As hours passed and the sun dipped below Creamont's broken skyline, Reidar departed the base once more, mounted atop one of his summoned crows. The massive bird carried him away from the Spriggans' base, soaring away from the safety of their territory and toward the dangerous hunting grounds where high-level monsters prowled.

The voices of the meeting had been replaced by the silence pervading the rest of Creamont, where Reidar moved through the shattered buildings surrounded by his summons.

He needed levels. Aaron was at level 297, and the gap between them was too wide. Even with his summons. Even with his tactics, that difference mattered. It had mattered when Aaron's barrier had held against everything Reidar had thrown at it. It would matter in their next fight.

Then Reidar landed on a broken spire, looking at the streets below in search of prey. However, he couldn't stop thinking about the small skirmish he had had with the man.

Aaron's barrier hadn't shattered under the full force of all his summons. But the problem was that no single mage, no matter how high their level, should've withstood that. Reidar's own mana pool was vast, yet Aaron's felt endless.

<It was like he used it with greater efficiency or simply had twice my reserves. Could 37 levels really account for such a massive difference in power?> If so, what would happen at higher levels? Reidar already noticed that the quality of the monsters' powers had a critical surge after each 100 levels; the same could be said for him, which was something that he attributed to the perks he got after all those levels. But what if the monsters, and of course, the mutated humans, had something similar? No. What if the system was trying to copy or to control something that was already there?

The System measured creatures in the same way, in terms of levels, but something in Aaron's nature let him handle mana differently. Reidar needed to find out how and why.

But leveling wasn't his only concern.

His mind was far away, connected to the Vorathid Foragers. He watched through the compound eyes of an ant crouched in the shadow of a collapsed overpass, observing the War Hounds.

The tiny spies had followed them back from the battlefield. What they showed him made his jaw tighten.

The War Hounds weren't hunting monsters anymore. They were hunting survivors again.

Small groups now led by those directly leveled up by Aaron moved through the city's districts, approaching refugee camps and independent small settlements. They came in squads of five or six, all displaying their levels like weapons. It certainly worked, and the pattern repeated itself across multiple locations.

One of them would step forward and make a simple offer: Join the War Hounds. Accept Judas Venn's leadership. Gain protection. The alternative was to face destruction.

The War Hounds were extorting them. Not for money, as in the case of protection rackets, but for something more essential, namely their obedience. Survivors were given a harsh choice: submit to Judas Venn's rule and swell his army, or be slaughtered for defiance.

The survivors always hesitated. Word had spread about the War Hounds' brutality, their forced recruits, and the people who refused usually disappeared or were slaughtered on the spot. Words reached people, and fear showed on their faces.

The various groups joined. Every time. Fear won over reputation. Survival instincts overwhelmed moral objections. These people were no different.

One by one, the survivors bowed their heads. A man stepped forward, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

A woman pulled her child closer, her eyes avoiding the corpses of the two who had refused moments before.

Hope was a luxury that got people killed. Obedience was the only currency that bought another sunrise.

Judas watched them submit, his expression settling into cold satisfaction. The fear he wielded proved a far more effective recruiter than any promise of power; its efficiency was absolute.

Reidar watched it through his Foragers' eyes and cursed under his breath.

<These bastards…>

But another group of Vorathid Foragers tracked a different target.

Aaron moved through the ruins of the city alone. His path traversed collapsed buildings and monster-infested streets, heading somewhere specific, but nothing that Reidar could figure out given the city's current state. He stopped several times along the way, and each time it was to kill something.

Then some Lightning crackled, announcing a beast had come. A Level 268 Stormscale Skitterlord. But there was no answering hum of a defensive barrier, no shimmer of a shield spell as when Aaron was fighting Reidar.

One moment Aaron was in front of the creature, several hundred meters away from it, and the next he was beside it. His fist struck the Skitterlord's flank with enough force to crack its armored hide.

As the creature stumbled, with electricity arcing wildly from its damaged scales, Aaron pressed the advantage with movements that were precise, economical, and ruthlessly efficient.

Mana flooded through his body, visible to Reidar through the Foragers' eyes. A golden aura wrapped around his limbs.

Reidar already saw this aura. It was the same one Aaron got when he fought at the lake back in Havenwood. Instead of manifesting as distinct spells, the energy amplified his natural abilities, boosting his strength, increasing his speed, and sharpening his reflexes far beyond human limits.

<He's replicating skills manually.>

When the Skitterlord attempted to counter by whipping its spiked tail at his head, Aaron ducked under the attack and closed the distance, driving his hand forward.

A blade of pure mana materialized in his hands, formed not by a System skill but by raw energy shaped through sheer will and practice. The blade pierced the monster's eye socket and drove deep into its skull, causing it to convulse once before collapsing, after which Aaron dismissed the weapon and allowed the mana to disperse back into his body.

Reidar couldn't believe what he was seeing. <There was no System help. No proficiency requirements. Just understanding how mana works and forcing it to obey.>

Aaron's power came from a simple fact: his techniques didn't have the usual restrictions that System skills had. System skills came with costs, waiting times, and limits. Aaron only paid the mana cost itself. He could add restrictions to his skills if he wanted, but he didn't fully understand why cooldowns existed or how they changed skills, but there surely must have been a reason for such limitations to exist.

When two more monsters approached, Aaron dispatched them with the same ease. A claw strike enhanced with mana tore through one creature's throat, while the mana blade reappeared almost instantly to bisect the other.

He moved like someone who had been fighting for decades rather than months, as every action was refined through countless repetitions.

Although the System had been stripped away, the knowledge remained, allowing him to rebuild his past skills from scratch. At least that was what Reidar was assuming. Aaron learned to manipulate mana in the same way Silas did.

<Shit.>

After Aaron cleaned the blood from his hands and continued his journey, the Foragers followed at a distance, their tiny forms remaining invisible among the rubble.

Reidar watched through their eyes, committing every detail to memory: how Aaron moved, how he channeled mana, and where his attention focused during combat.

Knowledge was power, and right now, understanding how Aaron fought felt more valuable to Reidar than raw levels.

The man was heading somewhere specific, and the Foragers would follow until they discovered his destination.

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