"He used an emergency function," Malcolm explained as we descended the Citadel’s stone steps into the city’s main courtyard. "The kind that sends messages to any connected Manascript in range. Like how Chas reaches Nana when he's gallivanting on other worlds." He shot me a look that suggested I'd committed some sort of cosmic faux pas. "That's strictly Master-level stuff, Ben. The mana requirement alone should've turned you into jerky."

  My legs wobbled, reminding me that, yeah, I'd come pretty close to achieving dried-meat status. The hollow, scraped-out sensation in my chest wasn’t something I was going to get used to.

  "Almost did," I admitted, gripping the stone wall for support. "Still feel like I've been wrung out like a dishrag."

  Thea had begged off with vague mentions of "things to handle"—which in Thea-speak probably meant explosions. She'd promised to meet us at Doreen's later for drinks, though knowing her, she'd probably arrive through a wall.

  “At least now I might hit a milestone on the way back to full. They’ve been getting more frequent.”

  Malcolm's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "You mean the expanded pathways that develop when you push your limits? How many have you had?"

  I did some quick mental math, which was harder than it should've been given my current state. "Yesterday was... thirty-three? Maybe thirty-four? I've lost count since becoming a Seeker."

  The sound of Cass missing a step and tumbling ass-over-teakettle down the stairs was spectacular.

  Cass had tripped. Cass, who could probably do backflips on a tightrope while juggling her swords.

  "Holy fucking shit!" Her cursing echoed over the city below as she went down like a sack of angry potatoes. Several passing Monster Hunters stopped to gawk at the unprecedented sight of Cass eating shit.

  Malcolm and I sprinted down after her, finding her sitting on her ass, face redder than a tomato with sunburn. She scrambled to her feet with as much dignity as someone could muster after face-planting in front of a hundred people.

  "What the actual fuck, Ben!" She whirled on me, finger jabbing at my chest like a meaty spear. "Thirty-three milestones? Erik hit seven to make Adept. Seven. I’ve had three!"

  "Oh." I blinked, my brain still catching up. "Maybe they're not milestones then? I mean, it's not like I have a reference guide for what magical growth spurts are supposed to feel like."

  Malcolm tossed Cass his wash-kit while shaking his head like a disappointed professor. "Nobody drinks Titan's Root as an Initiate, Ben. Nobody except apparently you. Even in the Empire, they wait until at least Seeker rank for this very reason."

  We emerged into the main courtyard, the evening air carrying the mingled scents of grilled meat, exotic spices, and what I was pretty sure was fermented something-or-other. The vendor stalls were doing brisk business, Monster Hunters and civilians alike grabbing dinner.

  I handed over a small stack of blue coins to a Sentarian named Jorrah that I’d met on my first day on Ark. In return, he gave me paper bags of salted nuts that smelled like heaven had gone into the snack business.

  Now this was more like it.

  "Here." I distributed the bags, then tossed one to Red, who caught it mid-air with practiced ease. My familiar crunched away happily, tail creating a minor dust storm.

  "Look," I continued, cracking open a nut that required way more force than Earth-nuts ever did, "it doesn't feel like massive changes. Maybe my pathways are getting more efficient? Like upgrading instead of expanding. But I'm not suddenly overflowing with cosmic power or anything."

  Cass showed her recovery from the stairs incident by tossing a nut up and catching it in her mouth. "Well, you'll have plenty of fucking time to figure it out on this suicide mission Gary volunteered us for."

  Right. The hunt.

  I pulled out the Manascript again; its surface shimmered with that not-quite-liquid quality that honestly weirded me out. The posting glared back at me like a threat:

  D—Goreback Hydra—Nine Winds Mountain—225G65S WARNING: E-Class Adiviperax Also Present

  "Let me get this straight," I said, staring at the warning. "We're hunting a three-headed snake that spits acid, can regenerate, and has been getting stronger for a week. Plus bonus venomous mini-monsters for flavor?"

  "Pretty much," a familiar voice said directly in my ear.

  I jumped about three feet sideways, my heart attempting to exit through my throat. Chas stood there holding a turkey leg the size of a small club, grease making his fingers shine in the evening light.

  "Holy fuck, Chas!" I clutched my chest. "How did you—Valor should've sensed you coming from across the courtyard!"

  He grinned, white teeth stark against his black metallic skin—a sight that still threw me every time. Watching what was essentially a humanoid plant tear into meat with such enthusiasm felt like a violation of some fundamental law.

  "Been practicing stealth techniques," he said through a mouthful of turkey. "Helps when you need to be places I’m technically not supposed to be. Like Diana’s wine cellar."

  "If there's a fucking Master in town," Cass interrupted, jabbing her finger at him with enough force to pierce armor, "why are we doing the death-snake job?"

  Chas rolled his eyes dramatically. "Because I told Gary to save it specifically for you three. Character building! Plus Diana's arriving tonight and I'd rather not be covered in hydra guts when she does."

  "You're such a prick!" Cass's voice bounced off the courtyard walls, causing several nearby conversations to pause.

  "Language, Cassandra." Chas waggled the turkey leg disapprovingly. "Besides, you're official Seekers of Sylvarus now. Malcolm's mommy dearest finally backed off after Ben's little performance scared the politics out of her."

  Malcolm's expression grew complicated—relief mixed with something that looked suspiciously like disappointment. Family dynamics were messy enough without your mother being an actual villain who'd spent a week trying to murder your friend.

  "She actually said that?" Malcolm asked quietly. "That Ben's not a threat?"

  "Her exact words were 'not a threat to Ark at this time.'" Chas made air quotes with his free hand, sending drops of grease flying. "Which in Maris-speak means she's planning something but needs time to set it up. But hey, it gets you into the Academy without her interference, so win-win."

  "When can we go?" I asked, trying to redirect before Malcolm's family drama got more awkward.

  "Whenever you want. But—" Chas pointed the turkey leg at me. "Diana's gonna want to chat when she arrives. So maybe don't take a week to kill one snake?"

  "You're seriously not helping at all?" I gave him my best disappointed look, which probably just made me look constipated.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Of course I'm helping!" He stored the turkey leg in his mana sanctum with a casual gesture. "Follow me."

  He led us through the evening crowd, weaving between vendors and slightly drunk Monster Hunters with practiced ease. We arrived at Cyrus's shop, tucked up the street from Doreen’s.

  The interior looked like someone had mashed together a medieval library and a new-age crystal shop. Glowing vials lined the walls, which were floor-to-ceiling shelves, and I was pretty sure at least two different bookshelves weren’t there last time we had been here.

  A white-furred Vildar in an expensive overcoat glanced up from examining a rack of suspiciously glowing potions.

  "Customers," he said with the enthusiasm of someone discovering gum on their shoe. "I was about to close."

  "These three have a Class-D hunt," Chas said, ignoring the dismissal. "Pays in gold. They'll need supplies—poison and acid resistance at minimum."

  The change was instantaneous. Cyrus's ears perked up as if someone had said the magic word. Which, I guess, "gold" basically was.

  "Class-D?" His entire demeanor shifted from 'go away' to 'please, tell me more about your money.' "Why didn't you say so immediately! Right this way, Master Blackwood!"

  The tiny mouse-person practically sprinted to the door, flipping the sign and turning the lock with a definitive click. He then led us through towering bookshelves to what I'd thought was just a display case of weird jewelry and questionable baubles.

  He produced a silver mana coin and placed it on something that looked like a vintage ashtray, and the display case melted.

  "What the fuck," I whispered, watching marble flow like water.

  The liquid stone reformed into multiple racks that emerged from the floor like they were growing. Weapons on specialized mounts, armor hung from polished stands, and racks of vials bubbled with liquids in a rainbow of colors. There was even a larger jug of purple liquid with a softball-sized eye in it.

  "Most of these are Class-E items from Marigold," Cyrus explained to Chas while eyeing us like we might steal something, "but sufficient for a properly supervised hunt."

  "They're going alone," Chas said cheerfully.

  Cyrus's professional smile cracked like ice. "Sending Seekers on a Class-D hunt? Alone? What guarantee do I have if I'm providing supplies on credit?"

  "You know exactly who these three are." Chas gestured at us with a 'ta-da' motion. "You watched the tournament. You've heard the stories. Hell, you probably have bets placed on their survival odds."

  "Which don’t make me any money if they die on a hunt out of their league," Cyrus narrowed his eyes at Chas.

  “Fine, I’ll front the money,” Chas said reluctantly.

  Cyrus nodded and grabbed a large bottle of viscous yellow liquid that looked like honey. "Golden Marigold oil for acid mitigation—I assume Seeker Malcolm knows the application process?"

  Malcolm nodded while I tried not to think about what 'application process' meant. Probably something unpleasant involving places I didn't want oil.

  "And these," Cyrus continued, producing a bandolier studded with small vials, "are pills from the Tidebinder Wards. Overkill for most monsters, but it's all I have in stock. Leave it to Chas Blackwood to not now that difference between poison and venom."

  Chas shrugged and sighed dramatically, pulling out a stack of golden coins that literally hummed with power. They were larger than I'd expected, each one intricately stamped with mountain designs that seemed to shift when you weren't looking directly at them.

  He placed them on the counter one by one while Cyrus made 'more please' gestures like a kid asking for candy. After a small pile was placed down, the Vildar picked up one coin, and it melted in his palm, transforming into a cascade of silver coins. He handed half back to Chas with obvious satisfaction.

  "Highway robbery," Chas grumbled.

  "I prefer 'aggressive business,'" Cyrus smiled sweetly. "Now get out. It's dinner time and you're keeping me from my imported cheese."

  After being basically shoved out the door, I stored the supplies in my soul-space.

  "First time I've seen you actually pay for something," Malcolm observed, genuinely shocked.

  "Please." Chas scoffed. "I get it all back when you turn in the hunt receipt. This is an investment in not hearing Diana bitch about dead Seekers."

  "Speaking of money," I raised my hand like the confused Earth kid I was, "what's with the huge jump from Class-E to D? Our last hunt paid in pocket change."

  "The power gap between ranks is exponential," Malcolm explained in his 'teaching voice.' "A Class-D monster is several times stronger than Class-E. Their mana cores are also significantly more valuable—any competent Alchemist can extract substantial gold coins from them."

  "Unlike someone who just explodes them with his fancy stick," Chas added, giving me a pointed look.

  Yeah, Winchester could blow up mana cores while still inside monsters.

  "Winchester's not exactly in peak condition," I protested. "Speaking of which, I should probably grab something from the armory—"

  Chas tossed me a leather case that materialized from nowhere. It was identical to my old spear case, the one currently decorating some spirit realm after our last catastrophic adventure.

  "Try not to lose this one," he said. "And maybe ask Narrin about fixing Winchester at some point. He's the best Runesmith this side of anywhere that matters."

  "Thanks, Chas." I shouldered the case, appreciating the familiar weight. "I was thinking of asking Arryava, but—"

  "Good luck with that," Chas interrupted. "She's been in some kind of mystical conference with her collective for weeks. Nobody knows what's happening down in Mo-Lei these days."

  The mention of Mo-Lei sparked an idea. "Quick coffee stop before we head out?"

  Malcolm's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. "I have a mana sanctum. I'll carry as much as you can make."

  Even Chas looked interested despite trying to play it cool. Coffee addiction was apparently universal.

  "Diana's arriving soon..." he said, clearly wrestling with priorities.

  "Knock a gold coin off our debt," Cass said suddenly.

  The pained expression on Chas's face was beautiful. "A whole gold coin? For coffee?"

  "Gaia's tits, you didn’t even bother haggling with Cyrus!" Cass crossed her arms. "Fair's fair."

  Red barked agreement, apparently understanding the concept of leverage better than most humans.

  "Fine!" Chas threw up his hands in defeat. "Diana's gonna smack me anyway. Might as well be caffeinated for it."

  "She doesn't know about this hunt setup, does she?" I asked innocently.

  The look Chas gave me could've curdled milk. "Another gold coin and we never mention it."

  I pretended to consider. "Hmm. Hey, didn't Thea say she was heading to Doreen's? Bet she'd love some coffee too."

  "Five gold," Chas said through gritted teeth. "And the hunt was your idea."

  The hunt my idea. This specific death trap was all his.

  "Deal." We shook on it before he could reconsider.

  Once we were safely out of earshot, Malcolm turned on us with obvious disapproval. "That was awful. He guaranteed our credit with his own money!"

  "He forced us into this specific hunt," I pointed out. "Plus, did you see Cyrus's face? That mouse was ready to take half what Chas offered."

  "My aura was basically screaming it," I added, tapping my chest.

  "See?" Cass smirked. "Even Valor agrees with us."

  We ducked into a storage building crammed with construction supplies and enough dust to trigger every allergy. I pulled aside a tapestry that had seen better decades, revealing worn stone stairs descending into the Old Pathways.

  The temperature dropped about twenty degrees as we descended; the air taking on that stillness that meant we were far from sunlight. These tunnels had become as familiar as my old neighborhood, each turn and chamber memorized during my month of wandering.

  Ancient stonework gave way to something distinctly more ornate—rich golds and warm woods that belonged in a museum, not a tunnel system. Sentarian statues stood in carved alcoves, their elongated fingers frozen in complex mudras that probably meant something profound.

  The guard at Mo-Lei's entrance bowed before we got within twenty feet. "Amituofo, Revered One. You and your guests are always welcome."

  "Thanks, Tarrik!" I called as we passed into the cavern proper.

  Mo-Lei still broke my brain every time. The architectural love child of Aztec pyramids and Buddhist temples shouldn't work, but here it was, defying both physics and good taste with concentrated style. Golden light emanated from countless floating orbs, creating an atmosphere that felt ancient and serene and slightly hallucinogenic.

  My courtyard house sat just inside the city proper, behind a red lacquered door that the Sentarians had been maintaining with obsessive dedication. The gardens were so perfectly manicured they looked fake.

  Red blew past me the moment the door opened, making a beeline for his favorite spot on the couch. The house interior was immaculate—the Sentarians had been treating it like a shrine, which was both flattering and mildly concerning.

  Valor picked up a familiar presence before we'd made it three steps inside.

  Katie rounded the corner and froze like someone had hit pause on reality.

  She was wearing an honest-to-God Japanese schoolgirl uniform. The pleated skirt, crisp white shirt, and navy blazer looked simultaneously perfect and completely ridiculous on her. This was definitely my fault—I'd described Earth fashion during one of our late-night talks, apparently in too much detail.

  Her face went redder than her hair. The color spread from her cheeks down her neck in real-time, like watching a time-lapse of sunrise.

  Cass whistled appreciatively. "Holy shit, Katie! I don't think I've ever seen you in a skirt!"

  Katie spun around and fled down the hallway, her footsteps echoing off the walls like tiny thunderclaps. I felt my face burning with sympathy and embarrassment.

  "That was—" Malcolm started.

  "We don't talk about it," I blurted. "Ever. Coffee. Let's make coffee."

  The kitchen was exactly as I'd left it, down to the bag of beans I'd been experimenting with. I threw myself into the familiar routine of grinding and brewing, grateful for something to do with my hands that didn't involve dying of secondhand mortification.

  "So," Cass said, clearly not reading the room, "Katie trying to impress someone?"

  "Coffee!" I bellowed. "Who wants coffee? Everyone wants coffee!"

  Red padded in and gave me a look that clearly said, .

  Even my familiar was judging me. Perfect.