The air in the garrison yard was different. Before, Caleb had been a ghost, an anonymous trainee lost in the ranks. Now, he was a landmark. As he moved through the pre-dawn air, a space cleared around him, a bubble of respect and fear that followed him like a shadow. Other trainees, their breath pluming before them, fell silent as he passed, their expressions a mixture of awe and envy.

  “That’s him,” one whispered, nodding discreetly toward Caleb. “The one who cleared the old quarry. My cousin saw him bring the claws into the Hall.”

  The other boy scoffed, his voice thick with disbelief. “Alone? Don’t be an idiot. My sister’s crew—three of them, all Peak F-tiers—nearly got wiped out by a single matriarch last season. Said it was like fighting a walking rockslide. No half-trained kid is doing that solo.”

  “The Guild doesn’t lie about contracts,” the first boy insisted. “He did it.”

  Caleb kept his expression neutral, but internally he noted the shift in social dynamics. Respect, fear, disbelief, envy—he catalogued the emotions like a new set of variables. The social math of the garrison had just changed, and he was now the unknown quantity. Across the yard, Narbok stood with his usual cronies, a frosty intensity having settled over him that stifled his typical bluster. Their eyes met for a moment before Narbok deliberately turned away.

  The blast of a horn cut through the morning air, silencing every conversation. Captain Hatch strode into the yard, his polished metal armor gleaming in the early light. An unfamiliar figure walked behind him, a woman in pristine white robes adorned with silver threading, her auburn hair braided with small bone charms that clinked softly as she moved.

  "Form ranks!" Hatch's voice left no room for delay.

  The trainees scrambled into formation, forty-some young people arranged in neat rows facing their instructor. Caleb found himself in the second row, directly behind Leo Tanner, whose shoulders were already hunched.

  Hatch’s penetrating brown eyes surveyed the assembled group, his focus lingering on Caleb before he spoke. "The Reaping approaches. For you, this means more than remembrance and celebration." He grinned out at the assembly. "It's time for our annual village youth tournament."

  Caleb groaned, while excited murmurs rippled through the ranks.

  A tournament. Wonderful. Another item for the long list of 'Local Customs That Might Get Me Killed.' This was the frustrating part about his memory. He had all of Thal's experiences at his fingertips, yet they surfaced like a backseat driver yelling about missed turns after he'd already passed them. A ridiculous thing to get annoyed about, of course. I have a literal superpower. A little gratitude was probably in order. Cue the guilt.

  Hatch raised a palm for silence.

  "The tournament will follow the format of the Sunforged Trials—single elimination matches over the final four days of the festival. Participation is an honor that must be earned. Only the top forty performers from this Awakened cohort, as determined by my final evaluations over the coming days, will be selected to compete." His eyes swept across the formation again. "Consider this your first real battlefield. You will face full-contact combat with real weapons and real consequences."

  He gestured to the woman in white robes. "Specialist Spinova of The Auric Medicus will oversee warding and medical treatment during the matches. Her presence means you will push yourselves to your absolute limits without fear of permanent injury." The captain's voice grew harder. "It also means there are no excuses for holding back. You will fight as if your life depends on it, because someday it will."

  Caleb felt his pulse quicken. The prospect of facing other trainees in formal combat was both thrilling and terrifying. His newfound abilities would be tested against real opponents with proper weapons, far different from creatures of tooth and claw.

  "The top finishers will receive essence stones as prizes," Hatch continued, his words carrying across the yard. "The prize will be tailored to your advancement, adjusted to each fighter's current tier."

  A low rumble of confusion passed through the ranks.

  A quick look from Hatch was enough to restore order. "Third place will receive enough F-tier essence stones to bring every attribute in either the Martial or Mystic Path to the breakthrough threshold."

  The murmuring stopped, replaced by a stunned silence as the trainees processed the statement. It was a guaranteed path to the peak of their current tier.

  "Second place," Hatch continued, "will receive the same, with the additional stones required to bring their Vitality to the threshold as well. A complete foundation for a specialist's advancement."

  The silence broke. A wave of gasps and excited whispers swept through the formation. That was a full breakthrough package, an entire tier's worth of progress handed to them on a platter.

  "And the champion," Hatch declared, his eyes seeming to lock with every trainee at once, "will receive enough stones to elevate all seven attributes. Enough to attempt a breakthrough on the Harmonic Path."

  The yard erupted. Shouts of disbelief and fervent desire drowned out all other sound. The Harmonic Path was the domain of the noble Illuminet and wealthy Gilded families, a road to power paved with a fortune in stones. For the Duskborn commoners who formed the bulk of the garrison trainees, it was a distant, unattainable dream. To be given the resources for it was unthinkable. Hatch let the noise swell for a moment before he dropped the final piece.

  "Furthermore, for all three winners, the value of any pre-existing attunement will be compensated with E-Tier spirit stones."

  Caleb's mind snagged on the last detail, replaying it with a jolt of recognition. Well, I'll be. It's a rebate. Hatch's prize was effectively a money-back guarantee. Win, and your entry fee—every stone you burned getting ready—was returned in a more valuable currency. It was a brilliant, predatory incentive, designed to make everyone push themselves to the absolute limit. And it was an opportunity he had no intention of wasting.

  Essence stones. The prize elevated the stakes beyond simple bragging rights. He remembered a line from one of Thal's basic primers, a foundational rule of the system his own recent experiment had confirmed. The power from a stone was a fixed constant for its tier, a value unaffected by luck or quality. An F-tier essence stone granted a clean ten percent attunement. A spirit stone always offered half that, a dirty bargain paid for with a heavy tax of Contamination. The tournament offered a path to advancement that didn't require grinding through Contamination for months. More than that, it offered a direct route to the one path that could fully utilize his unique Soul Impartments if he were to claim the top spot. Assuming I can eventually learn some magic…

  "You have nine days to prepare," Hatch said. "Use them wisely. Training begins now with fundamental drills. First rank, advance!"

  As the morning exercises began, Caleb fell into the familiar rhythm of spear work. The repetitive thrusts, blocks, and stances required little conscious thought, allowing his mind to drift as he replayed Hatch's words, zeroing in on the true value of the prize: acceleration. Those stones were a direct path to the strength required to enter the Rootbound Depths, the only place he could find the specific moss his plans depended on. Heck, if he took first place he might be able to skip it entirely. To win that prize, however, would likely demand a level of power he did not currently possess, a thought that immediately summoned the memory of the experiment he had performed just the night before.

  He had started in the stable loft with a single stone, rolling the rough surface between his fingers before placing it on his tongue. Gritting his teeth he swallowed, raw power flooding his system like liquid fire. The alien energy was aggressive, seeking to impose its nature on his body without regard for compatibility.

  Using his [Perfect Memory], he had recalled every detail of his Awakening—the sensation of breaking through the barrier, the feeling of the stone's energy settling into his Stamina. This time, he took command of the process and actively guided the energy. His enhanced mental faculties allowed him to easily visualize Agility as a concept, forming a detailed template in his mind's eye. Then, he willed the stone's power out of the energy that infused his muscles and bones, and into that mold, feeling it click into place.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  [Agility has increased by 5.00% -> 10.00%]

  [Spiritual Contamination has increased by 10.00% -> 10.00%]

  Testing the change had been illuminating. His body felt subtly different—lighter, more responsive. When he moved through a basic spear form on the stable floor, his muscles seemed more capable of executing the movements, flowing from position to position with newfound grace. But when he attempted to use [Flicker Step] or project his enhanced perception with Mana, the spiritual drag was immediately apparent. Mustering the energy for both abilities felt sluggish, like pushing water through a pipe obstructed with sand.

  [Agility has increased by 5.00% -> 15.00%]

  [Spiritual Contamination has increased by 10.00% -> 20.00%]

  The second stone had amplified both effects. His Agility reached 15%, and the physical improvements were undeniable. But the Spiritual Contamination at 20% deepened the cost. The grit in his channels thickened, coalescing into a restrictive clog. A simple [Flicker Step] now required a noticeable extra push of will to overcome the internal friction.

  [Agility has increased by 5.00% -> 20.00%]

  [Spiritual Contamination has increased by 10.00% -> 30.00%]

  The third stone had been the real test. At 20% Agility and 30% Contamination, the debuff started to become debilitating. His body hummed with coiled potential, every muscle fiber enhanced and optimized. Every attempt to draw on his power was like wading through heavy mud, sapping both his will and energy. Using [Dash] required nearly twice the normal Stamina expenditure, and maintaining Mana-injected perception for more than a few seconds left him with a splitting headache.

  Power and poison. Caleb didn't like the prospect of having to go into a serious fight with his current status, even after the one point reduction from sleep last night. The change was barely noticeable. Hopefully, his glimmerdew moss contract would be fulfilled soon and he would be in fighting shape for the tournament. I hope I didn't overdo it with the spirit stones.

  A piercing whistle brought him back to the present. Hatch was calling for a rotation, partnering trainees for controlled sparring. Caleb ended up paired with a girl named Mira, a quiet human whose movements were economical and exact. She never overextended, and each of her blocks met his spear with minimal wasted motion. As they went through the motions of attack and defense, he felt the enhanced reflexes from the night's experiment. His blocks came faster, his counters more fluid. But when he tried to project his perception to track her aura and position, the internal resistance reminded him of the price he had paid.

  The main training session concluded with the trainees dismissed for individual practice. Most scattered to work on specific weaknesses, but Leo lingered near the weapons rack, his shoulders slumped in dejection. When Caleb approached, the boy looked up, his eyes holding a conflict of desperation and hope.

  "Thal," Leo said quietly, glancing around. "My father heard about the tournament. He expects me to uphold the Tanner name." The words came out in a rush, as if he'd been rehearsing them. "But I'm not like him. I'm not strong or fierce or any of the things a warrior should be. Please... can you teach me? I know it's asking a lot, but—"

  "Hey, what's this about training?" Corinne's cheerful voice interrupted as she bounced over, her practice spear still in hand. Her hazel eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked between them. "Are you two planning extra sessions? Because I want in! I've been thinking about the tournament all morning, and I need every advantage I can get if I'm going to prove I'm ready to be an adventurer."

  Before Caleb could respond, heavy footsteps announced the arrival of Narbok. The tall Mycari strode over with Finn and Durk flanking him, his eyes fixed intently on Leo. Without warning, he shoved the smaller boy hard enough to send him stumbling.

  "Training?" Narbok’s voice was thick with contempt. "A baker’s boy and a tavern girl, begging a half-breed for scraps because he managed to stick a goblin." He finally turned to Caleb, his face dismissive. "Don’t think your lucky stunt in the quarry makes you a warrior. In the tournament, your luck will run out. I will win. I will take the prize, and I will prove that the strength of the Mistblood is the only thing that truly matters."

  Behind Narbok, Finn tittered nervously while Durk cracked his knuckles with anticipation.

  Easy... Don't let the playground bully get to you.

  Caleb straightened to his full height, meeting Narbok's glare without flinching.

  "You know what I've learned, Narbok? The loudest people in the room are usually trying to convince themselves more than anyone else." He gestured casually toward the practice area. "But hey, if you want to prove your Mistblood superiority, the tournament's in nine days. Save it for then. I'm sure everyone will be very impressed by your... pure blood."

  Each word hit home, wiping the sneer from Narbok. Several nearby trainees suppressed smirks while Narbok's face curdled with rage. Narbok's hand twitched toward the dagger at his belt, his body coiling. His eyes shot sideways, catching Captain Hatch's observant stare. The strain bled from his shoulders as he deliberately relaxed.

  "Nine days," Narbok snarled. "I'll remember that, dull-ear."

  He stalked away with his followers, the hostility slowly dissipating in his wake. Leo looked shaken but grateful, while Corinne seemed energized by the confrontation.

  "Don't listen to that bully!" she said, clapping Leo on the shoulder with her usual infectious optimism. "He's just scared because he knows you're going to surprise everyone."

  Caleb nodded, a quiet determination taking root within him. "Meet me out front of the stables after dinner," he said, his voice low and firm. "Both of you. We'll start then."

  Leo's face broke into a relieved smile. "Thank you. Really. I don't know how to repay—"

  "Just show up ready to work," Caleb clapped him on the shoulder. "That's payment enough."

  Corinne bounced on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! I can't wait to show them what I can do!"

  The rest of the morning passed as Caleb worked methodically through his spear forms, feeling the improved Agility make each movement smoother and more precise. The impulse to augment a simple lunge with the force of a [Sundering Strike] was a constant temptation, a touch of power gathering in his muscles. He deliberately released the energy before it could form. No. Not yet. Every trainee in the yard was now a rival, their eyes searching for an edge, a weakness. He would give them nothing to study but the predictable lines of a common spearman.

  As the session concluded and trainees began filing out of the yard, Caleb made his way toward the Golden Mortar. His appointment with Selara awaited, and he was looking forward to getting back out into the field.

  The alchemist shop appeared as pristine and intimidating as ever, its smoked glass windows reflecting the morning light. Caleb pushed through the heavy door, breathing in the usual scents of alcohol and ozone that marked Aurelian's domain. The shop remained empty of customers, its towering shelves displaying their sparse, museum-quality inventory.

  "Punctual. Good." Selara emerged from the back room. "We're working back here today."

  Not field work? She led him past the immaculate public space, through the laboratory where Aurelian hunched over a complex apparatus of bubbling glass and copper coils. The alchemist remained bent over his work, his attention completely consumed by the slow drip of a vibrant blue liquid into a waiting beaker. The air here was warmer, humming with contained energy and the hiss of steam. Selara navigated the maze of equipment, stopping before a heavy wooden door Caleb had not noticed before. It was reinforced with iron bands and secured with an impressive lock that she opened with a key from her void ring.

  What lay beyond the door was exactly what he would have expected from the shop's public face. It was a storeroom of impeccable order, with neatly labeled crates stacked in precise columns and barrels arranged in orderly rows. The air was cool and dry, smelling of cedar and pine. In the far corner, however, stood another structure, a plain partition of unpainted wood with a simple wooden door. Selara crossed the clean floor and opened the basic latch. She pushed it open to reveal the antithesis of everything Caleb had seen in The Golden Mortar.

  "Welcome to your new home: the archive," she said, gesturing to the room beyond.

  The archive was crammed to bursting. Shelves lined every wall from floor to ceiling, packed with jars, vials, boxes, and containers of every conceivable size and shape. The air was thick with overlapping scents—herbs, minerals, preservatives, and things he couldn't identify. Labels in various scripts covered most containers, though some bore only cryptic symbols.

  The room was barely large enough for two people to stand comfortably; it was so crammed full. Squeezed against the far wall was a tiny desk that looked ready to collapse under the weight of the books stacked upon it. A single wooden chair sat before it, its seat worn smooth by use.

  But it was the books on the desk that made Caleb's heart skip.

  A massive stack of lore towered precariously, easily two feet high. A few volumes were thick, their leather covers dry and brittle to the touch, spines cracked like old riverbeds, and the pages within the color of sun-bleached bone. Others looked like they could have been fresh out of a printing press. Some even bore titles in languages he didn't recognize.

  Selara smiled without warmth. "You've proven you can handle yourself in a fight." She gestured to the intimidating pile of knowledge. "But being a good forager—and indeed, a good adventurer—is about much more than being able to stab something that wants to kill you." She smirked. "Read these. All of them. You'll be done when you think you're ready to proceed. I'll be the judge of that."

  Without another word, she stepped back and closed the door, leaving Caleb alone in the cramped storeroom with his new task. The silence pressed in around him, broken only by the soft settling of old wood and the distant sounds of Aurelian's work. Caleb grinned.

  Holy mackerel, I've struck the motherlode! Selara probably expected a kid like Thal, who barely had enough schooling to pull off reading and writing, would be overwhelmed at the task she'd left behind. But Caleb couldn't be more excited to finally put [Savant of the Mind] to the test.

  He approached the desk eagerly, trying to determine where to start. He could make out several titles embossed in faded gold leaf: A Compendium of Virethane Flora, Foraging Basics: A Primer for Budding Adventurers, and On the Nature of Forest Spirits. The topmost volume was bound in black leather with silver clasps, its title even more daunting: "Ecological Dynamics of the Virethane: A Comprehensive Study of Territorial Behaviors in Endemic Megafauna."

  Caleb pulled out the chair and sat down. Nine days until the tournament. He needed every advantage he could get, and he'd just been served this mountain of accumulated knowledge. Maybe there was something that could help him?

  He opened the first book and began to read.