Chu’s wife was named Wren, their eldest son Jen, and the youngest, bright-eyed, stubborn, and already recovering from the peril he’d survived was Ling.

  Thanks to the storage abilities of their Anchors, the family carried everything they owned with effortless ease. Chu estimated the journey to Veyra would take no more than a day.

  He was a level seventy-five pugilist, Wren a level sixty Qi Sage, an advanced healer whose presence alone felt like a warm hand pressed against the soul.

  Chu’s younger sister owned an inn on the outer ring of the city: the Hungry Dragon. He spoke of it with pride, describing it as lively, loud, and always smelling of spice and sizzling meat. The city itself, he said, held over a hundred thousand people. With the grand tournament approaching, nearly five times that number would flood its streets, travelers, merchants, challengers, wanderers hungry for glory. He eyed me when he stated that last part.

  We walked for miles before the wilderness slowly dissolved into civilization. Grass became packed dirt, which became laid stone, weathered cobbles smoothed by generations of feet. The road stretched ahead like a pale ribbon, vanishing into the dark horizon.

  Night had settled, but the air felt newly washed. A warm summer breeze drifted past, clean and soft, carrying the faint scent of distant water. Stars hung sharp overhead, unmarred by clouds. Beside me, Ling’s footsteps began to wobble. His head lolled once, twice, until Chu scooped him easily onto his back, the boy wrapping his arms around his father’s shoulders with the trust of long habit that brought a smile to my face.

  “So,” I said, breaking the quiet, “what’s the deal with this warlord situation?”

  Chu opened his mouth to answer, but Wren beat him to it, her voice edged with barely controlled disdain. “Warlord? He’s no such thing. Just a criminal with a title he stole off a dead man’s reputation. He lashes out at anyone who inconveniences him. And now that his son is set to compete in the Anchor Tournament…” Her eyes narrowed, catching the starlight like shards of glass. “There’s no telling how far he’ll go to thin the competition.”

  Chu’s tone was steadier when he took over, but no less firm. “It’s an honor just to compete in the Anchor Tournament. Warriors travel from every corner of the continent for the chance. To stand in that arena even once is to carve your name into history.”

  I frowned. “If the warlord’s son needs to cut down competitors before the fights even begin… doesn’t that mean he’s not strong enough to win outright?”

  Chu adjusted Ling on his back, his expression unreadable. “Winning isn’t his concern. Honor is. Well, the appearance of having honor in his case. All he needs is to survive the first few rounds. That alone elevates his family name. For a man who clawed his way into power through bribes rather than combat, honor is the one currency the warlord lacks and the only thing he needs if his house is to advance any further.”

  Balt, who’d been quiet, finally chimed in. “How many people are we talking about? Competing, I mean.”

  Chu glanced at me before answering. “I mean no disrespect, but for someone who traveled so far to participate, you know surprisingly little about the tournament.”

  I cleared my throat. “I should’ve asked more questions of my master. If you’re willing to fill in the gaps, I’d appreciate it.”

  Chu didn’t press, even though I could see that he wanted to. He merely nodded after a moment and continued. “There are four brackets. One hundred combatants each. Four hundred total and every one of them is fighting for legacy and honor for their family or sect.”

  That number sat heavy in the air. Four hundred, huh?

  I tilted my head. “What about the Adventurer’s Guild? What do I need to earn merit?”

  “First you register,” Chu said. “Then you take a combat test to prove you aren’t a liability. Pass that, and you receive a badge.”

  “A badge?” I echoed in unison with Balt.

  Wren smiled. “A badge worn over your heart. It marks you as guild, as a representative of Veyra, and as a potential contender for the tournament.”

  Chu nodded. “There are four great cities on this continent: Shenmu, Kaelith, Zhenxia, and Veyra. Each sends one hundred combatants. The tournament is held every eight years, and this cycle, Veyra hosts. The city will be overflowing, sect envoys, challengers, nobles, merchants. You and Balt should secure rooms quickly. Wait too long, and you’ll be camping outside the walls or paying absurd prices.”

  “How are merit points earned? And how do you decide which twenty-five qualify if more qualify than slots?”

  Chu exhaled through his nose. “Merit is not handed out freely. Complete guild tasks and earn fifty thousand merit points, and the slot becomes yours. First come, first served.”

  Balt let out a low whistle. “Fifty thousand? That’s brutal.”

  “It’s the weight of worth,” Chu replied. “Points determine your bracket placement. They convey one’s valor, spirit… and of course, some try to cheat the system, but the arbitrators are generally considered fair and do their best to enforce the rules equally, weather noble or commoner.”

  “So people like the warlord’s son don’t just get a huge party together and help him knock out his merit points?” I asked.

  “Exactly.”

  We fell into companionable silence. Dawn crept up behind us, staining the sky gold by the time we stopped to eat. I summoned my water flask and, as usual, an additional cup.

  Balt groaned. “You still doing that gems thing?”

  “The word is germs,” I said, handing him the ornate silver cup I’d stolen back on Floor Two, now etched with his name. “And yes. I’m not sharing a flask with a chronic slurper.”

  Balt sniffed. “Your stats are so high you could drink swamp water and be fine.”

  I paused. “You think I didn’t notice you licking the flask last time when my back was turned?”

  Chu and his family stared at him like he’d confessed to kicking puppies.

  Balt straightened with pompous dignity. “At least I don’t blow my nose into my hand and wipe it on my pants like some kind of gremlin.”

  I muttered, “That was one time. And we were running for our lives.”

  The boys burst out laughing. Even Wren hid a smile. The tension evaporated.

  We walked on. Soon the cobblestones became smoother. Cleaner. Homes appeared, tidy, spaced out, each one touched by morning light.

  Wren pointed to a broad hill. “Once we reach the top, you’ll be able to see the city.”

  The boys sprinted ahead. We followed. And when we crested the hill. My breath caught.

  Veyra stretched across the horizon like a sleeping giant of stone and light. A wall thirty feet high wrapped around it, a mosaic of granite gray, sandstone gold, obsidian black, each block fitted seamlessly as though placed by gods with infinite patience. Sunlight struck the uneven stones, making the entire wall shimmer like a mirage made solid.

  Chu slowed, voice almost reverent. “The city is built in three rings.”

  I traced the sprawl as he gestured.

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  “The outer ring is for the common folk, inns, smithies, armorers, the grand market. You’ll hear the haggling before you see it.”

  Beyond, taller buildings rose, banners fluttering. “The second ring is the domain of guilds and merchants. Contracts, credits, influence, that is where the city’s pulse beats strongest.”

  And at the center, white towers. Gilded spires. An arena large enough to swallow mountains.

  “The third ring holds the arena, the governor’s estate, and the noble houses. That is where power resides.”

  From afar, Veyra didn’t look built. It looked forged, layered in rings like armor, each tier a testament to ambition, survival, and legacy.

  By the time we reached the gates, a long line had formed. The guards bowed to Chu and Wren with respect. Balt and I received nothing.

  Perfect. Being ignored meant staying hidden.

  We stepped through the massive carved doors, flowers and curling vines etched into every surface.

  And inside the city was alive with motion.

  It was Times Square if the billboards were banners, the vendors sold swords instead of pretzels, and the air carried smoke, spice, and thunderous life.

  Veyra wasn’t just alive. It was three bears deep and feeling alright.

  There was a road that carriages traveled and men and women with horses rode on.

  “If it’s alright with you, my sister’s inn isn’t far. I’d like to drop off Wren and the boys before we go register with the guild. Is that acceptable?”

  “No problem,” I said. “Lead the way.”

  Within minutes we’d reached the Hungry Dragon, where Chu saw Wren and the boys safely inside. Jen gave us a solemn wave; Ling, already half-asleep in his mother’s arms, managed a tiny smile before the door closed behind them.

  Then it was just the three of us, Chu, Balt, and me, heading down a quieter side road that curved away from the chaos of the main street.

  The noise of the outer ring faded behind us as we approached a second wall. Not the patchwork mosaic of colors from the first gate, this one was different. Taller. Sterner. Forged from dark stone that drank in the light instead of reflecting it.

  Where the first gate felt welcoming, almost festive, this one felt like a threshold into something important, guarded, and ancient.

  Two massive doors stood open, framed by iron braces etched with unfamiliar runes that hummed faintly as we passed beneath them. The guards here carried themselves differently straight-backed, disciplined, eyes scanning every face.

  Beyond the gate rose the Guild District.

  And at its heart stood the guild hall.

  The building looked less like an office and more like a noble’s manor, three stories tall, with trimmed hedges and a broad stone stairway leading to an arched entryway. Its walls were pale marble veined with silver, and its many windows caught the sunlight like polished mirrors. It reminded me of a scaled-down version of Buckingham Palace.

  A massive banner hung from the upper balcony, the symbol on it unmistakable: A stylized System Anchor, half in shadow, half in light.

  Beneath it were the words:

  PARTICIPANTS REGISTER HERE

  We climbed the steps. The air felt charged around me, like the building itself was assessing us, and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement as I walked up the steps.

  Inside, the hall opened into a long chamber lit by lanterns suspended from beams of carved hardwood. The smell of oil, metal, and incense mixed in the air. A dozen lines stretched toward a counter at the far end, each manned by a guild clerk.

  People from every corner of the continent crowded the space, warriors in heavy plate, monks in layered robes, hunters in fur-trimmed leathers, mages with luminescent tattoos tracing their arms. As Balt and I stepped in, heads turned. Eyes raked over us, up and down, like they were measuring our worth or lack thereof.

  But then Chu stepped through behind us.

  Recognition flickered instantly. Interest faded. Attention slipped away. Like we’d suddenly become background scenery.

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Good, being overlooked was exactly what I wanted.

  I surveyed the room, scanning the different lines, trying to decide which would move the fastest. One had fewer people, but they all looked like the type to argue over forms; it reminded me of the DMW a little.

  I was weighing my options when a shoulder slammed into my back. Hard.

  “Move out of the way, bumpkin,” a voice snapped behind me. “Before I run you through.”

  I turned, muscles coiling, but the man wasn’t even looking at me.

  He stood a hair over six feet, sharply dressed in embroidered navy armor that was more fashion than protection. A gleaming rapier hung at his hip, the hilt wrapped in midnight leather. His hair was slicked back in a style that screamed money and ego.

  His eyes slid past me as if I didn’t exist and landed on Chu.

  “You there, vagabond. “He gestured dismissively at me with two fingers. “Have your manservant step aside. I won’t have trash blocking the path of his betters.”

  Then he gave Balt a once-over and scoffed. “Before I have you all whipped and run through for getting in my way, and that goes for all of you as well, step aside and let the next anchor champion through.”

  I felt my jaw tighten. And I noticed I wasn’t the only one.

  I Identified him.

  Balt’s hand settled firmly on my shoulder. I turned just enough to see him shaking his head, slow, deliberate, a silent plea not to do something stupid.

  I pulled a breath through my nose, forced the heat in my chest to settle, reading the system message calming me and tried the tactful route. “Look, mister,” I said evenly, “I apologize for standing in your way. That was rude of me. But I’m nobody’s servant. I’m here to compete in the tournament, same as you, same as everyone else in these lines.”

  He didn’t even let me finish. “I told you to be silent, weakling. “His lip curled, his voice dripping with contempt. “Speak again level 22, and I’ll have your family flogged alongside you for daring to address me.”

  Right behind me, Balt muttered, “Oh shit.”

  And just like that, my vision went red. The asshole's eyes widened, his smug composure snapping an instant before my fist met his face. Bone crunched. His head snapped back. And he launched through the open doorway like a rag doll fired from a cannon.

  He hit the stone steps outside with a sound that was deeply, profoundly satisfying and went still. I waited a few more seconds, holding the door open as if I expected him to get up. He didn’t. He just… sprawled there, wheezing, arms splayed out like he’d fallen from orbit.

  “…Alright then.” I shrugged and shut the door behind me. “Tournament champion, my ass.”

  The moment I turned around, the whole hall erupted.

  A wall of cheers slammed into me, whoops, shouts, boots stomping against the stone floor. People were grinning, laughing, throwing their hands up like they’d just watched a gladiator match. A couple of adventurers clapped me on the shoulder as I walked past, the blows firm enough to rattle my bones.

  “That’ll teach him!”

  “Gods, did you see his face?!” a guy in a bear cloak cackled.

  It was loud, warm, chaotic, and honestly? Kind of nice. Balt stood in the middle of it all, completely stone-faced. Not impressed. Not surprised. Just giving me that flat, deadpan stare of his.

  “You know that’s going to be trouble for us later, right?” he said as I approached.

  “Yeah,” I said, grinning. “But you know what? Fuck that little prince. He called down the thunder, and he damn well got it.”

  Balt’s expression cracked, just barely, into a smirk. He thrust out his fist. I bumped it with mine. A clean, solid thunk.

  We split off after that: Balt heading toward the back of the line, me toward another line with the others waiting to be processed. The noise settled into a steady buzz of conversation and shifting armor. A few people still glanced at me with smirks and the occasional thumbs up, like I’d just punched a villain instead of a spoiled noble.

  Eventually, I stepped up to the front and found myself staring at a woman with the largest pair of glasses I had ever seen. They looked like magnifying lenses strapped to her head, each pane catching the crystal-light overhead and turning her eyes into bulbous orbs.

  She beamed at me as if I were her new favorite experiment.

  “Hello, dear! Please place your hand on the orb,” she said, gesturing to a crystal ball resting on a cushioned pedestal.

  I had been watching those in front of me do just that, but I eyed it curiously. “What exactly does this thing do?”

  “It accesses your overall stats,” she said with the cheerful certainty of someone explaining how to boil water. “And if you pass the combat trial, it will help generate your guild badge with your unique class signature embedded inside.”

  My pulse kicked up. Unique class signature.

  “Alright then. Let’s see what you’ve got,” she whispered, eyes gleaming behind those massive lenses. I activated Limit Break and put my hand on the orb.