The Veridia City Martial Guild headquarters towered over the city like a shadow of oppression. Inside one of its luxurious meeting rooms, Darian Bancroft sat across from Kn Ashworth, Corbin''s younger brother and Dominic''s uncle. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the tension between them.


    "The test results are conclusive," Darian said, sliding a parchment across the polished table. "Dominic has an eighty-seven percentpatibility with the bloodline. Almost as high as Isabelle herself."


    Kn barely nced at the document. "And why should the Ashworth family care? We''ve managed fine without activating this so-called ''special bloodline'' for generations."


    I could almost hear the contempt in his voice from where I stood outside. The Man with the Mustache and I had arrived at a remote viewing location through one of his special artifacts—a Scrying Mirror that allowed us to witness this meeting from afar.


    Darian''s smile didn''t reach his eyes. "Because times are changing, Master Kn. The martial world stands at a precipice. Those who fail to grasp power now will be trampled tomorrow."


    Kn scoffed. "Spare me your dramatic predictions. The Ashworth family''s power has never rested solely on martial prowess. Our influence extends far beyond physical strength."


    "True," Darian conceded. "Duane Ashworth built an empire through political maneuvering and business acumen. But even he understood the importance of martial strength as the foundation of all power."


    The mention of the Ashworth patriarch seemed to hit a nerve. Kn''s expression hardened.


    "What exactly are you proposing?"


    Darian leaned forward. "Let Dominic undergo the procedure. With Isabelle''s extracted bloodline essence and his own highpatibility, he could rise to heights unprecedented in the Ashworth family history."


    "And what does the Guild gain from this generosity?" Kn''s eyes narrowed.


    "Alliance," Darian replied simply. "The Guild needs political allies as much as the Ashworths need martial strength. Especially now, with...certain threats looming on the horizon."


    He didn''t need to specify what those threats were. I knew he meant me.


    "I''ll consider it," Kn finally said, rising to his feet. "But I make no promises."


    After he left, Darian''s pleasant facade dropped. "He''ll agree," he muttered to an aide who emerged from the shadows. "The Ashworths have always been predictable in their ambition."


    The scene in the Scrying Mirror shifted, and I cursed under my breath.


    "What is it?" The Man with the Mustache asked.


    "They''re going to do to Dominic what they did to those champions. Use Isabelle''s blood to enhance his power." My fists clenched. "They''re treating her like cattle."


    The Man with the Mustache grimaced. "The Guild has perfected blood essence extraction. It''s an ancient technique, forbidden in most circles because of its brutality."


    "How much time does she have?" I asked, dreading the answer.


    He hesitated. "At the rate they''re harvesting her... maybe two months before permanent damage. Four before death."


    My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. Four months. The same amount of time I''d spent in that tomb growing stronger while Isabelle suffered.


    "We need to move faster," I said.


    The Scrying Mirror shifted again, showing a new scene: a vast training arena within the Guildplex. Dominic Ashworth stood at its center, facing three young men in Guild uniforms.


    "What''s this?" I asked.


    "Some kind of test, I think." The Man with the Mustache leaned closer to the mirror. "The Guild wants to demonstrate the power of the bloodline to convince Dominic."


    ---


    The teststed three days.


    On the first day, Dominic fought with confidence, his sword techniques wless as he battled the first Guild disciple. By nightfall, both fighters were exhausted, but Dominic emerged victorious by a narrow margin.


    The second day broke him. The next disciple used earth-based techniques that countered Dominic''s style perfectly. By sunset, Dominic was bleeding from a dozen wounds, his pride shattered as thoroughly as his defenses.


    "Enough!" Corbin Ashworth had shouted from the sidelines. "My son needs rest!"


    "The procedure doesn''t allow for rest," Darian had replied coldly. "If he wants the power, he must prove his worthiness."


    The third day was the worst. Dominic faced the final disciple—the youngest but clearly the strongest. Every attack Dominicunched was countered effortlessly. Every defense he mounted was prated. By midday, he could barely stand.


    Yet somehow, through sheer desperation and wounded pride, he managed tond a critical blow when his opponent grew overconfident. The victory was ugly, costly, but it was enough.


    Now, as I watched through the Scrying Mirror, Dominic copsed onto a bench in the preparation room, attendants rushing to treat his injuries.


    "How?" he gasped to Darian, who had entered silently. "How are they so strong? They''re nobody. Common-born. Yet they fought like masters."


    Darian''s smile was tight. "That''s the power of the Ashworth bloodline, unlocked and enhanced through our process."


    "My bloodline," Dominic muttered, wincing as a wound on his arm was cleaned. "Not theirs. Mine."


    "Indeed," Darian agreed smoothly. "Which makes one wonder how powerful you would be, given your direct connection to the source."


    I could see the change happening in Dominic''s eyes. Before the fights, he had been dismissive of the bloodline''s importance—it was just another family legend to him. Now, after experiencing its power firsthand through his opponents, naked hunger showed on his face.


    "I want it," he said simply.


    Darian nodded. "I thought you might."


    "How soon?" Dominic demanded, pushing away the medic who was still treating him.


    "The process requires preparation. Three days, perhaps four."


    "Too long," Dominic growled. "Tomorrow. I want it done tomorrow."


    The Scrying Mirror''s image faded, the enchantment reaching its limit.


    "The bastard," I hissed. "His own cousin, and he doesn''t care what happens to her."


    The Man with the Mustache gave me a sidelong nce. "Did you expect better from an Ashworth? They''ve been sacrificing family members for power since the founding of Veridia."


    I closed my eyes, trying to control the rage building inside me. "We need to leave. Now."


    "Leave where?" he asked warily.


    "Back to Veridia City," I said. "I''m done hiding. Done training. It''s time to save Isabelle."


    The Man with the Mustache paled. "With what army? The Guild has tripled its security since yourst attempt. They''ve got champions now, powered by Isabelle''s own blood!"


    "I don''t need an army," I replied, patting the spatial ring that contained the ancient corpses and their secrets. "I just need to reach the next level."


    He looked at me like I was insane. "And how exactly do you n to do that?"


    "The teleportation array."


    His eyes widened in horror. "The broken one? The one that hasn''t been maintained in centuries? Are you trying to kill yourself?"


    "It''s our fastest route back," I insisted. "You said yourself it could work with enough energy."


    "In theory! But the energy required would be—" He stopped, looking at me more carefully. "The dark energy you absorbed from the tomb. You''re nning to use it to power the array."


    I nodded.


    "That''s...actually not the worst idea," he admitted reluctantly. "But the risk—"


    "I don''t care about the risk," I cut him off. "Isabelle has four months. I''m not wasting another day."


    ---


    The ancient teleportation array was located in a crumbling chamber beneath what had once been a prosperous city. Now, only ruins remained on the surface, and the undergroundplex was half-flooded and unstable.


    "This is madness," the Man with the Mustache muttered for the tenth time as we descended the slippery stone steps. "Even if it works, we have no idea where it will send us."


    "You said it was linked to an ind outpost," I reminded him.


    "Yes, an outpost that probably doesn''t exist anymore! We could materialize over open ocean!"


    I ignored his protests, focusing on the task ahead. The chamber itself was vast, its ceiling supported by massive columns carved with fading runes. At its centery the teleportation array—aplex pattern of lines and symbols etched into the stone floor.


    Most of the formation was intact, but several key sections had crumbled away. The power sources—ancient crystals designed to channel energy—were cracked or missing entirely.


    "See?" The Man with the Mustache gestured at the array. "It''s beyond repair. We''d need a master formation expert and months of work."


    "We don''t need to repair it," I said, kneeling at the edge of the array. "We just need to force it to work once."


    I closed my eyes, drawing on the dark energy I''d absorbed in the tomb. It responded eagerly, almost hungrily, rushing through my meridians like liquid fire. Pain followed—the price of channeling power not meant for human vessels—but I pushed through it.


    "What are you doing?" The Man with the Mustache backed away, rm clear in his voice.


    "Get on the tform," I ordered through gritted teeth. "Now!"


    He hesitated, then cursed and jumped onto the central tform. "If we die, I''m haunting you forever!"


    I channeled more dark energy into the array, feeling the ancient formation sputter and resist. It was like trying to revive a corpse—the fundamental structures were there, but the animating spark was long gone.


    More energy. More pain.


    The runes began to glow, first dimly, then with increasing brightness. The floor beneath us trembled.


    "Liam," the Man with the Mustache called nervously. "I think that''s enough!"


    "Not yet," I gasped, pushing even more energy into the formation. Blood trickled from my nose, but I ignored it. "Almost there..."


    The array zed to life, runes burning with unnatural brilliance. The air around us distorted, reality itself seeming to bend and stretch.


    "Now it''s enough!" The Man with the Mustache shouted. "Liam, stop before you—"


    The world disappeared in a sh of blinding light.


    ---


    We materialized on a stone tform simr to the one we''d left, but open to the sky. I barely had time to register our surroundings—a small rocky ind, stormy gray sea, overcast sky—before the tform beneath us cracked with an ominous sound.


    "Move!" I shouted, grabbing the Man with the Mustache by his cor and leaping clear. <mark ss="phantom-imprint">C*he!c@k for the^tes*t$ up@d%ates on My Vi%rt!u-a-l* Libr!a+ry Em*p%i&re* (*).</mark>


    Not a moment too soon. The entire teleportation array copsed into rubble, stone blocks tumbling into the sea below.


    "That was..." The Man with the Mustache gulped air like a drowning man. "Let''s never do that again."


    I was already scanning our surroundings. The ind was small, maybe half a mile across, dominated by a rocky hill at its center. No buildings were visible, but something about the ce felt artificial—too regr to be natural.


    "Where are we?" I asked.


    The Man with the Mustache got to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes. "If the array worked correctly, we should be at the Eastern Guardian Outpost. It was an early warning station for Veridia City in ancient times."


    "And now?"


    "Abandoned for centuries, obviously." He gestured at the emptyndscape. "But... we''re alive, which is more than I expected."


    I took a deep breath of salt air, feeling my body slowly recovering from the strain of powering the array. "We need to find a boat. Get back to the maind."


    "In this?" He pointed at the churning sea. "We''d be capsized in minutes. No, we need to wait for better weather."


    I frowned, impatient to continue our journey, but he was right. Even with my abilities, fighting the open ocean would be foolish.


    "Fine. One night. We''ll search the ind for anything useful, then make ns at dawn."


    He nodded, then suddenly pointed toward the water on the southern side of the ind. "Look there!"


    I followed his gaze and saw a cluster of lights moving beneath the waves—not fish or natural phosphorescence, but something else.


    "Under-sea cultivators," the Man with the Mustache whispered. "Hunting beast cores most likely. This area is known for high-level sea beasts."


    "Beast cores?" My interest was immediately piqued. "High-grade?"


    "Some of the best. Sea beasts growrger and older thannd creatures. Their cores are proportionally powerful."


    A n began forming in my mind. "If I could get some high-grade cores before returning to Veridia..."


    The Man with the Mustache caught on quickly. "You''re thinking of breakthrough?"


    I nodded. "I''m close. Very close. With the right resources, I could push to the next level before confronting the Guild again."


    He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "It''s not the worst idea. The underwater ruins near here were once a breeding ground for royal sea serpents. Their cores are particrly potent."


    "Then it''s decided," I said, already moving toward the water''s edge. "We hunt beast cores tonight."


    ---


    Hourster, we emerged from the water, soaked but sessful. My spatial ring now contained three mid-grade beast cores and one high-grade—not the haul I''d hoped for, but enough to make a difference.


    "That serpent nearly took my head off," the Man with the Mustacheined, wringing water from his clothes. "Did you see the size of its teeth?"


    "I was too busy keeping it from swallowing you whole," I replied dryly.


    As we made our way back up the beach, a sh of white caught my eye. Movement, on the far side of the ind.


    "Get down," I hissed, pulling the Man with the Mustache behind arge rock.


    Peering around it, I saw a group of seven people emerging from what appeared to be a concealed entrance in the hillside. They wore distinctive white robes with silver trim, and even from this distance, I could make out the symbol embroidered on their backs—the mark of the Veridia City Martial Guild.


    My blood turned to ice, then fire. Memories shed through my mind—Isabelle''s abduction, her scream as she was taken, the image of her weakened form in that crystal orb, being drained of blood day after day.


    "Liam," the Man with the Mustache whispered urgently, seeing the change in my expression. "Don''t do anything rash. We''re not ready—"


    But I was already standing, my hand reaching for my sword.


    "Starting today," I said, my voice cold as winter, "whenever I see someone from the Veridia City Martial Guild, I will kill them."


    And without waiting for his response, I charged toward the Guild members, dark energy swirling around my de.