It took Blake slightly longer than he anticipated to reforge his muscles. He followed roughly the same order as he’d done his skeleton in, but precision was key with some of the smaller muscles.

  It was a good thing the venom only worked on muscle material, because if it didn’t, he was pretty sure he’d have melted something else important during the process.

  Over the next week, he spent an hour a day in the isolation chambers. Of course, he could rush it, but that would be suspicious—as would him not shattering his entire channel system by using multiple hours a day.

  When he finished reforging his muscles, there was no massive fanfare or explosion of resonance. His badge simply shifted, displaying three stars, and he knew it was complete.

  The next order of business was finding something to test his new strength on.

  There was nothing better than a hunting mission, but before he picked his slip, he visited the technique slate library to figure out how many contribution points he’d need to learn his next technique.

  As soon as he stepped inside, he found Froskur and Iver waiting for him. The two boys stood inside, and Iver said, “Looking for a new technique, Senior Brother?”

  “What kind?” Froskur added excitedly.

  “Augmentation,” Blake replied.

  “But—” Iver cut himself off and dropped his voice down to a whisper. “Don’t you already have one?”

  “A really weak one,” Blake replied.

  “I’m not sure if we agree on the meaning of weak,” said Froskur.

  “The point is, I need something better.” Blake kept walking, exploring the rows of shelves covered in technique slates until he reached the Augmentation section. He ran his finger up and down the shelf and the spines of the slates, hunting for anything that looked like lightning.

  With the reading Elder Ulfreld had him doing, he had been getting better at deciphering the letters and language of the Nords. But it was still helpful to have Froskur and Iver at his back, helping him search through the shelves and identify lightning-aspected Augmentation techniques.

  Eventually, he had an armful of slates. He immediately ruled out the slates that costed forty points or under, which narrowed down his selection significantly, until he only had a choice of three different techniques.

  One was based purely in speed. It made him as fast as lightning. But it also used regular mana to achieve that, and if his mana achieved the opposite effect, it would be completely useless. Another was a basic, well-rounded strength, speed, and durability enhancement, but he had the same concern, so he left it behind.

  In the end, he settled on a technique called ‘Cloud Body Lightning Fists’ which promised to assist with mobility while still increasing strength. It had two phases, which seemed easily reversible. Blake would have to modify it significantly, but it was a perfect starting point.

  He couldn’t afford it right away, since it cost nearly two hundred contribution points, so he put it back and said, “That one.”

  “But, senior brother,” Iver began, “that one is meant for Foundation Cultivators—”

  Froskur nudged him, shaking his head, and whispered, “I don’t think that matters to Bjarke.”

  “Yeah,” Blake continued. “It’s not a concern.”

  Although he couldn’t afford the slate, he had just enough contribution points to check out a book from the miscellaneous section at the front of the library: a basic echo compendium, which listed all the different types of echoes, their combinations and effects, and how difficult it was to get one of said type to stay behind.

  Afterward, he left the library and headed to the mission board. He was still early, but if he’d timed it right, he’d be just in time to snap up the new missions.

  Sure enough, after a few minutes of sitting on a grassy patch nearby and pretending to meditate, after a few minutes, an attendant from the warehouse walked over, a heap of mission slips in her arms. She pinned them to the board.

  As soon as they were all up, Blake sprang to his feet and hunted for the most valuable missions.

  He snagged a one-hundred point mission labelled ‘Trap and kill three Glasstooth Squirrels - Keep teeth and pelts intact,’ a few missions for killing howlers, and a one hundred and fifty point mission labelled ‘Kill Lightstalker.’

  With the missions in hand, he turned back to Iver and Froskur and said, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Iver glanced at the ‘Kill Lightstalker’ mission skeptically, but then shook his head and said, “If it was anyone else, I would not expect to see him again. But you?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Blake said.

  “Don’t,” a voice cut in.

  Wind-Eyes.

  Wincing, Blake turned to face the combat trainer. “Good morning, sir.”

  “Senior Brother,” Wind-Eyes muttered. “You are going to get yourself killed.”

  “I think I can take it.” Blake turned the mission slip over in his hands. “It’s only Foundation two.”

  “I am not worried about the Lightstalker as much as what else lurks out in the mist.”

  “Any idea what it is?” Blake asked.

  “No one here knows, Junior Brother,” he replied.

  “Well, I mean no offense, but I’ll figure that out later. And I can always run from it.”

  “Not always,” Wind-Eyes said. “Be careful. A group of Foundation level hunters have not returned from a mission. But they were supposed to be back three days ago.”

  Blake sighed. “I understand.”

  “Is there anything I can say to stop you?”

  Blake put on a purposefully maniacal look and touched the tips of his fingers together. “I crave points. So, no.”

  Wind-Eyes deflated, and Iver and Froskur rolled their eyes. But Blake pushed them to the back of his mind and checked himself. He had his staff, his backpack, Ethbin’s ring in his pocket, and plenty of rations, even if he wouldn’t need them all. At least he could bribe River with something.

  Then he set off. As he passed through the sect entrance, he noticed the guards whispering to each other and counting out hacksilver. “Why is it always that everyone’s betting on me?” Blake muttered.

  “Because you’re the craziest person here, Brother,” said the guard who Blake had met when he first arrived at the sect.

  “I appreciate the thought.” Blake gave a playful bow, then continued off into the woods.

  This time, however, the mission slip led him in a completely different direction. Instead of heading toward the merge-mists and the slice of Earth he’d come from, he aimed for a different set of mists on the other side of the red-leaf forest, which he’d never been in before. It took him a day of walking before he arrived.

  Technically, it wasn’t a different set of mists at all. It just felt like it. The mists just branched like a river delta south of the Hunter’s Pavilion, and one branch ran on the east side, and the other on the west side. North of Mergewatch, they came together again, and so most of the monsters in the mists were the same. He just hoped he was farther away from whatever monster existed in here.

  So, needless to say, the inside of the eastern mists felt almost the same as the inside of the western mists. Gray clouds hanging over everything, and the wet soil clung to your boots and refused to let go without a fight. Puddles turned every step into a splash, and he dodged groves of mangrove trees.

  The only difference was that here, two cities had merged. A small suburb from Earth, and something else from an entirely different planet. Everything was in ruins, and some houses were a jumbled, combined mess. A single-family bungalow on one side, an overturned longboat on the spine of its roof, and a thatched hall on the other side. Half of it was sinking into the bog, and any of the old roads had been replaced with channels of water. He had to navigate by jumping along the rooftops.

  Once he entered the mists, he put on Ethbin’s ring and said, “Any ideas what this big creature everyone’s talking about is?”

  My guess is that it is a Monarch. A type of fiend that exerts immense killing intent on the other fiends and monsters around it, and uses said intent to manipulate them and bend them to its will. Those who resist die. Some run from it, but they don’t live long.

  “So you’re certain it’s a fiend?”

  Guaranteed.

  Blake took a deep breath, and almost gagged from how much water he inhaled, then said, “No matter what, I’m not ready to fight it.”

  But you will be, Ethbin replied.

  “Or, you know, I could just let someone else do that.”

  They were both silent for a few seconds before Blake finally conceded, “Alright, alright, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up going after it.”

  Even if I tell you not to, I know you’re craving the challenge.

  “But there’s no point reward for it yet.”

  Monarchs always leave behind an echo. Of the Galaxy Serpent set.

  “Set?”

  Socket the right groups of echoes in the right orders, and they’ll combine to grant you a unique property. I have never seen someone create a full Galaxy Serpent set. But that is not to say it cannot be done.

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Blake said.

  He continued through the mists for a few days, studying his books and hunting for howlers. They didn’t seem as plentiful as before, or maybe they were just scared of him, but the Glasstooth squirrels certainly weren’t. Where before, he hadn’t even noticed them—or perhaps they’d hidden better—they now saw fit to tease him.

  Every so often, he’d spot one in the branches of a mangrove, nattering away at him with chirps that sounded like a windchime ringing.

  He observed their behaviour, thinking about how he was going to trap them, and he thought he’d settled on a plan. On the fourth day, he settled down on a relatively dry plane to make a trap. It was the remnant of a cracked road, and a few ruined houses lined the side of it. Mangrove-like trees poked through the concrete, and one had grown around an old, rusty car.

  But before he could even finish the trap, Ethbin said, Blake, there is someone approaching behind you.

  “Someone?” he whispered.

  A mana cultivator.

  Blake jumped up to his feet and stepped to the side, and just in time. A dagger whirled past his head and stuck into the mangrove tree trunk beside him.

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