Morning sunlight filtered through a canopy of oak leaves, casting dappled shadows across the village square. The celebration continued around me. There was laughter, music, and the clinking of clay cups. Only I stood apart, one hand pressed against my abdomen where Thragg's punch had landed.

  That single blow had taught me more about power than all my battles combined.

  I leaned against a wooden post, watching villagers dance around the newly rekindled bonfire. Their joy was genuine. Many children had been saved, a dark mage had been defeated. Yet all I could think about was how easily we would have died if that red-eyed man had wished it.

  I pulled out my status page.

  "Level 37," I muttered. The experience from killing the mage's skeletal minions had pushed me up a level, but it felt hollow. "Not even close to enough."

  The necromancer had been Fifth Ascension, probably stronger than Sir Allister, who was Level 62. Thragg had dispatched him with the casual indifference of a man swatting a fly. What level was Thragg? Eighth Ascension? Ninth? The thought made my stomach clench.

  A memory surfaced. Professor Heismann's voice from my philosophy course: "The mark of wisdom is knowing the extent of one's ignorance." By that measure, I'd grown significantly wiser in the past few hours.

  "Hey, why aren't you joining the feast?" Ragna's voice cut through my thoughts as she approached, carrying two wooden plates heaped with roasted meat. "They're calling us heroes. Heroes!"

  I accepted the plate with a nod but couldn't muster enthusiasm. "Heroes? We barely survived. If Thragg had wanted us dead, we would be. We're lucky he wasn't an enemy... or more like you remembered whatever praise those lines were."

  Ragna settled beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. "The Divine Cult is eternal?" she offered through a mouthful of meat.

  "Yeah."

  "My grandmother used to tell stories by the fire. Said the current day Volcanic Islands were a gift from the Heavenly Demon himself." She shrugged. "I always thought they were just tales to make little ones sleep. Now..." Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the celebrating villagers.

  I studied her profile in the firelight. "What's your level now?"

  "Level 34." She turned to me, eyes suddenly bright. "Why? You want to test how much stronger you've gotten?"

  Always ready for a fight. The corner of my mouth twitched upward despite my mood. "Actually. Maybe I do. Let's have a spar, Ragna."

  Her face lit up with competitive fire. "Finally! Remember back at Seagard? You said I could leave your team if I could beat you in a fight." She punched my shoulder playfully. "Time to see if I'm free of you yet."

  I pushed off from the post. "No [Skills], not even [Class Skills]. Just raw ability."

  "Your funeral." She grinned, flicking a bit of food off her hands and stepping back. Who taught her that phrase? "Where?"

  I nodded toward an open area near the village center. "There. Should be enough space."

  As we walked, I mentally tallied our group's situation. Ragna at 34, myself at 36, Borric had reached Level 15 after the battle, and Princess Isolde was already at Level 47, she was recovering her strength after the poison. We had potential, certainly, but nowhere near what we needed to face whatever was coming.

  As I walked, a map stretched in my head. I was considering something important. The road to Veridian wound through relatively safe territory. Small hamlets, patrol stations, and managed forests. It would take weeks, maybe a month. Meaning no significant opportunities to grow stronger.

  But there was another route, one merchants feared and soldiers respected. The Crimson Valley. A ravine carved by an ancient cataclysm, home to monsters that had evolved in isolation for centuries. Dangerous, yes. But rich with experience and resources.

  By the time we reached the clearing, a small crowd had gathered, word spreading quickly about the "barbarian duel." Isolde and Borric stood among them, the princess looking skeptical while Borric seemed almost eager for the distraction.

  "Is this wise?" Isolde called as we took positions. "We should be conserving our strength."

  I caught her words but chose not to respond. This wasn't about wisdom, it was about necessity. We needed to know our limits before we could exceed them.

  "Ready when you are, white-hair," Ragna taunted, dropping into a fighting stance.

  I mirrored her, settling my weight onto the balls of my feet. "Your move."

  She didn't hesitate. Ragna lunged forward with explosive speed, her fist rocketing toward my face with enough force to shatter wood. I stepped inside her guard, deflecting her strike with my forearm while simultaneously sweeping her front leg.

  She recovered before hitting the ground, using the momentum to roll and spring back up. Her eyes widened slightly. She was surprised but delighted by the challenge.

  "Not bad for an old man," she teased, circling me.

  "I'm the same age as you," I reminded her, tracking her movement. My body felt lighter than it had on Earth, my reflexes sharper. The muscle memory remained, but now I had the physical capacity to match it.

  I wanted to beat someone up really bad tonight.

  She attacked again, this time with a flurry of strikes that would have overwhelmed me in my previous life. Here, though, I could see each movement telegraphed in her shoulders, her hips, her eyes. I blocked, redirected, and countered using techniques from boxing, jiu-jitsu, krav maga. Earth's martial traditions translated beautifully to this stronger body.

  A gasp rose from the crowd as I caught Ragna's wrist, using her momentum to flip her over my shoulder. She landed hard but rolled away before I could press my advantage.

  "Snake-like bastard, where did you learn to fight like this?" she demanded, rising to her feet, a thin trickle of blood from her split lip.

  I didn't answer, instead circling to her weak side.

  It wasn't that I was physically stronger – in fact, her raw power exceeded mine. I think her Valtherian Physique was even a grade higher? But she fought like a barbarian. Direct and powerful, always relying on overwhelming force.

  I fought like someone who had spent years learning to overcome stronger opponents.

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  The next exchange was brutal. Ragna abandoned caution, channeling her frustration into a savage assault. Her fist grazed my cheek, the impact sending shockwaves through my skull. I tasted blood but maintained focus, eyes staring daggers at hers, waiting for the opening I knew would come.

  There – her overextension on a right hook. I ducked under her arm, drove my elbow into her floating ribs, then swept her legs from under her. As she fell, I followed her down, pinning her with a submission hold borrowed from Brazilian jiu-jitsu.

  "Yield," I said quietly, increasing pressure on her trapped arm.

  Her face flushed red with effort and anger as she tried to power out of the hold. This was Ragna, who always charged like a bull into any problem. I was unsure if she’d give up. She struggled a lot more. For a moment, I thought she might succeed through sheer barbarian stubbornness. Then, finally, she slapped the ground with her free hand.

  "I yield! Get off me, you ass!"

  I released her immediately, offering a hand to help her up. She ignored it, rolling to her feet with a scowl that could curdle milk.

  Wasn’t she the excited one? The villagers erupted in cheers and whoops, impressed by the display. Some even tossed small coins into the dirt – apparently, they'd been betting on the outcome.

  As for Ragna, even though she looked pissed, she stood too close. Close enough that I could see sweat on her collarbone, could smell the fight still on her skin.

  "You fight dirty," she said.

  "I fight smart."

  "That’s what dirty bastards call fighting dirty," she complained but she didn't step back. Her eyes dropped to my mouth for half a breath, then snapped back up like she'd caught herself doing something stupid.

  "Rematch later," she muttered, and finally walked away. I watched her go longer than I needed to.

  "That was... unexpected," Isolde remarked, approaching with Borric in tow. Her eyes studied me with renewed interest. "Putting aside how rude you were to a lady, where did a barbarian learn such techniques?"

  I wiped blood from my mouth. "Around."

  "Around?" she repeated skeptically.

  Ragna rubbed her shoulder from where she stood now, glaring at me. "I’m not a lady, I’m a warrior. Thorvyn is a hack. He fights like a snake. All twisty and… what's the word?"

  "Tactical," Borric supplied, looking impressed despite himself.

  "Yeah, that. Not fair." She spat blood onto the ground.

  "Fair doesn't keep you alive. Are you an honorable Knight? You’re not." I countered, then softened my tone. "I think you're stronger than me, Ragna. Raw power. But you telegraph your moves, and you overcommit to strikes."

  Her scowl deepened. "So what? I still hit hard."

  "Against creatures like those skeletons? Sure. Against someone like Thragg?" I shook my head. "I’m getting a little annoyed that it was me who had to block the Dragon’s Breath when your body is stronger,” I said, and she lowered her head in embarrassment. “We need more than strength. We need skill, strategy, versatility."

  "What are you saying?" Isolde asked, her political instincts sensing a shift in the conversation.

  I met each of their gazes in turn. "I'm saying I agree with what Thragg said. We're not ready. Not for what's coming."

  ****

  Night fell over the village, and we gathered in the elder's home to discuss our plans. Maps spread across a worn oak table, illuminated by lantern light that cast long shadows against the walls. The home smelled of herbs hanging from ceiling beams and fresh bread baking in a stone oven – comforts we'd soon leave behind.

  Ragna sat across from me, still sulking from her defeat, tearing into a loaf of bread with unnecessary force. Each time our eyes met, she found renewed interest in her food. Beside her, Borric traced potential routes on the map, his merchant's mind calculating distances and travel times.

  "If we follow the main road," he said, finger tracking along the parchment, "we reach Veridian in roughly three weeks. The journey would be relatively safe, with villages every few days for resupply."

  "Too long," I stated flatly. "And too safe."

  Isolde, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow. "Too safe? An unusual complaint from a bodyguard."

  "I apologize, princess, but safety won't make us stronger." I leaned forward, tapping a different section of the map. My eyes remained serious. "This is the Crimson Valley. It cuts directly through these highlands, reducing our journey to perhaps ten days."

  Borric's face paled. "The Crimson Valley? That's suicide! Even merchants with armed guards avoid that place!"

  "What makes it so dangerous?" Ragna asked, momentarily forgetting her grudge.

  "It's named for the bloodshed," Isolde explained, her expression grave. "An ancient battleground where magic warped the land itself. Monsters there grow unusually powerful, feeding on residual energies."

  "Exactly," I confirmed. "High-level monsters mean rapid growth. If we're careful and strategic, we can gain power much faster than on the main road."

  Borric looked between us like we'd lost our minds. "You want us to deliberately seek out deadly creatures? After what just happened with that mage? After meeting that... whatever Thragg was? I can’t agree with this, Thorvyn. I’m sorry."

  Any logical person would have Borric’s reaction, it was natural.

  Back on Earth, it would be like saying, ‘Why don’t we walk across this warzone when we can avoid it entirely. Aha, before you argue, it’ll give us battle experience!’

  However, I had more solid reasons than that. "Especially after meeting Thragg," I said. "Come on. He made our situation clear: get stronger or die when the real threat arrives. You heard him. We need to reach at least the 5th Ascension. We’re in a time limit, Borric… If we’re not quick, who knows what Isolde’s brother would do to the poor people of this country?"

  Borric frowned. I’d come to know the man well by now, and I knew he wasn’t an evil merchant obsessed with surviving. He did have another argument, though. "And what about the princess?" Borric protested. "Her safety is–"

  "Secondary to the kingdom's survival," Isolde interrupted. She straightened, something regal entering her posture. "As usual, Thorvyn is right. Conventional thinking won't save Thalassaria from whatever's coming."

  Her eyes met mine across the table, and I saw it again. That same cold, stubborn resolve that showed up whenever her people were on the line. It wasn’t performance, and it wasn’t pride. It was devotion sharpened into steel.

  I’d met plenty of “leaders” in my old life. Most of them loved the idea of being followed more than they loved the people doing the following. Isolde was the opposite, at least as far as I’d seen so far. She’d rather bleed than watch others bleed for her comfort.

  It was… impressive. Dangerous, too. She was the kind of woman a sane man avoids. The kind of woman a man who wants to build something real can’t look away from.

  Strange thoughts popped on my head. Is it my young body acting up right now?

  "You're all barely adults," she continued, her voice softening. "I'm sorry for bringing such young people into this danger."

  Ragna snorted loudly. "Young? In the tribe, I'd be married with a baby by now."

  "Precisely," I agreed. "Eighteen isn't young for us. And age means little against the challenges ahead."

  Isolde nodded slowly. "Then I defer to your judgment on this. The Crimson Valley it is."

  Borric threw up his hands. "Fine! When we're all being devoured by some Level 70 monstrosity, I'll be sure to mention how I told you so!"

  Despite his words, I could see the resolve forming behind his eyes. Borric was no coward – just a pragmatist. And even pragmatists recognized necessity when it stared them in the face.

  "Here's what we need," I said, laying out pebbles on the map to represent each of us. "We each have different strengths and weaknesses. Our training must address both."

  I shifted the first pebble. "Ragna, I think you need to master your Dragon Aspect transformations. Right now, they drain you too quickly. If you could maintain them longer, combine them with better fighting techniques, you'd be formidable."

  She grunted but didn't argue.

  "Borric," I continued, moving the second pebble, "you need to reach Level 20 to unlock your Class. Your Merchant's Eye skill already shows potential for combat applications – identifying weaknesses, assessing threats."

  "I'm a merchant, not a warrior," he protested, though with less conviction than before.

  "You're both," I countered. "Or you will be."

  I moved the third pebble. "Isolde, you're pretty close to 5th Ascension now. Your Mirror Sovereign abilities are quite powerful, but the poison has set you back a little. You need to recover fully and push to Level 50."

  The princess nodded thoughtfully. "My skills might help our survival. I can create illusions to distract monsters while we choose our battles carefully."

  "Exactly." I placed the final pebble. "As for me, I need to develop my normal Skills and also my Draconis Stormborn Skills further.” I've relied too heavily on Osmotic Evolution, borrowing abilities rather than mastering my own."

  "We have to do all of this," Borric said slowly, "while traveling through monster-infested territory with limited supplies and no backup…?"

  I met his gaze steadily. "Yes."

  A long silence followed, broken only by the crackling of the hearth fire. Finally, Ragna slammed her hand on the table, making us all jump.

  "Well, I'm in! Beats walking on boring roads for weeks." She flashed a feral grin. "Besides, I still need to kick Thorvyn's ass properly. Can't do that if I'm dead."

  From the way she glared at me while saying that, she meant it. But it wasn’t a normal glare. It had heat in it, the same heat she got before a hard fight, only twisted into something more personal.

  Hunger and something that looked a lot like lust, sitting in the same stare. I recalled our close proximity in that tent right before the Alister incident, remembering how she had been jealous. Wow.

  What have I ever done? Borric sighed heavily. "I suppose if we're going to die spectacularly, we might as well do it together."

  "That's the spirit," Isolde said, an unexpected humor in her voice. "Though I'd prefer the 'growing stronger' part without the 'dying spectacularly' finale."

  "No promises," I said, feeling a smile tug at my lips. "But if we do this right, we might just surprise ourselves."

  The tension in the room eased, replaced by a strange camaraderie. Four people from entirely different worlds, united by circumstance and now by purpose. It wasn't a bond I had expected to form, but I was grateful for it nonetheless.

  As the others discussed supplies and preparations, I found myself staring at the map, at the blood-red line representing the Crimson Valley. It reminded me of something the shaman had once told the young Thorvyn after his father’s death.

  "The greatest forge for a warrior is not comfort but challenge.”

  “The hottest fires yield the strongest steel."

  We were about to walk into the fire.

  I have fixed the problems that you guys have mentioned in Chapter 25, it should be reading much better now. Also tweaked Chaper 19 slightly for a better read. As always, thank you all for the comments, they help me improve!!

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