Chapter 27: The Mystery Deepens
I hated mornings. Even in another world, nothing had changed.
The sun in this place was bigger, brighter, more aggressive about its job. Like it had something to prove. And I swear, the air had a smugness to it. "Oh look, he's running again," it whispered as I jogged down the dirt trail along the outer perimeter of Torak. "Poor bastard."
Four weeks. That was the deal. Four weeks of nothing but hard training. No distractions. No excuses. No mercy.
The first lap nearly killed me. Literally. My heart threatened to unionize and walk out of my chest, and my lungs felt like they were being sandpapered from the inside. But by the end of that first week, I wasn't panting like a dying dog after every run. Progress, I guess.
I kept up the routine religiously: morning laps around the edge of the city, noon-to-evening sword training or strength workouts in the inn's backyard. Nothing fancy, just sweat, pain, and whatever heavy crap I could lift or swing around. Sometimes boulders, sometimes barrels, once a broken wagon I found behind the inn. If it looked heavy, I tried to make it airborne.
Ki Acceleration Loop helped. A lot. When I funneled my Ki, I could push my body past its limits. Without it, I was running 100 meters in 11 seconds. With it? Eight. Not bad for a guy who used to skip gym class to eat instant noodles.
My stamina had also gotten ridiculous. I could jog thirty minutes straight without breaking a sweat. Literally. Not even a single drop. My body was changing, adapting. Becoming something else. Something better.
One day I got cocky, decided to run all day. Ten hours. I don't remember the last few. I woke up face down in a bush, foaming at the mouth like a possessed ferret, and apparently, some passing traveler had to drag me back to the inn. Embarrassing, yes. But also totally worth it.
By week four, I could lift a boulder the size of a small car without breaking form. With Ki reinforcement? One of those one-room houses from back in the village wouldn't stand a chance. I didn't just feel strong. I felt like the main character in a training montage.
In the city, people were panicking over rumors. News about Ronta Vro spread like wildfire: "Magic beasts in the forest!" "The horde is moving!" "We're next!"
Yeah, yeah. I heard all of it. But I didn't give a damn.
I was focused. For the first time in my life, probably. Focused on a goal that was mine. Not a mission. Not some noble quest. Just pure, uncut, selfish, desperate survival. Training was my only way forward, and I was going to grind until my bones begged for mercy.
And they did.
Daily.
But they didn't get any.
Every part of my body felt like soggy gravel. My muscles were soup. My brain was mashed potatoes. And my soul? That thing had clocked out around day 20.
I sat out back behind the inn in the quiet dusk, watching the sky turn lavender and orange, the breeze cooling the sweat still clinging to me like second skin. My clothes were drenched, my hands were calloused, and my bones were putting together a petition to riot.
I took my last healing potion from the pouch at my side and held it up to the fading sunlight. It was a deep, crimson red, not the high-tier stuff, but enough to make the pain dull and the stiffness vanish. I uncorked it with my teeth and downed it in two gulps.
The rush came fast. Like dipping into a hot bath that healed you from the inside. The soreness melted away, and I could feel warmth flow through my limbs. My shoulders relaxed, my spine uncoiled, and my breath finally felt full again.
Dinner followed, whatever stew Erik had thrown together with those weird mushrooms and questionable meats. Didn't matter. At this point, my stomach would've accepted a belt buckle if it was served warm.
As I leaned back in my chair, letting the potion and food do their thing, the tavern doors opened and in came the human tank.
Freya Mikaelson.
Four weeks ago, I might've called her beautiful. Now, I just called her a walking armory. Same pristine silver-white plate armor, same dead-serious look on her pale face, same long black hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo ad. She didn't walk, she prowled, always tense, always alert, like a predator that refused to believe the hunt was over.
We'd passed each other a few times since the library. Never spoke. Just nods. Glances. Muted tension.
She went straight to her father, who stood behind the bar cleaning the same cup I'd seen him clean for four weeks straight. Maybe it was cursed. Or maybe Erik just liked the aesthetic.
Their voices were low at first, but I could still hear them. My ears were well-trained by now. The words "city lord," "guild," and "search party" caught my attention like a slap to the face.
Then Erik's voice picked up.
"You're not going into that damn forest, Freya," the tall innkeeper barked in that high-pitched tone that never matched his skyscraper frame. "Let the guild handle it."
"I am part of the guild, Father," Freya replied, her voice calm but razor-sharp. "And Rorden is missing. I have to go."
Rorden.
That name hit me like a cold bucket of water.
Erik's long arms slammed the bar. "That boy… that boy is like a son to me. I trusted him. I wanted you two to have a future together."
"He left to secure a better future," Freya snapped. "He was handling the business with the Empire, for us. For this entire district. And now he's gone."
"You don't know that!"
"I do," she said. "He's been missing five weeks. That's not a delay. That's a message."
I didn't even realize I had stood up until I was halfway to the bar.
Five weeks. That lined up.
The noble brat from the goblin caves. The one with the sword in his gut and the last words about "Okutake" and "tell my niece…"
Well. Shit.
Freya stormed out before I could get another look at her. The doors swung behind her like they were afraid of catching her wrath.
Erik sighed and turned to the fire, rubbing his massive hand down his bony face.
I slid onto the barstool next to him. "So… who's this Rorden guy, exactly?"
Erik glanced over, too tired to act suspicious. "Family friend," he said, voice softer than usual. "Almost a son-in-law. Smart, noble, but never full of himself. He was handling negotiations with the Empire for the kingdom. Trade routes, defense pacts. Big stuff. Said he'd come back in two weeks. Been five now. Nothing."
"And no one's heard from him?"
"Not a damn word," Erik muttered. "And now the City Lord's calling in the Guild to investigate."
I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms, pretending to think. I wasn't pretending.
Because the problem wasn't whether I had seen Rorden.
It was that I'd left him. In that blood-drenched cave, barely alive, gasping out cryptic words about a niece and some noble house.
Okutake.
Thanks to the Archive, I now knew exactly what that meant. The Okutake family was one of the ruling noble lines of Rostalio. Not royalty, but close. Connected. Powerful.
And I'd left their golden boy to die under a pile of goblin corpses.
Which begged the question, who the hell was the niece?
Before I could spiral any deeper, the blue notification flashed to life.
**---**
[Mission 2 Update]
Mission Title: Freya Mikaelson
Primary Objective: Unknown
**---**
Of course.
Of course it was her.
Just when I thought I was free, this cursed system reeled me right back in.
"Yeah," I muttered under my breath, staring into the fire. "Because that's exactly what I needed."
Tomorrow, training would end. But the real game? That was just getting started.