Days passed.
Then weeks.
Aruford did not rush to the Guild.
He told himself he was observing.
Learning the city.
Understanding how this world functioned socially before stepping into its power structure.
But deep down—
He was testing something.
Could he live peacefully?
Could he choose limitation?
His father returned home each evening covered in dust from construction work in the outer district.
Not a Hunter.
Not powerful.
Just a laborer reinforcing city walls.
Layer 1 beings lived under constant monster threat.
But most citizens were not fighters.
They relied on Hunters.
Relied on Astrites.
Relied on people stronger than them.
One evening, his father handed him a small wooden carving.
Crude.
Imperfect.
But clearly meant to resemble a sword.
"For practice," his father said with a faint smile. "If you're going to stare at the guild towers every day, at least hold something properly."
Aruford blinked.
He hadn't realized it was that obvious.
His mother sighed from the kitchen. "Don't encourage him."
His father chuckled. "Strength isn't wrong. Obsession is."
That word again.
Obsession.
It followed him even here.
He held the wooden sword.
It felt light.
Insignificant.
But as he gripped it—
His heart beat faster.
Not because of violence.
Because of possibility.
Months passed.
His body grew stronger naturally.
He helped his father occasionally, carrying small loads, learning basic balance and coordination.
He practiced with the wooden sword behind the house.
Clumsy at first.
Then smoother.
Not extraordinary.
Just consistent.
One afternoon, while practicing, he felt it.
A faint warmth in his chest.
Not intense.
Not overwhelming.
Just… a flicker.
He froze.
He closed his eyes.
Focused.
For a brief second—
A single number appeared.
Astrite Count: 1
It vanished immediately.
He stumbled backward.
One.
One Astrite.
Enough to destroy a city.
Enough to defend against a city-level attack.
And yet—
It did nothing.
Because it wasn't released.
It wasn't shaped.
It was raw.
He exhaled slowly.
"I didn't kill anything," he whispered.
No portal.
No monster.
So how?
He replayed the moment.
Practice.
Determination.
Intent.
Was Astrite generation purely from killing?
Or from alignment of desire and effort?
The number did not reappear.
Chosen One remained dormant.
But something had responded.
Somewhere deep inside his soul—
Energy had stirred.
That night, he lay awake.
He should be excited.
He should be thrilled.
But instead—
He felt cautious.
Because that flicker came without Nullis registering.
Without system notification.
Without external grant.
It felt… self-generated.
Or triggered by something beyond the standard structure.
Above Layer 1—
The fallen ink shimmered again.
Almost approvingly.
The next day, Aruford followed a crowd toward the city gate.
A Hunter party had returned from a portal expedition.
The atmosphere was tense.
Excited.
People gathered to see them.
Three Hunters walked through the gate.
Armor cracked.
Clothes stained with blood.
But alive.
One of them raised his hand and small golden motes floated into the air—
Astrites.
Free-floating.
Drifting like spirits.
The Hunter inhaled sharply and the motes rushed into his chest.
Absorbed.
The crowd gasped.
Power visibly gained.
Aruford stared.
That was the path.
That was the exchange.
Risk for growth.
Blood for transcendence.
The Hunter's Astrite count likely jumped into hundreds.
Maybe thousands.
Layer 1 ceilings.
Still trapped inside the glass sphere.
But to these people—
They were heroes.
His chest tightened.
He imagined surpassing them.
Surpassing the Guild Master.
Surpassing gods.
The thought came naturally.
Too naturally.
His grip tightened unconsciously.
The wooden sword in his hand cracked slightly.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind:
"Don't let ambition blind you."
He loosened his grip.
Forced himself to breathe.
I will grow.
But not recklessly.
Not yet.
That evening, he sat with his parents during dinner.
Laughter filled the small home.
His father told a story about a coworker nearly falling off scaffolding.
His mother rolled her eyes.
Normal.
Warm.
Human.
For a moment—
The Guild towers didn't matter.
Astrites didn't matter.
Layers didn't matter.
He felt… content.
And that frightened him more than ambition ever did.
Because contentment meant staying.
And staying meant accepting limitation.
He looked at his parents carefully.
Memorizing their faces.
He didn't know why.
But somewhere deep inside—
A quiet instinct told him:
This peace would not last.
Far beyond the layered hierarchy—
Nullis observed slight irregularities in soul fluctuation.
Nothing dangerous.
Yet.
Monitoring continued.
Aruford went to sleep that night holding the wooden sword beside his bed.
One Astrite flickered faintly inside his soul.
Tiny.
Insignificant.
The beginning of a storm inside glass.
End of Chapter 4.