In the past week, Vikram had grown strangely philosophical.
A new, creeping awareness had settled over him. An understanding that the world didn't operate on heroism or grandeur, but on moments. Tiny, flickering chances to make things better. He'd decided to aim for those. Nothing too noble. Nothing too heavy.
Just,"Make the world better. When I can."
That last part was key.
Whenever he could.
If the weight of the world was too much, he wouldn't hesitate to walk away. Fleeing wasn't cowardice. It was strategy. He had seen too many people burn out pretending to be saviors. Vikram had no intention of dying a fool.
Right now, though, he had the capability. And so, he acted.
It was just like that.
He stood as Brunus and Kayala entered the grand hall. A subtle hush fell across the room. Rows of new Walkers aligned themselves with a kind of reverence, an unspoken understanding of the moment's gravity. The air smelled of parchment, oaths, and beginnings.
Vikram stretched his shoulders with an indifferent shrug and made his way to the front.
This hall, this ceremony, these people, They all belonged to his father in one way or another.
He didn't walk like someone with a legacy. He walked like someone used to standing in someone else's shadow. Yet, he took his place at the head of the line with a casual grace.
Eyes followed him.
Vold and Elen were among them, their gazes laced with something unreadable. Not contempt. Not envy. Something subtler. Recognition? Pity?
Vikram met their eyes for a second, then dismissed their stares like dust from his shoulders.
Brunus and Kayala approached the central table. In their arms, or rather burdening their arms, was a massive stack of worn, ancient books. Each tome glimmered faintly, humming with locked secrets and sealed paths. They placed the stack with a firm thud in front of Vikram.
Kayala's voice echoed across the room.
"All those who wish to acquire, stay where you are. Those who wish to abstain from wanting the Scripture, raise your hands."
Vikram watched silently as Vold, Elen, and a few other epitomes of excellence quietly stepped back from the line.
He hesitated, then raised his hand slightly.
"If I abstain right now and change my mind later, would I be able to?" he asked, his voice calm.
Kayala paused, thoughtful. "Every first Cultivation Scripture you choose from the Headquarters or branches of the Mother System is free, as long as you prove that you are a Walker. But the later ones would require Contribution Points or credits."
She looked at Vikram strangely, as if measuring his intent.
His answer came without hesitation.
"Then I abstain, for now."
Kayala nodded slowly. One by one, Vikram, Vold, Elen, and the others who abstained separated from the rest.
Around him, Vikram noticed something subtle. A kind of glow clung to the people who remained in line. An aura of etherealism, as if the decision to accept the Scripture had lit something within them.
Everyone except Jay seemed wary of him, and Vikram didn't know why.
People other than Serena, Vold, and Jay, in particular, kept stealing glances. Some were cautious, others unreadable. Vold and Elen's expressions were more complex. There was no hostility, but something remained hidden in their eyes.
Maybe it was because they had spoken with him earlier.
Each of them had already chosen their Cultivation Scripture with just a glance. Kayala and Brunus had worked with them beforehand, ensuring only the specific Scriptures selected were brought here.
The tension in the room was almost tangible.
The day of Vikram's trial loomed close, casting its shadow over the compound like a blade waiting to fall.
He could feel it in the air. The shift in energy. Some of the Walkers were anxious, a few tense and angry. Others watched him with eerie calm or excitement that felt more like anticipation for a show than genuine support.
Vikram took a long breath.
His fingers twitched slightly. He needed a smoke. Something to settle the rising storm inside. But the moment his eyes landed on Kayala, the impulse died.
That woman had hands like thunder.
And her slaps, when she was angry, could make a grown man rethink his choices in life. Vikram wasn't in the mood to get sent flying again. Not today.
For now, he decided.He could suffer in peace.
Later that day, Vikram found himself sparring with Kayala.
It began with a simple exchange. An axe in his grip. A blade in hers. Soon, it spiraled into a relentless rhythm of steel, sweat, and bruised knuckles. They danced across the arena with every weapon they could get their hands on.
Swords. Axes. Spears. Halberds.
With each clash, Vikram felt it, a pressure rising in his limbs, as if something inside was pressing against a boundary. The axe and greatsword techniques in particular pulsed with that feeling. Something close to a breakthrough.
He realized then.If he kept sparring with Kayala, and if he faced the first boss in the game again, something would change.
Something inside would evolve.
And so, Vikram returned to his old habits.
A training maniac reborn.
The disappointment that Kayala once wore like a quiet storm was gone. She and Brunus now watched him with a different kind of unease. Not scorn. Not irritation.
Horror.
His weapon comprehension wasn't just improving. It was leaping.
Kayala had said it herself, half in awe, half in disbelief."You're creating yourself from scratch. Your understanding of these weapons is unnatural for someone your age."
Vikram didn't say anything in return, but he understood why.Because he was dying every day. Dying with his weapons a thousand times, again and again.
And those who bled that much into steel, eventually bled into the essence of the weapon itself.
A week later, he stood once more before the first boss.
This time, he didn't fight as just a [Barbarian]. He brought out his [Knight] and [Mage] Classes too. A full, coordinated assault.
And that was when it clicked.
The truth behind this broken creature.
This mad old boss had tried to walk a path that should have been impossible. He had attempted to merge three entirely different systems into one body.
Barbarian. Knight. Mage.
Vikram could feel it in the way the boss moved, in the chaos of his attacks. The dominant power was barbarian in nature, yes. But underneath that, the corrupted flow of Aura and Mana made it clear.
When the old man had tried to break through to the Middle Stage of the Blood Refinement Realm, his blood had been torn apart. Aura and Mana had corrupted what should have been pure barbarian energy.
And now, he had become this twisted thing.
Vikram pieced it together through combat. Every death brought him closer to the old man's truth. Every mistake, every exchange, was like peeling back a layer.
The boss wasn't just an enemy.He was a story.
A warning.
And after a week of blood and death and silence...
Vikram finally saw what he needed to see.