For a long moment, I just lay there on the grass, letting the mundane warmth of the real sun soak into my skin.

The contrast was almost sickening. Minutes ago, I was in a lightless vault, fighting a B-Rank construct of pure energy, tearing reality with a blade that housed a dragon's soul.

Now, a gentle breeze rustled the pine trees above, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint bleating of sheep.

My body screamed in protest as I tried to sit up.

The 15 stat points I'd pumped into Endurance and Agility had stabilized me, but they hadn't refilled my core. I was running on empty, the adrenaline high of the battle draining away, leaving behind a deep, profound ache and a splitting headache from the spatial jump.

"Okay… priorities," I rasped, my throat dry.

First, recovery. I fumbled in my dimensional storage for a low-grade [Mana Recovery Potion].

The liquid was chalky and tasted faintly of mint. I downed it in one gulp. It wouldn't refill my reserves—only time and rest could do that—but it would generate enough mana to stop me from passing out on the hike back.

Second, the loot. I checked my inventory. The Sunpetal Dew vials were secure. The Skill Scroll Fragment sat inertly, marked ['Sever' (1/3)].

Useless for now, but the name alone made my pulse quicken, hinting at a connection to my Heaven Splitter technique.

Third, and most urgent: the alibi.

I staggered to my feet, using Draken as a crutch, and looked down at myself.

My plain black tunic was ripped at the shoulder where the Votary's light-blade had grazed me, and there were several smaller tears from my climb and subsequent fall onto the dais.

My hands and face were smeared with grime, sweat, and my own dried blood from the backlash.

"Yeah, 'light aura training' isn't going to cover this," I muttered sardonically. I looked like I'd just lost a fight with a rock golem.

My father was a veteran hunter. He knew what battle-fatigue looked like.

And Marcus... my reincarnated-cultivator brother with his unnervingly sharp senses would probably smell the ozone, the ancient dust, and the wrongness of the vault on me. I couldn't walk back into the guild hall looking like this.

I needed a new narrative. A better lie.

My eyes scanned the hillside. The Grey Hills were notorious for loose scree and sudden, rocky inclines.

A fall. Yes, a fall was plausible.

Limping, I found a small, fast-moving stream cutting through the hills a few hundred meters away.

The water was icy cold, making my teeth ache, but I plunged my head under, scrubbing my face and neck, washing away the blood from my nose and ears, and the grime from the vault floor. I scrubbed my hands until they were raw.

My clothes were another matter. The rips were damning. I couldn't fix them.

The best I could do was make the injuries match the story. I deliberately scraped my forearm against the rough bark of a pine tree, wincing as the skin broke.

I rubbed dirt into the knees of my trousers. The torn shoulder of my tunic? A snag on a sharp branch during the "fall."

By the time I was done, I looked less like a warrior and more like a very, very clumsy hiker.

Exhausted, bruised, a few fresh (and convincingly superficial) scrapes, but not battle-worn. It would have to do. The deep, core-deep exhaustion and the lingering pallor... that was just part of the 'shock' from the nasty tumble.

It was a flimsy alibi, but it was the only one I had.

The walk back to Selorn City took over two hours, my body moving on fumes and sheer willpower. The low-grade potion provided just enough mana to keep my legs from collapsing.

Every step sent a dull ache through my joints. The sun was high and warm by the time the familiar, smoky skyline of the city came into view.

But I didn't go to the guild hall first.

My alibi wouldn't hold up if I didn't complete my other mission. I slipped through the bustling market square, my torn clothes and dirty face earning me a few pitying or disdainful glances, which I gladly accepted.

I looked like a broke commoner kid who'd had a rough day, and that was the perfect cover.

I navigated the alleys of the Weaver's District, my heart pounding for a different reason now.

I found the alley behind Master Thorne's workshop. It smelled of discarded rune-carving scraps and old ink. I peered around the corner. The shop's front was quiet.

Come on, Elina...

As if summoned by my thoughts, the back door of the workshop creaked open, and Elina stepped out, carrying a small bucket of waste.

Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with worry, her shoulders slumped. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Elina," I called out, my voice a low rasp.

She jumped, startled, her hand flying to her chest. "Michael! By the spirits, what happened to you? You look... awful."

"Training accident," I said quickly, cutting off her concern.

I limped closer, pulling a small, unmarked wooden box from my inventory. Inside, I had placed the two vials of [Concentrated Sunpetal Dew]. "Fell. Nasty tumble down a scree slope."

I pushed the box into her hands.

"What's this?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"My 'research' in the archives paid off," I lied smoothly, the story I'd prepared rolling off my tongue.

"I found a reference in an old guild ledger to a rare elix. Mentioned a traveling merchant group that specialized in 'lost' remedies. I... got lucky."

"As I tracked them down at the city's south gate market this morning before I left for the hills. They were just passing through. I bought this with my Academy stipend."

Her hands trembled as she opened the box, revealing the two shimmering, golden vials.

The faint, sweet fragrance of the dew instantly filled the alley.

"It's called 'Sunpetal Dew,'" I continued.

"The merchant said it's for 'mana exhaustion' and 'neural decay.' I don't know if it will work, Elina. I really don't. But the description… it matched what you said about your father."

Elina stared at the vials, and then at me, her eyes filling with tears.

"Michael, I… I can't pay you for this. An elixir this rare, it must have cost…"

"Don't worry about it," I said gruffly, already backing away. The raw gratitude on her face made me profoundly uncomfortable.

"It was just stipend money. And we're friends, right? Just… try it. Let me know if it helps."

"Michael, wait—"

"I have to go," I called over my shoulder, forcing my limp to look more pronounced.

"My father's probably wondering where I am. Let me know!"

I didn't wait for her reply. I rounded the corner, melting back into the flow of the city, leaving her standing in the alley, clutching the box that held her father's life.

Mission accomplished. Now for the final hurdle.

When I pushed open the door to the Willson Guild Hall, the common room fell silent.

My mother, Lilly, was the first to see me. She dropped the tankard she was cleaning, and it clattered loudly on the wooden bar.

"Michael!"

Her shriek brought Darius and Marcus out of the back office in an instant.

All three of them froze, taking in my appearance: the torn tunic, the dirt-caked trousers, the (now-genuine) exhausted pallor, the healing scrape on my forearm.

"By the spirits, boy, what happened?!" Darius boomed, his fatherly concern instantly overriding his guild-master persona.

I leaned heavily against the doorframe, putting on my best 'I'm trying to be tough but I'm in pain' expression.

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"That is not fine!" Lilly cried, rushing over to inspect my torn shoulder.

"You're bleeding! What happened?"

"Just… fell," I rasped, sticking to the alibi.

"I was in that clearing in the Grey Hills, practicing aura control like I said. Lost my footing on some loose gravel near the ridge. Tumbled down the embankment...must've been a good twenty, thirty meters. Hit a few rocks on the way."

I winced, adding a touch of drama.

"Lucky I didn't break my neck."

Lilly looked horrified, immediately fussing,

"Darius, get the healing salve! Marcus, help him to a chair!"

Darius looked skeptical for a split second, his veteran hunter's eyes scanning me for signs of a monster attack – claw marks, bite wounds, mana burns.

He found none. Just scrapes, bruises, and exhaustion. His frown relaxed slightly.

"A fall, huh? You're lucky indeed. Could have been much worse. Those hills are treacherous."

I let Marcus guide me to a chair. As he did, his hand rested on my back, steadying me.

His touch was light, but I felt it – a subtle, probing wisp of something. Not mana as I knew it, but a cultivator's 'Qi' or 'Internal Energy,' perhaps? It brushed over my skin, my muscles, my mana core, assessing my condition with an intimacy that was far more invasive than my father's visual scan.

I tensed, but forced my body to remain limp, projecting only physical fatigue and the dull ache of bruising.

Marcus's hand withdrew. He didn't say anything, his expression perfectly calm as he helped me sit.

But as he turned away to get me a cup of water, his back to me, I saw his eyes narrow just slightly. His lips pressed into a thin, thoughtful line.

He knew.

He didn't know what had happened. He didn't know about the B-Rank guardian or the spatial jumps or the Sunpetal.

But he knew, with the certainty of a seasoned warrior, that my injuries and my profound core-level exhaustion were not the result of a simple tumble down a hill.

The energies were wrong. The fatigue was too deep.

He knew I was lying. He just didn't know why.

He handed me the water, his expression once again that of a concerned older brother. "A nasty fall, little brother," he said, his voice even and warm.

"You should be more careful. Go rest. You look dead on your feet."

The words were brotherly, supportive. But the brief, analytical glance he gave me before turning away was anything but.

"Yeah," I muttered, taking the cup with a trembling hand (which wasn't entirely faked).

"I think I will."

I had survived the vault, and I had delivered the cure. But I had just walked into a new, more subtle kind of danger.

My family was safe, but the web of secrets I was weaving in my own home was growing more tangled—and more precarious—by the day.

(To be continued )

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