"That sword," Caleb began as they walked away from Yorrin's Forge, his new spear balanced across his shoulder. "Flamewright. How did you do that?"

  The image wouldn't leave him. One moment, empty air. The next, a legendary weapon materializing like it had stepped through an invisible doorway into reality. His brain fired through possibilities—portals, pocket dimensions, spatial distortions—before settling on the only accurate term: incomprehensible.

  Selara glanced at him, a spark of amusement in her grey eyes. "You've never seen a spatial artifact?"

  She held up her left hand, showing him a plain silver ring on her middle finger. Up close, Caleb could see faint, intricate etchings along its surface—runes so small and delicate they were almost invisible unless the light hit them just right.

  "A void ring. Useful for storing things you don't want to carry around. Don't get any ideas, though. The artifact demands a massive surge of Mana to activate, a torrent of power you won't be able to field even with your Mind at Peak F-tier. You only gain the necessary lake of spiritual energy when breaking through to E-tier. And even then they're pretty rare due to their expense."

  Of course. The universe wasn't content just to kill him and drop him in a hostile world. It also had to dangle ridiculously useful magic items in his face that he couldn't use. It felt like window shopping for a sports car when he couldn't even afford the bus fare home.

  As they continued through the village streets, Caleb noticed details he'd missed on the way to the forge. Dark green and black streamers, symbols of solemn remembrance, hung from eaves and doorways in somber contrast to the village's usual bustle. The sight triggered a quiet domestic memory.

  Thal, much younger, watched his mother carefully fold a dark green cloak. The scent of dried leaves and old wool clung to the fabric. Her moss-green eyes had been sad, her movements slow and deliberate.

  Caleb thought back to Selara's behavior when Jakob tried to sell him the cloak. "My mother never liked the Reaping Festival." He gestured toward a particularly elaborate display of intertwined green and black ribbons.

  A flicker of something bitter passed through Selara's eyes, and the muscles along her jaw went rigid. When she spoke, her voice carried a harsh edge that transformed her usual pragmatic tone into something acidic.

  "The Reaping, yes." She practically spat the words. "An ancient harvest festival turned into another piece of Dominion propaganda. Our ancestors honored the cycle of life and death, celebrated the harvest and mourned the lost. Simple. Pure." Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Now it's become this grotesque celebration of the Empire's military might. 'Remember the fallen, but only so you understand why the strong must rule.' They took something beautiful and made it serve their agenda."

  Selara fell silent for several steps, her pace slowing as they navigated around a cart loaded with barrels. When she finally spoke again, her voice was flat and carefully controlled.

  "My mother's name was read at the capital's procession the year she passed away. Aurelian and I went, the first few years. For her." She looked at Caleb without flinching, her eyes as unyielding as iron. The absence of grief was so complete it felt like an old wound, something carved out of her long ago.

  The words were a door closing on a conversation she wouldn't pursue further. Caleb thought of his own agonizing loss: Evelynn, Katie, Jack, all unreachable across the void between worlds. His grief remained a raw, open scab that bled at every reminder. Hers had calcified into an old, deep scar, the kind of injury that reshaped the person around it. He recognized the look in her eyes. It revealed a pain so old it had been walled off and permanently contained. For the first time, he saw past the stern exterior and glimpsed a different kind of survivor, one forged in a fire he didn't yet understand.

  Selara's spoke again, the brief window into her past closing as she pivoted back to pragmatism. "The Reaping reminds us death is always close. Which is why you don't take foolish risks." Her gaze fixed on him with pointed intensity. "Speaking of which, you need to absorb those spirit stones tonight."

  "Tonight?"

  "Before you sleep." Her tone shifted from its somber gravity to the clipped efficiency of a field commander. "Your body does the hard work of processing the filth while you're unconscious—you should have felt that after your Awakening. Don't let them sit in your pocket like lucky charms. Progression is a long, ugly grind when you're relying on those things instead of essence stones. Wasting a night is a luxury you can't afford."

  They turned onto the main thoroughfare, where the recognizable bustle of the Adventurer's Hall came into view. Caleb rubbed the stones in his pocket, each one representing power and corruption. The question had already been answered: he would use them. When, and how intelligently, remained to be determined.

  The Adventurer's Hall upheld its typical ambiance of boisterous revelry, undercut by subtle anxiety and transactional connections. The bounty board displayed more contracts than usual, reflecting the increased activity before the festival. As they got closer to Felicity's counter, the distinct scent of ale and leather met them.

  "Thal," Felicity said, her eyes rising from a ledger. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second when she noticed the woman at his side. Instantly, her posture straightened, a subtle shift that pulled her shoulders back. The easy smile returned, now holding a professional courtesy that hadn't been there a moment before. "Mistress Veil," she acknowledged with a respectful nod. "What can I do for you both today?"

  Selara gestured toward Caleb. "My apprentice has business," Selara said simply.

  He met Felicity’s newly measured smile with a quick one of his own, reaching into his pack. He laid out the hemlock prowler’s yellowed canines and its needle-like black pelt, along with the heavy glass jar with the matriarch’s pearlescent pheromone gland. Felicity’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the gland, but she quickly moved to assess the lot efficiently. After a brief negotiation where she offered him a generous price on the gland, citing its superior quality, the transaction was settled. She counted out forty-three gold pieces, the coins forming a gleaming pile on the scarred wood.

  Sliding the gold coins into his coin pouch, Caleb considered his options. The money represented choices, possibilities. He looked at Selara, his mind working through the logic. "This Contamination... is there a way to speed up the cleansing? An alchemical solution, maybe? A draught of some kind?"

  He glanced toward the village center where The Verdant Phial conducted its business. "Even if Aurelian won't bother with F-tier problems, surely someone sells something that could help?"

  The question hung in the air like a loaded crossbow bolt. Caleb was testing a logical idea, seeking confirmation or rejection from his mentor. The fear of Cillian flashed through his mind—that jovial, terrifying presence who killed with a smile—but the temptation of a quick fix warred against the memory.

  Selara's expression became deadly serious. Her voice dropped to a low, direct tone meant for him alone, though Felicity leaned closer with obvious interest.

  "Listen to me, apprentice. Zarven doesn't sell potions. He sells leashes." She held his gaze with unwavering intensity. "You buy from him once, you're his asset. He'll own a piece of you, a favor he can call in whenever he likes. The gold is just the down payment. The real price is your freedom. Stay out of his ledger."

  Felicity gave a confirmatory nod. "She's right. I've seen too many adventurers get pulled into his web. They think they're making a simple transaction, but Zarven doesn't think in terms of single sales. He thinks of long-term investments."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The firm warning completely eliminated the option of a straightforward solution. Caleb processed this, his mind recalibrating as the easy path revealed itself an option he had to avoid. Was Zarven really that bad? Or was it just his association with the Veils that made the situation seem so risky? Either way, he'd chosen his side. He took a slow breath, weighing his options.

  So, the town's two alchemists were a crime boss and a disgraced noble who wouldn't get out of bed for anything less than a D-tier problem. He mentally shook his head. Where was a guy supposed to get the equivalent of an alchemical aspirin around here?

  It made no sense. The village was crawling with F-tier adventurers, every one of them a potential customer for basic potions that didn't require a Faustian bargain or a small fortune. Someone could make a killing selling honest potions to honest people…

  Which is exactly what Zarven won't allow. He sighed.

  "Okay, then, is there another way? A spirit herb, maybe? Something that can help with no need of a master alchemist?"

  Felicity’s wavered for a moment, her eyebrows rising. She exchanged a quick glance with Selara.

  "Glimmerdew moss," Selara said, shifting back into the role of a mentor. "It's the base ingredient for purification draughts. Grows in shimmering patches on the underside of large, ancient fern fronds and in the shadowed crevices of nurse logs in areas with high spiritual energy saturation. Adventurers often try to eat an ounce of it raw before bed for the doubled cleansing effect; it's just magnified when prepared by an alchemist."

  Felicity nodded. "Not as effective as a proper draught, but it's something. And there are always standing contracts for it because of the demand."

  "Where do I find it?" Caleb asked.

  Felicity's expression shifted, concern creeping into her composed demeanor. "That's the problem. You have three options. The first two are safe, but they'll cost you." She gestured to a thick ledger. "You can place a buy order. We fill them at the standard rate of one gold per pound, but the queue is months long. Or, you can post a private contract, offer a premium, and jump the line."

  She then pulled a specific contract slip from the stack behind her station, her voice becoming more serious. "The third option is to take on an open collection bounty yourself."

  She placed the parchment on the counter where he could read it. The contract was straightforward—gather F-tier glimmerdew moss from the Rootbound Depths. But it was the warning text at the bottom that made his stomach tighten.

  Warning: Rootbound Depths is confirmed territory of E-tier Mosshide Bears. Extreme caution advised. Guild assumes no responsibility for contractor safety.

  "The only reliable local source is in higher tiered mosshide bear territory," Felicity said, her tone now personal. "Going in there yourself is the fastest way to get it without spending your gold, but it's a death sentence for most F-tiers."

  The three paths solidified in Caleb's mind, each with a different cost: time, money, or mortality. The buy order was too slow; stagnation was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. Posting a contract was smart, but it would drain his new wealth, the very capital he might need for other investments. He ran the numbers. An ounce of moss doubled his nightly cleansing rate from one percent to two. A single spirit stone’s ten percent Contamination would clear in five days instead of ten. To sustain an increased growth rate—say, absorbing six stones a month—he'd need two pounds of the stuff.

  He looked at the contract for the Rootbound Depths as a benchmark for his future, a goal to work toward down the road. He would come back for it. But for now, he would use the tool he understood best: cash.

  "I'll post a private contract," Caleb said, his voice firm. "Four pounds of Glimmerdew Moss. We'll see about collecting it on my own once I'm stronger."

  Felicity's eyebrows rose. "And the premium?"

  "One gold and fifty silver per pound."

  A slow nod was her only reply for a moment. "An offer like that will get someone's attention. I expect it'll be filled within a few days."

  He counted out six gold coins and pushed them across the polished wood to her.

  Selara had been silent throughout this exchange, watching and assessing. Now she spoke. "Alright, apprentice. Your morning training with Hatch is mandatory. After that, you're with me. I'll see you at The Golden Mortar." She held his eyes, her expression utterly serious. "We have a lot of work to do before you're ready for the Depths. Don't be late."

  The words were simple, yet the look in her eyes conveyed an unspoken challenge. The casual mentor was gone, replaced by the D-tier warrior who could instantly materialize a legendary sword and probably cut him in half with a flick of the wrist. Her look held no room for failure.

  Selara left without another word, her stride purposeful as she headed back toward her brother's shop. Caleb watched her go, feeling the expectations settle around him.

  After saying his goodbyes to Felicity, he used the walk back to the Hearthsong Inn to give him time to process the implications of the conversation. His immediate path was set—training with Hatch in the mornings, instruction from Selara afterward, and absorbing power from spirit stones as quickly as he could. He had a significant amount of money in his pocket for the first time since getting dragged into this life, but he wasn't sure how to prioritize his budget. Another healing potion or two was a must, rent and food obviously. But what about the essence stones he'd heard about? Was there enough surplus to justify that expense?

  I should see what Selara's training is going to look like tomorrow.

  Continuing to approach the inn, he noticed more green and black decorations. Now that he understood their meaning, they carried additional significance. The Reaping was nothing like the sanitized holidays he remembered, which were buffered from reality by safety regulations and a general sense of security. Here, it was a raw acknowledgment of the world's brutal calculus, especially on the frontier, where the law of the jungle reigned. A simple misstep or a moment of inattention could instantly plunge you into a fight for your life. This festival celebrated survival by honoring how precarious life was.

  He was still mulling over the festival when the hospitality of the Hearthsong Inn washed over him. Inside the inn, the common room was alive with the clatter of tankards and the low murmur of negotiations. A trio of armored delvers recounted a narrow escape to a rapt audience, their embellished tale-spinning occasionally cutting through the din. The warmth and light felt welcoming after the afternoon's serious conversations.

  Cassia emerged from behind the bar as he entered, her motherly smile brightening when she saw him. "There you are! How did your shopping expedition with Selara go? Your new equipment sure looks good on you."

  Caleb relaxed, disarmed by her genuine concern, though he privately wondered how she always seemed to know his movements. He supposed in a village this size, little went unnoticed, especially by a keen innkeeper like Cassia.

  "Well. She sure knows her business." Caleb gestured toward the decorations that adorned the inn's interior. "I noticed the festival preparations. They look nice."

  Cassia's expression grew thoughtful, colored with the solemnity he'd seen in Selara's reaction. "The Reaping, yes. It's... important to us. A time to remember those we've lost and celebrate what we've built together." She paused, studying his face. "You know, we hold a private family dinner on the final day. Just the Hearthsongs and those closest to us. Would you like to join?"

  The words settled over him, more meaningful than a simple invitation to dinner. A family tradition. His throat felt tight. He had been a worker and a charge. A glorified charity case. But Cassia's smile held something else entirely, an offer that had nothing to do with silver coins or a roof over his head.

  "I'd be honored." His voice came out quieter than he'd intended.

  Cassia's smile became radiant. "Wonderful. Gareth will be pleased—he's been talking about preparing something special. And Corinne will be delighted to have you there."

  The conversation continued for a few more minutes, but Caleb found his attention drifting to the presence of the spirit stones in his pocket. Selara's advice reiterated in his mind—absorb them tonight, don't waste the sleep cycle's decontamination.

  He made his excuses and climbed the stairs to his private room. The space felt different now that it was truly his, having transformed from a temporary refuge into a base of operations. He placed his gear neatly on the room's single chair, while his old bloodstained clothes still lay in a pile destined for the laundry. More like the trash.

  Caleb sat cross-legged on his bed and removed the three spirit stones from his pocket. Three small red stones, each containing power, potential, and debilitation. He arranged them in a neat row on the blanket, studying them with his enhanced perception.

  The red stones pulsed with crimson energy, their auras eager and aggressive. Together, they represented thirty percent Contamination—a significant burden if Selara was to be believed, but she had been straight with him so far. He wanted to try.

  Survival isn't enough anymore. With the warmth from Cassia’s invitation still lingering in his heart, he looked at the spirit stones, no longer seeing them as just a path to personal power. He saw Gareth’s gruff approval, Corinne’s bright smile, Cassia’s quiet strength. Even Leo's earnest passion. These stones were a shield. A shield for this place, for these people. For this fragile chance at a new beginning.

  The memory of his lost family—Evelynn's laugh, Katie's determination, Jack's boundless curiosity—was transforming from an open wound into a foundation, a remembrance of what love looked like and why it was worth fighting for. He'd failed to protect one family. He wouldn't fail to protect another.

  Time to get stronger. Strong enough to make sure I never have to lose a family again.

  The stones gleamed in the candlelight. From his perspective, they had become instruments of purpose, tools to protect what mattered. Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Hatch's training, Selara's intensive preparation. Eventually, even the deadly test of the Rootbound Depths. Tonight was about building the foundation he'd need to face them all.

  Chapter 32 revision for feral goblin claw value clarity (Thanks Supp Mr Mike). Not worth a re-read, but it will help future readers.

  Most of the rest of the edits continue to be upstream. I'm still keeping track of feedback that makes sense to me, in hopes I'll be able to move on it in the future. Appreciate all of you.