The caravan left Northvale at dawn.
Nova stood atop the lead hover-truck, watching the city shrink behind them as the vehicles glided above the reinforced roadbed. The anti-grav systems hummed a steady rhythm beneath his feet, a sound that was already becoming familiar after the night he'd spent studying the trucks' mechanisms.
Vex had given him a bunk in the workers' quarters—a narrow room shared with three other guards, all of them older, all of them eyeing him with varying degrees of suspicion. He hadn't slept much. Instead, he had pulled up his Godless System interface and examined it properly for the first time.
GODLESS SYSTEM — PERSONAL INTERFACE
HOST: Nova Almond
AGE: 14
RACE: Human (Ancient Bloodline — Dormant)
FRAGMENTS: 3/9
SUPERPOWERS:
Teleportation (A-Rank) — Active
Frost (S-Rank) — Locked — Requires Soul Fragment (1/3)
Blood Manipulation (SSS-Rank) — Locked — Requires Soul Fragment (2/3)
CULTIVATION: 1st Order, 1st Rank
MANA RESERVE: 148/148 units
Note: Genius-level capacity. Significantly exceeds average for newly Awakened.
MANA REGENERATION: 1 unit per hour (natural) | 2 units per hour (meditation)
BLOODLINE: Almond Family Physique — Locked
*Requires activation via herbs and/or Soul Fragment (1/3)*
CLASS: Locked — Unlocks at 4th Order
TECHNIQUES: None
INVENTORY (10 SLOTS):
Twin Shadow Blades (Artifact-Grade — Bound)
Silvervein Moss (Bloodline Herb)
Heartpetal Blossom (Bloodline Herb)
Void-Touched Mandrake Root (3x) (Bloodline Herb)
Nora's Journal
Gold Coins (50)
Emergency Rations
Empty
Empty
Empty
One hundred and forty-eight units. Genius-level, the System called it. Nearly fifty percent above average.
And if the fragments doubled his reserves with each acquisition, then recovering his first soul piece would push him past three hundred units at the same cultivation rank. By the time he reached 4th Order, when classes unlocked and true power began—
He stopped that line of thought. Ambition was useful. Overconfidence was fatal. His past life had learned that lesson, and the memory fragments that surfaced occasionally reminded him why.
The Emperor smiled while he burned, the voice whispered. Remember that.
Nova remembered.
"Kid!"
He turned. One of the other guards—a woman in her twenties with lightning crackling faintly between her fingers—jerked her head toward the rear of the caravan.
"Vex wants you. Briefing time."
Nova jumped down from the truck, landing easily on the moving road. The guard's eyebrows rose.
"Show-off."
"Practice."
She snorted but said nothing else, leading him back through the line of vehicles to where Vex stood beside a holographic map projected from a portable terminal.
The map showed the Ferrowood in painful detail—dense forest, winding roads, and at least a dozen red markers scattered along their route.
"Good, you're here." Vex gestured at the map. "Situation's worse than I thought. The dungeon spawns have been active all week—looks like something's destabilizing the local cores. We've got reports of moguen packs near the eastern pass, a bone demon sighting forty miles ahead, and someone swore they saw a mind flayer scout three days ago."
The gathered guards exchanged glances. Moguen were bad—hulking brutes with strength that belied their dim intelligence. Bone demons meant a necromancer somewhere, or a corpse demon breeding ground. And mind flayers...
"If there's a mind flayer," the lightning woman said slowly, "we're already compromised. They don't scout alone."
"I know." Vex's jaw tightened. "Which is why we're changing routes. We'll take the western fork—adds two days to the journey, but avoids the worst of the activity. Question is whether we have enough supplies."
She looked at Nova.
"You're the new blood. Fresh eyes. What do you see?"
Nova studied the map. The western fork wound through tighter terrain—closer to the mountains, more places for ambushes. But the red markers there were older, less recent. The eastern pass was active now.
"Western fork's safer," he said slowly, "but only if we move fast and quiet. The terrain limits our vehicles—we'll have to slow down, which means we're exposed longer. Eastern pass is faster but actively hostile. Question is whether whatever's causing the spawns is moving toward us or away."
Vex nodded. "And?"
Nova pointed at a cluster of markers near the eastern pass. "These are all within two days of each other. That's not random dungeon spawn behavior—that's organized. Something's herding the creatures, pushing them together. If I had to guess, I'd say there's a higher intelligence behind it. A mind flayer, like you said, or maybe a soul demon collecting biomass."
The lightning woman stared at him. "How do you know that?"
Nova shrugged. "Pattern recognition."
It wasn't entirely a lie. The knowledge had surfaced as he looked at the map—memories of past campaigns, of reading enemy movements, of understanding how creatures of the Abyss thought and hunted. His past self had fought them for decades. Some things didn't fade, even when the memories that held them were fractured.
Vex was quiet for a long moment. Then she smiled—that sharp, dangerous expression.
"Kid, I have no idea who you really are. But I'm glad you're on my truck." She turned to the others. "You heard him. Western fork, fast and quiet. Double watches, no unnecessary light, no open flames after dark. If anything feels wrong, you report immediately. We're not losing this caravan to a pack of Abyss scrap."
The guards dispersed. Nova started back toward his position, but Vex caught his arm.
"One more thing." Her voice was low. "That pattern recognition—that wasn't first-order thinking. That wasn't even fifth-order thinking. That was battlefield command experience. You want to tell me how a fourteen-year-old from a backwater village knows military tactics?"
Nova met her eyes. "No."
Vex studied him. Then she laughed.
"Fair enough. Keep your secrets, kid. Just make sure they don't get us killed." She released his arm. "Get some rest. You're on watch in six hours."
The first day passed without incident.
The caravan moved slowly through the western fork, hover-trucks barely clearing the narrow passes between ancient trees. Nova used the time to practice—pushing his teleportation to its limits, measuring the exact distance he could cover, the weight he could carry, the precision he could achieve.
Fifty-two feet was his maximum. Fifty-two feet, and anything he touched within a half-second of activating his power. He could bring others with him, but the mana cost multiplied—ten units for himself, plus five for each additional person or fifty pounds of cargo.
At his current reserves, he could teleport himself fourteen times before depletion. Himself plus one other, nine times. Himself plus cargo, fewer.
Efficiency, he thought. Every battle is a math problem. The winner is whoever solves it faster.
By nightfall, they had covered half the western route. Vex called a halt in a natural clearing, vehicles arranged in a defensive circle. Watches were set. Fires were forbidden.
Nova drew second watch—the dead hours between midnight and dawn.
He sat on the roof of his assigned truck, twin daggers across his knees, and watched the forest breathe.
The Ferrowood at night was alive with sounds he didn't recognize. Creatures called to each other in languages that weren't language. Shadows moved where no shadows should be. The mana in the air was thicker here, denser, pressing against his skin like a physical weight.
Dungeon influence, he thought. We're close to something. Maybe several somethings.
The Godless System remained silent, but he could feel it watching—a presence at the edge of his awareness, waiting for something worthy of its attention.
Three hours into his watch, the forest went quiet.
Nova was on his feet instantly, daggers in hand. The silence was wrong—too complete, too sudden. It meant something had entered the area. Something that every creature in the Ferrowood recognized as a predator.
He reached out with his power, feeling the space around him. Empty. But beyond the clearing, in the darkness between the trees—
Movement.
Not one creature. Dozens. Surrounding them.
Nova dropped from the truck and ran for Vex's vehicle.
"We're compromised," he said as she jerked awake. "Surrounded. Whatever it is, they've been herding us into this position since we took the fork."
Vex was moving before he finished speaking, cybernetic arm whirring as she activated the caravan's alarm system. Red lights flashed. Guards poured from their vehicles.
"Formation!" she shouted. "Defensive circle, watch your sectors, nobody panic!"
The forest erupted.
They came from every direction—gremlins, yes, but also larger creatures. Moguen with their massive fists and dead eyes. Bone demons assembled from the corpses of animals and adventurers who had died in these woods. And behind them, directing them, a figure that made Nova's blood run cold.
A myriad demon.
Shape-shifters. Infiltrators. The most dangerous of the Abyss's mid-tier creatures, capable of becoming anyone, anything, to get close enough to kill.
This one had chosen to reveal itself. Which meant it was confident.
Which meant they were in trouble.
"Vex!" Nova pointed. "Myriad! Left flank, directing the pack!"
Vex's face went pale. "Everyone—focus fire on—"
Too late. It's cultivation base was at the 2nd order, 5 rank. The myriad shifted—not into something new, but into many things. Its body split, divided, became a dozen copies that scattered into the chaos of battle.
"Find the real one!" Nova shouted. "The copies are weaker—they can't shift again—"
A moguen at the 1st order, 5 rank lunged at him. He teleported behind it, daggers finding the base of its skull. The creature fell. Three gremlins took its place. He teleported again, and again, and again—each movement costing mana, each kill buying time.
Ninety-two units left, his System whispered. Eighty-four. Seventy-six.
He couldn't keep this up.
The myriad's copies were causing chaos, attacking guards who thought they were fighting allies, turning friend against friend. Vex was shouting orders no one could follow. The defensive circle was breaking.
Nova closed his eyes.
Think. Your past self fought these creatures. What did he know?
The memory came not as words but as feeling—the weight of command, the certainty of strategy, the understanding that myriad demons weren't invincible. They had limits. They had tells.
The real one couldn't shift for sixty seconds after splitting. And it always watched the battle from somewhere it could see everything.
Nova opened his eyes.
There. At the edge of the clearing, half-hidden behind a massive oak—a figure that wasn't fighting. Wasn't moving. Just watching.
He grabbed space and pulled.
The myriad demon appeared before him, shock flickering across its shifting features. It hadn't expected teleportation. It hadn't expected a first-order to find it.
Nova's daggers crossed its throat before it could react.
The copies dissolved. The remaining creatures, suddenly leaderless, fell into chaos. The guards pressed their advantage, cutting through the disorganized ranks with renewed fury.
Nova stood over the myriad's body, breathing hard.
Twenty-three units left, the System reported. Near depletion.
He had maybe two teleports left. Maybe one, if he pushed.
But the battle was over.
Vex found him minutes later, staring at the corpse of the shape-shifter.
"That was," she said slowly, "the single most insane thing I have ever seen a first-order do."
Nova didn't answer. He was watching the myriad's body, watching the way its features continued to shift even in death—settling finally on a face that made his heart stop.
His face. The myriad's death-form had chosen Nova's features.