A few days after that unsettling conversation, Louis found himself walking through the halls of the Imperial Palace once more.
The corridors stretched long and quiet, stone walls polished smooth by centuries of use. His footsteps echoed beside Natasha's as they moved at an unhurried pace, heading toward the chamber where the summoned noble awaited them—called here under the weight of Louis's title as a Hero.
Natasha glanced sideways at him.
"You seem to be in a good mood," she said.
Louis exhaled softly. "You don't look any less pleased yourself."
She gave a small smile, then replied at length, her tone measured and faintly amused, as if she were savoring something unsaid.
After turning through a few more corridors, they reached their destination.
Natasha pushed the door open.
Inside stood an old man.
He rose as soon as they entered. His movements were careful but steady, his posture upright. He looked to be in his sixties—gray hair, deep lines etched into his face.
The man bowed.
Louis and Natasha returned the gesture.
As Natasha began the introductions, Louis studied him quietly.
He appeared old, but Louis had already learned that appearances meant little in this world. With levels came longevity. Many lived far longer than their faces suggested.
The emperor himself had ruled for centuries. Even the princes were well past a hundred years of age. And the princess—who looked scarcely older than a girl—had already lived more than three decades.
Louis's gaze drifted briefly to Natasha.
As she spoke with practiced ease, he found himself wondering—without meaning to—how old she truly was. The academy stories, the casual way she spoke of years past, the calm confidence she carried… sometimes she felt like an experienced woman who had already lived far longer than she let on.
He wondered, fleetingly, whether Belia was the same.
Before the thought could settle, Natasha finished her introduction.
She gestured politely for the noble to return to his seat. The old man complied, settling back into his chair, and Louis and Natasha took their own places across from him.
The conversation resumed.
The noble introduced himself as Satorn Virel.
Louis rolled the name over silently in his mind as the discussion continued. It sounded dignified. Old. Fitting for someone like him.
Gradually, his attention slipped.
Natasha and Satorn spoke the way nobles did—measured phrases, indirect questions, words layered with courtesy and restraint. Louis listened at first, then only half-listened, then not at all.
This is taking too long, he thought.
Why am I even waiting?
He straightened slightly. He was finally using his so-called title Hero. He came from a world with little regard for etiquette. So why couldn't he act entitled, just this once?
His hand came down on the table—not loud, but firm enough to command the room's attention.
Both of them turned to him.
"We didn't summon you here for pleasantries," Louis said, his voice steady. "You were called to share your insight. Specifically—how to unlock the Beast Path of the druid class."
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Then Satorn let out a low, amused chuckle.
"Straight to the point," the old man said. "Hot-blooded, aren't you?"
Louis didn't look away. "I don't like wasting time."
Satorn studied him more closely now, eyes lingering on Louis's tanned face. After a moment, he sighed.
"I can tell you what I know," he said slowly. "But only if you are willing to fulfill a request."
Louis's frown deepened immediately.
"I'm not accepting some heaven-defying condition," he said. "Nor am I here to bargain away my time."
Satorn raised both hands calmly.
"Nothing of the sort," he said. "No oaths. No sacrifices."
He leaned back slightly, expression turning thoughtful.
"First," he continued, "allow me to brief you on my insights."
Satorn Virel rested his hands together on the table, fingers interlaced.
"I was born to a baron household," he said. "Not cursed—just… unremarkable. Land that yielded little, influence that reached nowhere. Expectations were modest."
His voice carried neither bitterness nor pride. Just fact.
"As the first son, I awakened as a druid early. I showed promise in raising plants. So naturally, my family assumed my path had already been chosen."
He let out a quiet breath.
"I trained as I was told. I learned cultivation, rotation, the balance between exhaustion and recovery. In time, I unlocked the Plant Path. Slowly, methodically."
He shook his head faintly.
"But even then, I knew it wasn't enough."
Louis listened without interrupting.
"While others focused on refinement, I trained my body. I hunted. I wandered the forests instead of tending fields. I was warned, scolded, redirected—often. The elders insisted that the Beast Path was reckless. Unstable. Inefficient."
Satorn's eyes hardened slightly.
"My growth stagnated. My level rose, but poorly. By my twenties, I lagged behind peers who had chosen safer specializations. I was weaker. Slower. A disappointment by noble standards."
Still, he continued.
"Yet I persisted."
Years passed that way, he explained. Decades of uneven progress. Of watching younger druids surpass him while he refined fundamentals that yielded little immediate reward.
"Then," he said, "I encountered a lone Gale wolf."
He described it without embellishment.
A hunt gone wrong. A beast far beyond expectation. His blade—already worn—shattering the moment it struck fur hardened by mana.
"There was no time to retreat," he continued. "It lunged immediately."
What followed was not a duel, but a prolonged struggle.
He fought with fists, elbows, teeth when he had to. The wolf was relentless—its hide resistant, its muscles coiled with unnatural endurance. Each blow he landed felt insufficient. Each wound he took slowed him further.
"I was thrown. Crushed. Dragged across the ground," Satorn said. "Several times, I thought I was finished."
Hours passed—or something like hours. Time had lost meaning.
He learned the wolf's movements through pain. Learned which joints resisted less. Learned where the hide thinned beneath the throat, around the eyes.
"In the end," he said, "I had nothing left but my hands."
After offering up my body, I was finally able to drive my fingers… into the wolf's eye socket, ignoring the tearing pain, pushing until something ruptured. The beast convulsed. Its strength finally failed.
When I fell, I collapsed beside it, unconscious.
"And that," he said quietly, "was when something changed."
"That was my Enlightenment," Satorn said. "The first step."
He glanced briefly at Louis.
"Every druid knows it. Enlightenment is not revelation—it is recognition."
He raised one finger.
"The second step is The Circle. A rite space, drawn on earth or stone. Not symbolic—functional. It anchors intent, separates instinct from will."
A second finger.
"Third is The Offering. Blood, stamina, mana, or resolve. What is offered can be anything. Whether it affects the rite—and to what extent—is unknown."
A third.
"Fourth is Endurance. The Harshest step. Pain reshapes the body. Fear strips away hesitation. Many fail here—not because they lack strength, but because they hesitate. You are aware… beastmen fail here likely for fear of losing themselves and it's understandable."
Then the fifth.
"And finally—Transformation."
Satorn leaned back slightly.
"These steps are well documented. Taught. Understood. But understanding does not guarantee success."
He paused.
"I completed the rite alone."
He spoke of bones grinding, of flesh resisting change, of instincts clashing with reason. Of hours—perhaps days—where his body rejected what his will demanded.
"When it ended," he said, "I did not become a beast."
His mouth curved faintly.
"I gained partial transformation. Heightened strength. Altered form. A state similar to what you would call a lycanthrope—entered and exited at will."
Silence settled.
"That," Satorn Virel concluded, "is how I unlocked the Beast Path."