The air in the drawing-room of the Earl's estate was thick with the scent of aged sandalwood and the lingering static of powerful mana.
For Arthur, the silence was a luxury. The frantic race against time to save Countess Freya had concluded, leaving behind a bittersweet vacuum.
'Finally, Countess Freya is now cured of the poison, and Earl Ashur's request is finished. Now I just have to prepare for the events that will happen in two years.'
Arthur leaned back into the velvet upholstery, his mind a whirlwind of spreadsheets and destiny.
To his left, Alfia sat with her usual poised elegance, though her eyes betrayed a hint of exhaustion.
Beside her, Meteria was a portrait of quiet contemplation. Isabel, their fiery companion and the Vatican's sharpest blade, had already departed.
Her duty to the Holy See demanded a formal report on the miracle they had performed, leaving the trio to navigate the transition from heroes-of-the-hour to travelers once more.
The silence was broken by Alfia. She turned to Arthur, her silver hair catching the afternoon light. "So... Arthur, since you're done with your business with Earl Ashur, what's your next move going forward?"
Meteria leaned forward, her interest piqued. Arthur took a breath, weighing his words. He couldn't reveal the full extent of his knowledge—the impending wars, the rise of the Great Demons, or his desperate need for the artifacts hidden in the world's most dangerous corners.
"I'll stay here in Patrian for about a month," Arthur began, his voice grounding the room.
"The children I've taken in... they need a foundation. I want to help them grow, to ensure they have a future regardless of what happens to me. After that, I'll travel the continent. There's a lot of suffering out there that doesn't reach the ears of Earls. And lastly..."
He paused, a small, daring smile playing on his lips. "I'll try to become a legend, if the world will have me."
Alfia nodded, a rare look of profound respect softening her features. Meteria's reaction was more visceral; her eyes shone with an almost predatory adoration, already imagining the ballads that would be sung of the man currently sitting in a dusty armchair.
What they didn't know was that Arthur's "legendary" path led directly through the Northern End Caves, a frozen hellscape where the weak were ground into the permafrost.
The heavy oak doors creaked open, admitting Earl Ashur. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The man carried the weight of a province on his shoulders, but today, the lines of worry around his eyes had smoothed.
As the trio stood to bow, Ashur raised a hand, his voice thick with genuine emotion. "Please, raise your heads. There is no need for such formalities between us. If it weren't for you, Sir Arthur, my wife would have died in agony, and I would have been none the wiser. I am in your debt—a debt a mere Earl can hardly repay."
"I only did what was right, My Lord," Arthur replied, his voice steady. "To see such a tragedy unfold and do nothing would have been the true crime."
Ashur's smile was warm, but the moment was interrupted by an unexpected voice.
"Earl Ashur," Meteria spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. Alfia winced—nobles were notoriously prickly about protocol—but Ashur merely looked intrigued. "I want to make a deal with you," she continued.
"A deal?" Ashur chuckled, his mana subtly flaring. It wasn't an attack, but a test—a crushing weight of authority that usually sent commoners to their knees.
To his surprise, Meteria didn't flinch. Instead, a faint, crystalline chill radiated from her, meeting his heat with a frost that made the tea on the table begin to steam. "Interesting. What could a girl like you offer a Great Magician?"
"A contract with a Nature Spirit for the Countess," Meteria stated. "The poison has left her body weak. A Nature Spirit's presence will synchronize her heart with the rhythm of nature, accelerating her recovery tenfold and acting as a permanent sentinel against further toxins."
The Earl's eyes widened. Spirits were fickle, rare, and incredibly powerful. "And what is your price?"
"Tutor us," Meteria said, gesturing to herself and Alfia. "Teach us the true depths of magic. Who better than the man who commands the mana of Patrian?"
Ashur looked at the two women, seeing the raw potential burning in their eyes. "I accept. But know this: I am a harsh master. I treat my students as I treat my sons—with no room for mediocrity."
"We wouldn't have it any other way," Alfia replied, her competitive spirit finally ignited.
Arthur stepped in to finalize the terms. "One to two years of tutoring should suffice. In exchange, I have a request of my own. I want your finest instructors to train the nine children I've adopted—swords, bows, magic, whatever their aptitude demands. And lastly, I require a knight unit to accompany me to the Northern End Caves."
Ashur didn't hesitate. "Consider it done. I will send my personal vanguard. But for you, Arthur... take this. It is a relic of my family's vault."
He handed over a heavy, leather-bound volume that hummed with spatial energy.
[Item Acquired: Mass Teleportation Spellbook]
With a casual flick of his wrist, Ashur didn't wait for a formal goodbye. He initiated the spell. In a flash of blinding azure light, the drawing-room vanished, replaced by the familiar, slightly musty scent of Ozuna's Inn.
The following week was a blur of steel and blood. Arthur knew that the Northern End Caves would chew him up if he entered at his current power level. He needed to be a titan.
He retreated to Kesan Canyon, a jagged scar in the earth infested with high-level monsters. On the sixth day, the sun hung low, casting long, bloody shadows across the ravine. Arthur stood in the center of a clearing, his breathing rhythmic.
[Level Up!]
[Current Level: 150]
[1,000 points allocated to Agility and Stamina.]
His body felt lean, coiled like a high-tension spring.
[Wise choice, Arthur,] a spectral voice rasped in his mind. The ego of Madra, the Undefeated King, vibrated through the ring on Arthur's finger. "Raw power is for brutes. Agility and endurance are for those who intend to survive the slaughter. You have unlocked the 20,000 Army Swordsmanship. Do not shame my name."
"I don't intend to," Arthur whispered.
As if on cue, the shadows began to crawl. From the fissures in the canyon walls, Canyon Spiders—monstrosities the size of carriage horses with chitinous armor harder than iron—began to pour out.
There were dozens of them, their many eyes reflecting Arthur's solitary figure. Arthur didn't wait.
Blink.
He vanished as a spider's pincer snapped through the air where his head had been a millisecond before. He reappeared ten meters above the horde.
"Chain Lightning!"
Arcane bolts of violet energy leapt from his fingertips, jumping from one arachnid to the next. The smell of burning chitin filled the air, but these were level 120+ elites. They shook off the paralysis and lunged.
"It's time," Arthur hissed. He gripped his blade, the air around him beginning to distort from the sheer pressure of his killing intent.
"20,000 Army : Crushing Sword!"
He swung. It wasn't just a physical strike; it was a manipulation of the very atmosphere. A shockwave of pure force erupted from the blade, traveling in a wide arc. The five spiders in the front row weren't just cut; they exploded.
Their internal fluids sprayed the canyon walls as the kinetic energy turned their exoskeletons into shrapnel that shredded the spiders behind them.
But more were coming. A hundred, then two hundred. The canyon floor was a sea of scuttling legs.
Arthur's eyes turned a cold, piercing gold. He shifted his stance, his blade held low, the tip tracing a line in the dirt. He felt the legacy of Madra flowing through his veins—a technique designed to hold back entire nations.
"50,000 Army : Severing Sword!"
The world seemed to go silent. Arthur moved faster than the human eye could track. He wasn't just attacking; he was drawing a line in existence that the monsters could not cross.
A thin, horizontal silver light expanded from his position, stretching across the entire width of the canyon.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the upper halves of fifty spiders slid off their lower halves in a synchronized display of gore. The cut was so clean, so absolute, that the monsters didn't even scream.
[You have defeated 62 Canyon Spiders.]
[The ego of Madra is satisfied.]
[Better,] Madra grumbled. [But your footwork in the transition was sloppy. If that had been an army of knights, you'd have lost a toe.]
Arthur ignored the critique, his chest heaving. He pushed forward toward Loran's Waterfall, hoping to find the secret techniques of Pagma.
He cleared the Mermans in the lake with a conductor-enhanced lightning strike that turned the water into a boiling death trap, but the cave behind the falls yielded only frustration.
He saw the engravings, he copied the movements, but without the specific quest trigger, the system remained silent.