The guests quickly left once Sia drifted into her usual afternoon nap—a deep, undisturbed sleep that often stretched four to five hours. With the house quiet again, Lucius swiftly completed the remaining tasks before heading out, his mind already focused on the next objective.
He made his way to Sonic's shop, a cramped yet lively forge reeking of molten metal and scorched leather. Sonic, after much grumbling and dramatic sighing, finally agreed to upgrade Mercy's armour and weapons—including Rare Death—at no extra cost. In return, Lucius handed over the Valgura's remains, keeping only its pulsating beast core. The deal was sealed with a reluctant handshake, and Lucius wasted no time heading back home.
The house welcomed him with silence. Sia was still asleep, her breathing steady and deep. Lucius knew there was a good chance she would skip dinner entirely and wake only at breakfast—a cycle that had become increasingly common. Her recovery was slowing, a fact that gnawed at him relentlessly. But Adrianna's upcoming move-in offered a thin strand of hope; within two days, they'd have help, and maybe, just maybe, things would begin to mend.
Lucius sprawled across his bed, the familiar worn mattress creaking under his weight. His gaze fixed on the dark ceiling, thoughts cascading endlessly. Mercy and Edward's earlier conversation about the noble houses—Wal-kins and Greenwich—echoed in his mind. Why were they suddenly pouring resources into Lunar Wall surveillance? Hiring Aerial Knights, the Empire's elite sky warriors, wasn't cheap. Yet the nobles hadn't flinched at the obscene costs.
It wasn't random. That much he knew.
Still, that wasn't his priority.
The real thorn festering in his mind was Goodman.
Since the day Goodman had wormed his way into the Guild Association, everything had shifted. Dargan's open support of Lucius had been strangled. Ms. Kiwi, too, had been pressured into silence. Even stepping into the guild building became a chore; Goodman's mere presence turned it into a suffocating den.
Lucius remembered—too vividly—the first time they met. He had been accompanying Sia, Sara, and Lavya into the guild, brimming with a rare sliver of excitement. Then Goodman appeared. Tall, broad-shouldered, with burnished reddish hair and sandy brown eyes that gleamed like polished stone. His smile was perfect, his manners impeccable. Yet the way those eyes clung to Sia, the way his greetings subtly excluded Lucius—it told Lucius everything he needed to know.
Goodman wasn't a friend. He was a snake in a tailored suit.
Since then, their clashes had been many—sharp words, cold glances, passive aggression that sometimes nearly spilt into open hostility. Lucius had learned to endure. But lately, it had grown worse, especially with adventurers like Jhansi rarely around to dilute Goodman's influence.
Goodman was an admirer of Sia. An unhealthy one. Lucius could see it in the forced smiles, the lingering stares, the "accidental" meetings. With Rartar missing—no replies to any of their letters—there was no backup. No shield.
Lucius would have to handle it. Alone.
Goodman was officially an S-ranked elemental mage—a fire user of formidable repute. But Lucius knew better. Goodman was a master of hiding things. His true strength likely crept into SS-rank territory. And now, after dispatching Adith—a move Lucius took as a personal declaration of war—Goodman had crossed a line.
Lying nearby, the Valgura's core throbbed with a dull, ominous light. The size of its clenched fist, it pulsed with raw, unrefined mana—a treasure, and a weapon.
Lucius rose, retrieving a thick cloth from his storage ring. He spread it carefully on the floor and placed the core atop it, its glow illuminating the dim room with a soft, sickly blue hue. He crouched beside it, watching it beat like a heart torn from some primaeval beast.
Strength. He needed it. More than ever.
He considered using a portion of the mana to aid Sia's recovery—a reckless thought, given his lack of healing expertise. Better to wait for Adrianna's arrival, to propose it under her guidance. No unnecessary risks.
As for the profits from the mission? Every coin would be funnelled toward hiring more hospital staff and additional healers to support Adrianna. Lucius had already mapped out the expenses, ensuring nothing would slip through the cracks.
Tonight was a lull before the inevitable storm.
He sat there in the dim light, the weight of unspoken battles and hidden enemies pressing down on him. Outside, the wind stirred the trees into a restless whisper, as if the world itself could sense the brewing conflict.
Lucius closed his eyes for a brief moment, steeling himself.
Tomorrow, everything would begin to change.
***
The beast cores were the crystallised hearts of mana beasts—raw, potent repositories of untamed energy. Across the continent, they were coveted for a multitude of purposes: forging weapons sharp enough to split mountains, crafting armours that could shrug off spells, and even weaving powerful artefacts. Yet for individuals like Lucius, they held a more personal, sacred value: the potential to strengthen their very soul.
The process of extracting and refining a beast core's mana was deceptively simple in theory, but execution demanded unwavering focus, patience, and surgical precision. A single misstep could cripple one's mana channels, leaving them weakened or even ruined for life.
First, the mage would place the core before them, steadying their mind and body alike. Then, with delicate intent, they would extend their own mana outward, weaving an invisible thread, a mental bridge, a 'manatic bridge' between themselves and the dormant heart of the beast. Through that fragile link, they would siphon pure, chaotic mana particle by particle, threading it through thousands of invisible mana points scattered across their body. From there, the mana would course through their channels and veins, painstakingly guided toward their own core nestled deep within their being.
It was a dance between life and destruction.
Lucius sat cross-legged in the training chamber, the beast core gleaming faintly in the dim light. His breathing was slow, measured. His heart, however, drummed with a quiet urgency.
He was an A-rank now—a step few could even dream of reaching. Yet he could feel it: the invisible shackles, the stifling membrane of the third-to-last layer clinging stubbornly to his core. It dulled his strength, made his movements less sharp than they could be. It was a cage he was desperate to break.
And he had six months to do it.
Six months until his birthday. Six months until he could officially step beyond the walls of Varis, free to carve his path through the wide, dangerous world. Freedom. True freedom.
A faint, wistful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
'Maybe I'll become a Wanderer like Master,' he mused, picturing himself travelling across foreign lands, scaling mountains, sailing across glittering seas. The thought was a pleasant daydream—but little more. His true tether was here: to Varis, to the family he had gained, to the promises he had silently made. Still, if Master ever decided to explore again... perhaps he'd tag along, even if just for a while.
With a soft exhale, Lucius banished the wandering thoughts from his mind and fixed his gaze on the core. It was time.
He let his mana flow outward, gentle and firm, reaching across the tiny gap to brush against the beast core's surface. There was a spark of resistance—a wildness, an echo of the monster that once lived. Lucius pressed through it, weaving a thin, silver bridge of mana between himself and the core.
The moment the connection stabilised, he pulled.
Mana surged toward him like a river unleashed, a flood of wild energy far stronger than he anticipated. His entire body tensed as he fought to maintain control. He deepened his focus, driving his mana senses to their absolute limit, tracking every shimmering particle as it entered him. His veins flared with burning cold, every nerve screaming in protest, but he endured.
Slowly, carefully, he adjusted the rotation of his core, matching the rhythm of the incoming mana. The purest particles were drawn inward, settling like golden embers inside his core. The impure fragments, the chaotic dregs, he forcefully pushed away, letting them bleed out through secondary channels to be dissolved harmlessly.
It was agony. It was exhilaration.
It was growth.
Lucius found himself grateful that he had six whole months to drain the core fully. Rushing this process would be suicide. Taking it slow, meticulous would let him temper every grain of mana, sculpting himself into something far greater.
He remembered, then, what he was fighting for. His mind wandered—not with distraction, but with purpose.
He had gained so much: friends who bled beside him, family who believed in him, mentors who saw the value he struggled to recognise in himself. He wasn't that lone, powerless boy anymore. He was Lucius, and he had something to protect now. If weakness meant losing it all, then he would grind himself to dust before allowing that to happen.
He wasn't the only one forging himself anew, either.
Lavya was honing his close-combat techniques with relentless focus.
Sara was diving deeper into the mysteries of spellcasting, weaving winds faster and deadlier than ever before.
Even the elders—Mercy and Edward—had moved their pieces, hunting Goodman in the shadows, sending an unmistakable message: Sia wasn't alone. Lucius wasn't alone.
The game of survival, once a lonely battle, had shifted.
Lucius—the mouse once hunted—was growing fangs.
And he had a pack now.
As the thought rooted deep inside him, Lucius felt his core stabilise, the rhythm of its rotation finding a smoother, stronger cadence. His control sharpened. His extraction rate improved.
A slow, predatory smile formed on his lips.
'Just six more months...' he thought, tightening his fists as the mana spiralled faster inside him.
'After that, Goodman... I'll come for you. I'll show you exactly how a monster like you deserves to fall.'
He wasn't rushing.
He wasn't desperate.
He was patient, sharpening his blade for the inevitable clashes against much stronger foes.
And he would do it not just for himself.
But for everyone who stood beside him.
For the city that gave him a home.
For the future, he had seized with bloody hands.
Lucius closed his eyes again, steeling his heart, and pulled another surge of mana from the core.
The slow forging of a beast continued—silent, unseen, but inevitable.