his pain shamelessly. "Now you know what he put me through. The old me would have quit after the first five minutes. Lucky for both of us, we are too damned stubborn to give in."

The ice queen—a title that most recruits used—collapsed beside Aenon before pulling out a meat skewer.

"I am almost out," she said while munching on it happily. "Need a fresh batch."

"I gave you enough to last a week," Aenon said flatly. "It's been two days."

"What?" she asked defensively. "A girl's gotta eat. It's not my fault your cooking is so damned delicious. Mrs. Ashvein will be proud."

Aenon ignored the blatant attempt at buttering him up. But he handed another hundred or so meat skewers, which she immediately stored away in her own storage ring. The grin on her face only got wider as she slurped up the juicy tenders.

The two sat in companionable silence as they watched Ignar and Velastra put the trainees through their paces. The twins were off doing their own thing with a different batch. The training was a breather from the chaos and fear of the last few weeks. The city was slowly but surely recovering, almost falling into a routine.

Much of the settlement was deserted, but those who remained had an earned hardiness to them. Even the children, who didn't really take part directly, had seen their fair share of death and destruction. The adults hadn't let them join the fight, but didn't hide the truth from them either. The aftermath of the struggle, and its mountain of corpses, was a sobering sight. But one that was the norm in the Multiverse.

Ignar barked several more orders before striding over to them. It was the first time that Aenon had seen this side of him. Jenny hastily stuffed the skewer in her mouth before taking over Ignar's role alongside Velastra.

"Oi, who said you could lower the weights?" she yelled at a man drenched in sweat. "Fifty more laps for you."

Ignar watched with a hidden smile as Jenny berated her trainee with the emotional chill of an ice storm. He stood next to Aenon with folded arms, just enjoying watching his protégé in action.

"How's your body?" he asked while still staring at the training session like a hawk. His fierce gaze made one of the slackers run harder around the arena.

"I can't distinguish between muscle and bone at this point," Aenon replied with great effort.

"Bahaha," Ignar guffawed. "You have no idea how difficult it is for me to find a suitable training dummy. Most break and shatter within an hour, no matter how well built they are."

Aenon gave him a flat look, before shaking his head. A soft smile bloomed on his face. He was quietly grateful that, despite the suffocating displays of hierarchy in public, his group still held onto some measure of camaraderie in private. The casual banter was refreshing.

"On a more serious note," Ignar said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I sense that your stat distribution has shifted."

"Had a Class evolution recently." Aenon confirmed his suspicion honestly. There was no point in hiding it when the guy could easily figure out by beating it out of him. "Got a decent upgrade to the net stats, while balancing between physical and magical."

"I see," Ignar said, visibly impressed. "Is this what brought about this need to train?"

"Not quite. It's an assignment by our resident political maestro. She needs me to be more intimidating."

"Your Aura not enough?"

"She seemed to think I will have to display something truly otherworldly for what she has planned," Aenon replied with a shrug. Aenon hesitated before adding, "I have a boosting skill. But it puts a severe strain on my body."

Ignar had a thoughtful look. The man was tactful enough not to ask the details, but like Thalindra, had already predicted it.

"Your victory against the Fire Ant Monarch makes more sense now," he said while rubbing his chin. "We all suspected it, especially after looking at the state your body was in after that fight. Those wounds looked self-inflicted, like your body tore itself apart."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Yeah," Aenon shuddered at the memory. The pain was tolerable, but not the period of weakness after.

"Boosting skills are common in the Multiverse," Ignar said, taking on his instructor persona. "And so are its side effects. Even my berserker state is a type of boosting ability. It multiplies my STR and CON, but at the cost of my INT and WIL. One of the reasons why berserks lose their mind in that state. My Awakening counters some of the effects but doesn't eliminate it entirely. My memory remains fuzzy for quite some time afterwards."

Aenon nodded in understanding. There was a price for everything.

"But your ability seems a bit more extreme," Ignar continued. "I will not ask for the details but use it with caution. I can help refine your body to handle the strain, but it will never be enough to sustain it indefinitely."

"Of course," Aenon agreed. He obviously didn't elaborate on the details, nor did he mention that his boosting came from a locked stat multiplier. That was a secret best kept hidden. "Although the gains seem…minimal."

"What did you expect?" He flexed his insane biceps. "It takes work to achieve this. Most people rely too much on stats from levels and Titles. Don't get me wrong, they are the easiest way to power up. But nothing beats hard work, sweat, blood, and tears."

"Is that all?" Aenon asked with a raised eyebrow.

"This is just the early morning warm up," Ignar said with an evil grin. "I'll be breaking your body and reconstructing it from the ground up."

Instead of cowering like most people would, Aenon smiled. He was no stranger to pain after all.

"Now, if your body has recovered," Ignar said with a malicious grin. "I think it is time for you to join the other recruits. You may be my superior, but within these sacred walls, expect no mercy from me."

Aenon smiled in response. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

He followed Ignar toward a rack of heavy training weights. The berserker slapped a set of ten of their largest blocks onto his back before pushing him towards the line of dry heaving recruits who were almost dead on their feet.

The bewildered men and women watched in awe as Aenon joined them with several times more weight than all of them combined. The sight of him jogging along with such absurdly massive blocks would have been comical, if not for the deep imprints his feet left behind. But Aenon neither complained nor showed any emotion as he silently continued his march in silence.

The display of sheer willpower lit a fire beneath their feet. One by one, the exhausted warriors pushed themselves upright and fell in line behind him. At some point, Jenny too decided to join in. She strapped on an equally punishing set of weights and began following in his footsteps—quite literally—treading precisely on the deep impressions Aenon had left behind.

Inspired by her example, Jenny's most ardent follower, On-Ji, mimicked her mentor a step behind. Bit by bit, the scattered procession aligned into a single, orderly march—leaving behind only one set of footprints in the dirt. The ones Aenon had carved through sheer resolve.

Ignar and Velastra stood to the side, incredulous. Though they couldn't see the faint soul-tendrils linking Aenon to the others, the scene spoke volumes on its own.

"Not hard to see why he got the quest," Velastra murmured.

"Aye," her husband agreed. "The ability to lead and inspire without a word—by example alone. He's got that in spades. Not to mention the dread his presence brings to the enemy."

"He was born for the role," Velastra whispered. "No wonder the wolves submitted to him so easily."

Ignar smiled, pride glinting in his eyes. "He's an alpha, alright."

* * *

Quenai Lightbringer

The comfort of her luxurious bedroom felt hollow as Quenai lay there in silence. There were several servants and maids standing to the side like attentive statues, waiting for her to give a command. And yet, she found no pleasure in ordering them around today. And it was all due to the annoying hindrance rooted in the cursed city she was unable to eradicate. Like a scourge the mysterious Mayor of Pinespire kept foiling her plans.

First, he beat her to the village of Jadefall, covering it in a formidable defensive array. And now he had got his hooks in the other key city she had her eyes on. But the most egregious insult was his control of the Awakened ice fighter. She didn't know what tactics he employed, but it wasn't something she could afford to overlook.

When she had heard of a mysterious man who had single handedly eradicated a cabal of soul eaters, she knew at once who she was dealing with. There was no doubt that like her, the guy was a scion of a noble house. She still didn't know which, but her own house—a minor offshoot of House Lightseeker—would uncover it in due time. She just needed to bide her time till the tutorial ended in a couple of months.

But if she could eliminate the threat before then, her personal contribution would elevate her position within the ranks. Maybe even raise her entire branch family from the lower rungs to the upper echelons. She had spent so much of her smuggled capital to achieve the goal. Alas, it didn't work the way she intended. But it revealed a fatal flaw in her enemy's design.

Ashryn Fenrast was a shadow mage.

Of all the mana types, shadow magic was considered the weakest. Anyone foolish enough to accept a Class based on it was a laughingstock within the inner circles of nobility. Their magical abilities were only good at one thing—misdirection and deception. It was why assassins and thieves favored it. Only those who prefer scurrying in the dark found the concept appealing. In other words, weak cowards who didn't have the guts for a frontal confrontation.

Her public speaker, Silas, had tried to warn her otherwise. But the poor fool was still new to the Multiverse. He didn't understand the intricacies the way a scion like herself did. The imbecile had even tried to claim that Ashryn was another Awakened. An impossibility she didn't bother entertaining. The odds of finding an Awakened were already rare. For two to appear within the same settlement was impossible.

Which is why she knew that her rival was no Awakened. All the descriptions she had heard—of shadows enveloping entire sections of the army, or the feeling of dread he seemingly inflicted—were nothing but psychological manipulation that shadow mages were good at. After all, her instructors had taught her how they fought. All it took was a stray shadow darting in your peripheral vision to plant the seed of terror. The rest were just games of the mind. Even the appearance of wraiths, and undead could be explained by illusion magic, another trick in their arsenal.

Quenai had kept a very tight lid on any information about Awakened and their Paths. She couldn't risk these provincial simpletons learning how precious such beings truly were. It was difficult enough keeping them in line with hollow promises of power. The resources she'd smuggled into this world were not infinite. And if they ever learned there was a more tempting path to true strength—

No. She clenched her fist. That cannot happen.

The losses she'd suffered during the battle were staggering. But if she could extract the ice warrior from the enemy's clutches, it would all be worth it. She could almost taste it—the sweet, intoxicating thrill of breaking the poor girl. Once she was done with her, the very concept of defiance would be erased from her mind.

A sharp knock shattered her dark reverie.

"Enter," she commanded, not even bothering to rise.

A steady stream of lackeys filed in, assembling in a neat line before her bed. The Guild Leader, the local Mayor, and Silas were in attendance—along with a few other forgettable underlings.

"We have learned all we can about the ice warrior," Silas announced, his oily voice slithering through the air. Were it not for his usefulness, Quenai would have silenced him long ago. "Jenny Smith."

Quenai finally sat up, a servant rushing forward to drape her robe. As she raised her arms, the silken fabric slid into place with flawless precision. The last servant who'd failed that standard was now rotting in a nearby dungeon.

"Jenny Smith," Quenai repeated, tasting the name like something sour. "How quaint. A commoner's name, fittingly dull."

"We had no nobility on Earth, my lady," Silas said with a deep bow.

The very concept offended her. How else were you supposed to keep the rabble in check? But she didn't have the time to dwell on such barbaric ideas.

"Go on, then," she said, her tone dripping with honey—but the sound made everyone present shudder.

"She's a Player from Earth, just as you suspected," Silas began quickly. "Her combat ability is extraordinary—unmatched even among our elites. Survivors from the eastern front reported an unnatural blizzard before they were wiped out. None saw their attackers before freezing solid. She led a small group: four adventurers and a pack of canines."

"Irrelevant details," Quenai cut him off sharply. "Tell me about her capabilities."

Silas hesitated, then launched into a more detailed account. Quenai listened in silence, her expression unreadable. He spoke of the ice warrior's powers, her control over frost and temperature, her uncanny precision. When he tried to embellish the report with trivia—mentions of her companions, a berserker, some middling mage, two dwarves—Quenai waved them off with a flick of her hand.

"The wolves are interesting," she murmured, almost to herself. "But immaterial in the end."

Silas seemed uncomfortable, perhaps wanting to add something more. But she was in no mood for it.

"What about her weakness?" she asked firmly. "Have you found a way to bring her to heel."

The Mayor nodded in acknowledgement, before ordering a guard in the backlines. A woman in chains was dragged in before being tossed to the ground in front of her. When Quenai cast Identify, she practically recoiled in disgust. The woman was a low-level leech. But the next words swept away the feeling.

"The ice warrior's mother."

Quenai's eyes widened with ecstatic greed as she studied the cowering wretch before her. The gears in her mind began to turn, assembling the next phase of her design.

"Excellent," her voice reverberated across the room, making everyone shiver in fear.

"It is time to teach her," Quenai mused out loud. "Defiance will not be tolerated in my domain."

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