It wasn't too difficult for Joel to get the woman to talk; he didn't even have to raise his voice. He only had to mention that he was looking for someone very specific, a certain Reed Musall, and the reaction was almost immediate. She not only told him which room he was in, but also warned him how many guards were guarding him.

  Joel already knew who Reed was. A man with no magical ability whatsoever, one of those sad descendants of powerful bloodlines who, by chance, hadn't inherited their parents' gift, and apparently, he didn't enjoy the affection of his own family either. However, he must have had something, since he was protected by two level-four mages. And, most importantly, he was the one who claimed to be in possession of the plans with the coordinates of the planet Gaea.

  He wasted no time pondering the Musalls' family problems. With a swift movement, he rendered the woman—who, it seemed, was the personal guard of one of the younger members of the family—unconscious. Apparently sent there with the sole purpose of delaying him as long as possible.

  He climbed to the top floor of the residence, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence of the stairs. But upon arriving, he came up against a makeshift barricade: ten guards, magic shields raised, blocking the way like a living wall. There was no negotiation, no warning; they greeted him with a barrage of spells that lit up the corridor in a storm of fire, water, and electrical discharges.

  Joel barely had time to react. He dodged the first impact, felt the scorching heat of a fireball pass inches from his face, and the hiss of water cut through the air. A bolt of lightning exploded against the wall next to him, tearing shards of stone. He had no choice but to retreat, going back down the stairs before he was trapped.

  Joel was already tired of fighting. Inside, the temptation to simply retreat into some dark corner of the castle and wait for it all to end without his intervention grew stronger. But he was already too close. The thing that had caused all this hell was just a few feet away… and he couldn't afford to stop.

  With a harsh sigh, he pulled out the last two grenades he still had in his clothes. He felt the metallic cold of the safety pins as he removed them, that brief moment when everything was suspended between calm and chaos. He climbed back up the stairs, keeping close to the wall, without peering into the hallway.

  He threw the grenades at floor level, sending them tumbling toward the guards' feet. The metallic sound of the spheres hitting the ground immediately caught the guards' attention, but they didn't seem to fully understand what was going on until the grenades detonated just inches from them.

  The explosions rocked the hallway, catching the guards off guard. While no one was seriously injured, thanks to their shields, the vast majority were stunned.

  Joel immediately seized the moment. He emerged from the dust and smoke, like a specter bathed in blood and fire. Leaping over the walls and ceiling, he launched himself at the staggering guards, sword in hand.

  What followed was a veritable massacre, in which he overwhelmed them with his strength and speed alone. One after another, they fell, unable to react to Joel's skills, and within seconds, the hallway was littered with bodies, many of them dismembered.

  Joel stopped in front of one of the magic shields, one very different from the others and much more resistant. Neither the explosion, nor the fire, nor the metal fragments had left a single mark on its surface, not even a direct blow from his sword. It was round in shape and its diameter did not exceed 50 cm.

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  Intrigued, Joel lifted it from the ground with both hands. It was heavy and quite solid, but as he adjusted it on his left arm, he felt how the artifact seemed to adapt to his body, a rather convenient artifact. He nodded with satisfaction at an unexpected trophy, quite useful given his experiences so far.

  He continued forward along the corridor on guard, aware that at any moment someone could ambush him. But in the end, nothing happened, and he finally came across the room the woman had described. The door was ajar, letting out the sounds of screams, curses, and dull knocks against furniture and walls.

  Joel moved forward slowly, trying not to make too much noise. He carefully pushed open the door and instantly raised his shield in front of him, ready to receive any kind of attack from the would-be defenders.

  But nothing happened. Inside, what he found wasn't a lurking enemy, but the pathetic silhouette of Reed Musall. The man, with matted hair and torn clothes, moved like a cornered animal, throwing books, smashing drawers, and kicking chairs. The room, which must once have been a luxurious family compound, was reduced to a field of ruins under the weight of his rage and frustration.

  Reed turned around, his eyes reddening, saliva accumulating at the corner of his lips, and for a moment he didn't even seem to acknowledge Joel's presence in the doorway.

  "This is a bit anticlimactic," Joel thought, seeing Reed's pathetic state.

  The man looked at him with reddened eyes and finally spoke in a voice filled with hatred and resignation, "What do you want from me?"

  Joel didn't respond immediately; his gaze scanned the ruined room, searching for any traces of danger. "Where are your guards?" he asked coldly.

  Reed clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into claws. "The bastards fled..." he spat the words out. "Maybe you killed them without realizing it."

  A heavy silence fell. Joel took a step forward. "Do you know why I'm here?" he said, his tone so thick it sounded more like a sentence.

  Reed let out a broken laugh, a mixture of rage and despair. "Does it matter? I'm the one who handles the family finances. Clearly, what you want is my knowledge for..."

  Before the man could finish what he was saying, Joel appeared before him in the blink of an eye. The sword descended with surgical precision, cleanly severing his right leg. Reed's left leg buckled under his own weight, and the man fell with a piercing shriek, only to be brutally lifted by the arm, as if he weighed no more than a rag doll.

  Blood was still running down the blade when Joel, imperturbable, lifted him to eye level. "I'm not interested in any of that shit," he said in a deep, almost inhuman voice. "All I want is for you to show me where your father's cartographic map is..." Joel whispered, letting each word sink in like a dagger. "The one with the coordinates to the planet Gaea."

  Reed's face twisted with pain and rage, but he still found the strength to spit out the words with hatred: "Who told you that?"

  Joel held it up as if nothing had happened, his expression unperturbed. “Let’s just say you can’t help but open your mouth… especially when you’re drunk,” he replied, with a hint of mockery mixed with the edge of threat. “Now tell me where it is… or I’m going to have to get a lot more creative.”

  The silence became unbearable. Reed hesitated, his breathing ragged, and for a moment it seemed he might try to resist. But Joel tightened his grip on his arm, causing the man enormous pain. The pressure was inhuman, as if that arm might burst at any moment.

  Survival instinct overcame pride. With his other trembling hand, Reed pointed to a corner of the room. “T-that…” he gasped. “The green book… with black numbers on the cover… on the bookshelf.”

  Joel tilted his head to look at Reed’s face, still holding him, studying his eyes for deceit. The man dangled like a fish caught on a hook, sweat and tears mixing with the blood soaking the ground. For a moment, he seriously considered whether what he was doing was right, but then he remembered the countless civilians sent to die in wars, and he dropped the nobleman to the ground, where he hit his head and lost consciousness.

  He then walked over to the bookshelf, where he easily found the book Reed had indicated. Joel flipped through the book, each page filled with incomprehensible symbols and diagrams. Constellations drawn with sickening precision, orbits that seemed entangled in impossible geometries, notes scribbled in faded ink, and calculations that defied any logic he knew. It was as if the book hadn't been written for a human being.

  The silence in the room grew dense, broken only by the harsh sound of pages turning. Joel didn't understand half of what he was seeing. As he reached the last few pages, something stopped him in his tracks. There, carefully drawn, was a star map. Among the countless bright dots, one object stood out: G-6839.

  Beneath the diagram, words were written in a distinct script: "Project Gaea."