"Good evening, sirs," Renwal said, stopping the wagon a few yards away from the giant reinforced gate and the two watchmen.

  Both guards were heavily geared in full plate armor, each with a massive tower shield strapped to their back and a sword sheathed at their belt. The only noticeable difference in their outfits was the helmet: one wore a shining winged helmet, while the other had a basic one with a straight nasal guard. In the middle of both of their chests stood a black lion within a white shield: the Faertis House’s emblem.

  "Good evening. Are you here to sell goods in Arthuri?" the older guard with the winged helmet asked.

  "Yes, sir," Renwal answered before nodding toward Seth. "And he’s here for the selections of Trogan Academy."

  As the guard's next question turned into background noise, Seth focused on filling Identify with aether.

  Suddenly, the younger watchman unsheathed his sword and pointed it toward Seth, the tip laid against his throat. "Get down on the ground now!"

  Seth froze, his heart pounding like a war drum. The sharp edge of the blade seemed to burn into his skin, and for a split second, he couldn’t breathe. He felt a wave of panic surge through him, muscles locking up before he forced himself to move.

  Slowly, he sank to his knees, raising his hands in surrender. He could see Renwal’s eyes widen in shock, but before either of them could say a word, the older guard stepped in, placing a firm hand on his partner’s arm and gently pushing it down.

  "That’s fine," he said calmly. "He’s just a fresh Wielder and probably didn’t know it’s illegal to Identify a guard." He then glanced at Seth. "You can get up, son."

  Seth rose to his feet, his legs unsteady, bowing his head as he stammered, "S-sorry, sir. I didn’t know."

  The older watchman gave him a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry. Just be more careful about Identifying people in the future, guards or not. Most find it disrespectful, and you aren’t strong enough to afford offending anyone."

  "And you will likely be dead before that with that class," the younger guard said with a glare as he sheathed his sword.

  The air shimmered briefly around the massive gate, then seconds later it started to rise slowly. As they passed the guards and entered the city, Renwal shot a glance at Seth. "No more using Identify when I’m with you."

  "Yeah, sorry," Seth answered, looking up at the gate magically hovering above them. "But seriously, I had no idea."

  "That's fine. I didn't either."

  The paved street ahead was lined with homes and shops—clearly older than those in Sunatown, but far more elegant. Most were built from oak and maple planks, while some featured vibrant stonework. Thick curtains covered the narrow windows facing the street, hiding whatever lay inside.

  "Our inn is just around the corner," Renwal said.

  Soon, they arrived in front of a modest two-story establishment. Despite its crude appearance, it felt welcoming and cozy, with cheerful chatter drifting through the cracked door and two broken windows.

  As Renwal dismounted from his seat, something farther up the street caught Seth's eye: a tall, five-story building that loomed over the neighbouring shops. Despite its size, no one seemed to be coming or going, and the only sign of life was a faint light behind one of the tinted windows. Yet it captivated Seth, pulling him closer with an invisible string—all because of the small words etched on the wooden sign above its door.

  Adventurers Guild’s outpost.

  "Come on, Seth! Let's go inside!" Renwal called behind him while one of the inn's stable hands was bringing the horses and the wagon behind the building. "You need to try their ale. It's the best in Arthuri!"

  Seth shook his head and followed the bald blacksmith. As they stepped inside, the aroma of hops and smoked meat immediately flooded Seth’s nostrils. Thick wooden beams supported the ceiling, lanterns hanging on the ropes between them and illuminating the first floor, which was packed. Farmers and workers seem to be the majority of the customers, recognizable by their low-quality clothes like those of Seth and Renwal.

  "Find us a table while I take care of the rooms," Renwal said before making his way to the front desk.

  Seth scanned the area and spotted a small empty table by one of the windows. As he slid onto one of the two highchairs, his attention was quickly drawn to the two men on his right. Half a dozen empty mugs cluttered the table of the duo, who stood out from all the other customers because of their filthy clothes and the fine weapons at their hips—Wandering Merchants.

  "I'm so done with the Faertis," the black-haired one grumbled, his face twisting in frustration. "Ever since they got kicked out of the Twenty Great Houses, I've been bleeding coins. A pre-war tax? More like a tax, if you ask me. "

  The second man’s eyes darted around nervously. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Shut up, you’ll get us arrested."

  The first merchant snorted, rolling his eyes. "You know I'm right. Ever since their House started scrambling to regain their seat, each of them have turned into rabid dogs. Especially the Faertis brood."

  "It’s to be expected. Think about the pressure on their shoulders," the second man answered, shooting a quick glance at Seth, who feigned disinterest, staring out the window. "Their House needs to produce a Gold Wielder to claim back their place among the Twenty Great Houses. Without that, they won't be able to keep their territories or access the restricted resources their father needs. From what I heard, they have been taking Enhancers on top of Enhancers... practically crippling their own futures just to please the man."

  "Don't try to make me pity them," the black-haired merchant spat, taking a swig of his ale. "Desperate or not, they are all pricks. I should just leave for a different city like the adventurers."

  Seth, eavesdropping, found himself siding with the latter.

  He didn't care about the political maneuvering of the Noble House or the physical toll the heirs were paying—whatever those Enhancers were—to satisfy their ambitious fathers. Nothing could justify how the Faertis House was currently acting in Sunatown. If it weren't for the mutual aid among the citizens, countless families would have got their houses ransacked by tax collectors by now.

  As Seth clenched his fists under the table, Renwal arrived from behind and put a mug brimming with frothy beer in front of him. "There you go, the best ale of Arthuri!"

  "Thanks," Seth answered, then took a deep breath to calm down before taking a sip. Bitter, with a citrusy after-taste. To his palate, it wasn't much different from the one of Sunatown's inn, but he wasn't a beer expert. . "How much do I owe you?"

  "Nothing," Renwal said. "It’s a gift for what you did earlier. Even if the small girl did most of the work."

  Seth smiled. "Thanks. I’ll need another one after she kicks my ass tomorrow."

  "I hope she does," the blacksmith said with a wide grin.

  Seth sighed, feigning offense. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  "Anytime, boy," Renwal answered with a wink.

  Seth rolled his eyes and took another sip, watching more people trickle into the inn. He assumed they were all here to drink their emotions. Since no one could openly complain about the Faertis House, this was their only way to get through it.

  "People will be happy to hear about your awakening," Renwal added. "Sunatown will continue to have two Wielders."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Seth frowned. "Two Wielders?"

  A shadow crossed Renwal's face as he swallowed another mouthful of his beverage. "Vandric is leaving next week."

  Seth choked on his ale, his mug clattering against the table.

  Everyone knew the old Priest could earn far more coins in a large city like Arthuri or Trogan yet he had stayed in Sunatown for years, just like Marcus.

  Seth wondered before wiping foam from his mouth. "I never thought he'd leave."

  "Neither did I." Renwal raised his mug and gulped down a quarter of the drink before letting out a loud burp. "Let’s just hope no one gets sick or hurt from now on."

  "I’m sure everyone will be fine."

  They moved to other topics, and Seth continued to enjoy the blacksmith’s company for a few hours before retiring to his room. Exhausted from the day, he collapsed onto the modest bed and drifted into a deep sleep.

  The next morning, Seth stepped out of the inn, fully geared up, and took a moment to admire the clear sky before setting off.

  As he crossed the city, his route took him first through the Upper District. Here, the streets were wide and paved with smooth white stone. He passed towering mansions adorned with gleaming statues of Gaia and other Gods, giant fountains, and meticulously maintained flower gardens.

  Seth scanned the pristine avenues, expecting to see patrols protecting such obvious wealth, but he found none. No armored boots stomping against the cobblestones, no pikes gleaming in the sunlight.

  There was only silence and the occasional servant sweeping dust that didn't exist. But as the elevation dropped, so did the atmosphere.

  The moment Seth stepped into the Lower District, the scent of flowers was replaced by the stench of stagnant water and unwashed bodies. The houses here leaned against each other like drunkards, their roofs sagging and windows covered by stained sheets.

  And unlike in the Upper District, the streets were crawling with Faertis guards.

  "It’s robbery, that’s what it is!"

  The shout snapped Seth’s attention to a street corner ahead. A gaunt man in a ragged tunic was standing his ground against two armored guards, his chest heaving.

  "The grain tax was raised last week, and now you want to increase the property tax too?" the man screamed, spit flying from his mouth. "Is this how House Faertis rules now? By suffocating its own people? By letting us die a slow death?”"

  One of the guards stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Pay the coin or we'll seize everything you have. Those are your choices."

  "I have no coin left!"

  The guard didn't argue. He simply grabbed the man by the collar, dragging him toward an alleyway while the second guard shoved back the small crowd that had gathered.

  "How can you sleep at night?" the man howled as he was hauled away, his heels dragging in the mud. "You’re commoners like us! You sold your souls to the devil!"

  A violent urge flared in Seth’s chest—a desperate need to drop his gear, sprint across the street, and drive his fist into the guard's helmet to rescue the man.

  But instead, he bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing the rage back down. He couldn’t save anyone. Not until he was stronger.

  This was his first time in a major city, and he already hated it. The towering walls didn’t protect anyone; they only trapped the rot inside. The sheer scale of the oppression made him feel smaller, more powerless, than in the Wicked Forest.

  Seth thought.

  Seth lowered his head and kept walking, his grip tightening on his bag strap. The man’s screams faded, but the air remained thick enough to choke on.

  A few blocks later, passing an open-air stonemason’s workshop, he slowed his pace as a rough voice drifted out.

  "The Path is impartial, boy," a burly workman grunted, running a calloused hand over a slab of granite. "It doesn't care if you eat with a silver fork or a wooden spoon. You're the captain of your own fate. You want greatness? You can work for it."

  "But... Master," the apprentice, a boy no older than twelve, mumbled as he swept dust with a broom. "The nobles... they never have trouble awakening. They don't have to save for years just to fail. It... it doesn't seem fair."

  The workman slammed his chisel down so hard sparks almost flew. He whipped his head around, eyes probably scanning the street to see if any guards were close by.

  "That has nothing to do with the Path." he hissed, clenching his fists. "That is just Kastal. Because of our stupid King. If we were born somewhere else it would be different."

  Seth rounded past the shop, glancing at the apprentice who was staring at the ground.

  That was the comforting lie people in Sunatown told themselves to keep their spirits up. Seth had never believed it. How could commoners and nobles, both born into such opposite circumstances, ever reach the same heights? One started with all the resources of the world, while another struggled just to fill his stomach.

  Lost in thought, Seth barely made it to Arthuri’s training field on time. And the place bore the same imbalance he’d seen all across the city.

  A few hundred commoners dressed in tattered clothes were crammed into a dozen wooden stands spread around the open dirt field. In stark contrast, five butlers stood attentively on the sides of two stands made of stone, where a dozen nobles sat comfortably on velvet pillows that were likely worth more than Seth's house.

  In the center, a thick white circle marked the perimeter of what would certainly be the arena for the upcoming fights. As Seth approached the two dozen participants in the middle, his eyes immediately landed on someone familiar: Selena

  The Rogue was still wearing her tight brown leather outfit, with the same black bow on her back, but this time two daggers were strapped to her thighs, each about half the length of Seth's hunting knife.

  Before he made it over to her, a young woman walked up to him. Light brown, wavy hair framed her small, radiant face as glinting blue eyes rested graciously in their sockets beneath thin, dark eyebrows. Her soft skin gracefully complemented her nose and lips, giving her an angelic look.

  She wore an accordion-style scarlet skirt that reached just below her knees, paired with black calf-high socks and a tight, short-sleeved white shirt, which she had tucked in and covered with a matching scarlet jacket, the golden owl emblem on her chest pocket slightly stretched by her curves. In one hand, she held a parchment clipped to a wooden board, and in the other was a quill.

  Seth thought.

  "Good morning, I'm Marine from House Vancaws, a first-year student at Trogan Academy," she said. "What’s your—oh, you’ve got eyes."

  "Uh, thanks," Seth stuttered, a bit surprised to receive a compliment from a noble.

  The young woman gave him a warm smile. "What’s your name, your class, and your Rank?"

  he thought before answering, "Seth, Primalist, Rank 6."

  "Oh, a Primalist!" she exclaimed before writing everything down on the parchment. "Professor Reat will meet you at the end of the selection. Don't leave before that."

  Standing a foot taller than her, Seth was able to see everything she scribbled on the parchment, including the little sad face next to . But it was something else that caught his eye. . It had formed all the black letters without ever being dipped in ink.

  "Oh, and when did you awaken?" she asked.

  "Uh, about two weeks ago."

  "Alright, everything seems to be in order," Marine replied with a beaming smile. "You can join the other participants. The selection will soon begin."

  Seth made his way over to Selena, who stood stoically with her red ponytail swaying slightly in the breeze. He flashed her a grin, trying to break the tension. "So, today’s the day you kick my ass, huh?"

  The Rogue’s expression barely shifted as she glanced at him. "Maybe," she answered with the social awareness and empathy of a rock.

  Before Seth could answer, a silhouette blocked the sun. He shielded his eyes, squinting upward, and his breath hitched in his throat.

  A man was floating in the sky, hovering high above the training field as if gravity was nothing more than a suggestion. Seth watched in stunned silence, his neck craning back.

  As the newcomer descended, Seth took a closer look.

  Long, pitch-black hair hung from the man’s half-successful bun, partially hiding his exhausted face. The dark circles under his eyes and the way he was yawning made him look much older and worn out than someone in his mid-thirties should be.

  He wore a uniform similar to Marine's, but instead of a skirt, he had on pants, and the scarlet color had been replaced by a much-darker red. Just above the golden-owl emblem, an insignia was hanging from his chest pocket: two silver wings flanking a dark medaillon with five silver stars and a white in the middle.

  Seth wondered.

  "Welcome to the selection of Trogan Academy. I'm Professor Reat," the man announced as he landed on the ground. "Listen carefully, because I won’t repeat myself."

  Seth glanced at the other competitors. Some looked excited, others nervous, while a few appeared downright bored. Each of them had a stunning weapon, either on their back or hanging from their belt. he thought.

  "The rules are simple," Professor Reat continued. "You need two wins out of three fights to pass. Instant spell-scrolls, artifacts outside of concealment ones, Artificers’ devices, or potions are forbidden. However, any armor or weapon is allowed. You're allowed to cast Identify on your opponent whenever you want. At the start of each fight, I’ll cover both participants with an aether barrier that matches your Toughness—it’ll absorb the blows. Like Protecting Belts, for those of you familiar. If the barrier breaks, it means you’d be dead in a real fight, so you lose. Oh, and also, you're allowed to forfeit for any reason. If your opponent decides to do so, you must stand down immediately to avoid anyone from getting hurt unnecessarily."

  , Seth thought.

  But then he hesitated. His core—that strange thing that had heightened his senses and instincts against the Boreal Wolves and the bandits—had always ignited in the face of extreme danger. It was a survival response. If his subconscious knew he was safe behind a barrier, would he still be able to tap into that power?

  Seth clenched his jaw. He hadn’t planned on relying on it, but it would have been a useful ace up his sleeve. Still, he couldn’t gamble his future on a .

  He would stick to what had kept him alive all these years in the forest: his bow, his arrows, and his hunting knife.

  Against a distance class like Elementalists, he would give them no room to breathe and rush into melee range to overwhelm them. And if he faced a Warrior or a Guardian, he would do the opposite—drag it out, keep his distance, kite them around the arena, and wear them down with arrows until their barriers finally shattered. Nothing flashy, but still solid.

  "Any questions?" Professor Reat asked, waiting for a few seconds while a few participants, including Seth, exchanged uncertain glances. "Good, then let's get started. Everyone, step outside of the ring."

  As all the participants moved out of the hundred-foot-wide circle, Marine handed her parchment to the professor. The man skimmed through it, and his face twisted into grimaces a few times.

  Standing just outside the white line, Seth gulped, his heart pounding in his chest. Before his awakening, he’d been confident in his skills as a hunter and fighter. But now, as he glanced at the other participants, that old confidence was slowly being replaced by a growing sense of doubt. He’d gained a attributes since awakening, but not nearly as many as he’d hoped. Two weeks wasn’t enough to make a difference, especially after losing so much training time in the regular forest.

  The selection wasn’t limited to fresh Wielders like him; it was open to any seventeen-year-old who had awakened within the past year. That was why most people tried using a stone the moment they reached the minimum age for their bodies to survive the awakening.

  Birthdates alone made the whole system unfair. With only two months of selections each year, some contestants entered barely seventeen, while others were just shy of eighteen. In Sunatown, Seth had even heard rumors of nobles timing pregnancies so their children would be among the oldest during the skirmishes, all to gain an advantage.

  But who would complain about such injustice when others were dying of hunger? And commoners certainly had no say.

  Seth scanned the other participants again. Some of them could’ve ignited their Well months and months ago, giving them plenty of time to grow stronger. There was no doubt, they’d have higher attributes than him—on top of the enchanted weapons glinting at their sides and on their backs.

  "First fight. Herbin and Seth, " Professor Reat shouted. ''Step forward."

  January 15, 2026 (7h15PM)

  ----

  The story just reached #29 on Rising Stars !!! If it hits #20, I’ll post an extra chapter to celebrate!

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