The archery range? Boring.

Thanks to my vector awareness, I already knew the trajectory of every arrow before I even released it. The air currents in my aura? Mapped out. The exact point of impact? Predetermined. I wasn't aiming—I was calculating.

When I activated my Shell, my arrows multiplied, forming three phantasmal duplicates. As always, they created a chaotic three-body orbit, twisting and spiraling unpredictably in the air—at least, to everyone else watching. To me? It was just another equation.

Three arrows. Three bullseyes. Three separate targets.

The range fell silent for a moment before someone broke it with an excited shout.

"Yo! Walker Alex, right?! What ability was that? Please tell me you have a copy!"

A figure sprinted toward me, shaking my hand with ferocious enthusiasm. His grip was borderline violent.

"You do have a copy of that, right?"

I blinked at him, slightly overwhelmed. Outgoing was an understatement.

He grinned. "You remember me, right? I'm Arvin!"

Ah. Arvin. The same blonde-haired archer who had been trying to recruit me into his archery club. I nodded.

"I remember. No, I don't have a copy. It's an ability from my first Shell."

His expression fell for a split second before recovering.

"Damn, that's a shame. Duplication abilities with that kind of efficiency are rare. Was hoping you'd tell me so I could hunt it down for my own Shell."

I raised an eyebrow. "What number are you on?" Then, realizing how blunt that sounded, I quickly added, "Sorry—forgive my rudeness."

Arvin laughed it off. "Nah, not rude. I'm currently 5-9. Hoping my sixth Shell will have something like that." His eyes gleamed with curiosity. "I take it you picked up something unique for handling an Abbess that early?"

My expression flattened. "…How'd you hear about that?"

Arvin just shook his head, chuckling. His long blonde hair swayed with the movement, his confidence borderline insufferable.

"Rookie. Rookie. You gotta understand—when you look this good, you don't bother with things like secrecy."

I opened my mouth to respond—only to be interrupted by a strong, calloused hand gripping his collar from behind.

The muscular, short-haired woman from before—Leona—dragged him to the side.

"Oh? And when you look that good, do you also avoid your wife?"

Arvin froze.

"What? No, dear. Not at all. I'd never avoid you."

Leona's dark brown eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of mischief and menace.

"Is that so? Because you've neglected five training sessions. And yet, the one time you decide to show up—it's conveniently the session I'm not scheduled in."

Her voice turned syrupy sweet. "I wonder…why that is?"

Arvin, the extra-large mouse, let out a nervous laugh, while Leona, the hungry cat, prepared to pounce.

He stammered. Hard.

"Oh. You two got married." I blinked, my brain catching up. "I know we only met briefly before my encounter with the Abbess, but—congratulations."

At that, Leona dipped into a deep, formal bow, her movements precise and full of intent.

"We are honored to have your congratulations."

Then, without hesitation, she continued, her tone shifting into something far too casual for my comfort.

"I've heard you have a bit of a diplomatic promotion upcoming. Is that true? Have you picked out your Courtesy Name? And—who's going to be your first, second, and third wives?"

I nodded to the first two questions, my brain still in normal processing mode.

Then I hit a wall.

"Wait. What?"

Leona's expression remained matter-of-fact.

"You'll be a Marquis. Or a Prince, as they call it. This means you'll be bound by both of our laws. Since you hold a rank above Earl, you'll not only be expected to take multiple wives—but required to." She tilted her head slightly. "And since you're joining the Queendom, you must marry."

Meanwhile, Arvin was still struggling in her grip, flailing like a fish on land. Eventually, he broke free, stumbling back as he clutched his neck.

"Dominus Demeterra, woman! Your grip is a vice!"

Leona gave him an utterly predatory smile. "Oh? I thought you liked the fact I had a strong grip."

Arvin flushed deep red, turning away as he grumbled. "Not. Here."

Shaking his head furiously, he turned back to me, clearly desperate for a topic change.

"Walker Alexander—if you've chosen your Courtesy Name, would you do us the honors of telling us what you've picked?"

I exhaled slowly, preparing myself.

"Kevkebyem Lekvedye…" I bit my tongue. Wincing, I corrected myself. "Kevkebyem Lekvedyem Benyeyr."

The pronunciation was a disaster. My Bastian sounded mechanical, like I had ripped it straight from an auto-translator—which, technically, I had. My speech was stiff, my tone robotic, and my rhythm painfully unnatural.

Leona's expression barely changed, but I caught the slight crease in her brow.

"You…really need to work on that." She dipped her head in a softer, more personal bow. "I'd highly suggest hiring a tutor as soon as you can."

I grimaced. "Tutors cost money…"

Leona hummed knowingly. "Right. You had that Skillcube that ate money, didn't you?"

Arvin, now fully recovered, whistled as he let loose an arrow at a moving target so fast I couldn't even register it. These weren't standard training targets—they were set at speeds meant for someone four Soul Realms above me.

"Does it still do that in the Shell?" He asked, releasing another arrow effortlessly.

I hesitated. "Kind of? It doesn't eat money anymore, per se, but it still consumes a resource."

Leona let out a short laugh. "That's always the preferred outcome…" She exhaled. "I can speak from experience there. Having to eat Moonstone every week was not fun."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

I blinked. Moonstone.

A natural alloy of steel—only once it had absorbed moonlight from all of the moons, and their moons, during a lunar eclipse. While easy enough to create, the process was impossible to speed up.

My gaze flicked to her unshaken expression.

She had to eat that regularly? What kind of skillcube required Moonstone consumption?

***

Waiting for my meeting with the Green Joker's Guildmaster was just as dull as training.

The actual meeting?

Not so much.

And not for the greatest of reasons.

To start, the guildmaster was a younger elf. That in itself wasn't an issue. What was an issue was his reputation—one that he had earned through nothing but sheer entitlement and opportunism.

The moment he spoke, I felt a headache forming.

"Greetings, Walker Alexander. I am Guildmaster Brynth. Leader by both birthright and election of the Green Jokers."

His voice was unbearably stuffy, haughty, and drowning in self-importance. It made me want to vomit.

I kept my face blank, offering the required formalities.

"This one introduces himself as Kevkebyem Lekvedyem Benyeyr."

I gave a polite bow, styled in the Free City Alliance's manner, while maintaining the formal introduction required of me in Bast.

The elf sneered. "Oh? Already seeing yourself as a bastard, are you? Taking on their names and cultures while mixing ours? Typical Walker traitor behavior."

I breathed in, slowly.

Do not strangle the elf. Do not create a torrent of paper parasites to bury into the elf. Do not entomb the elf in a crystal pit of mouths.

I ran through an entire catalog of things I wanted to do to this child—but didn't. Instead, I waited. Let him get to the point.

"I've called this meeting because I have a proposition for you." He leaned back, gesturing lazily. "You see, I have a friend who would love to join a—"

I held up my hand.

"I decline."

He stopped mid-sentence, blinking.

I continued, my voice sharp and clipped. "I do not care for your politics, your treatment, or your attempts to curry favor with me. I will be candid, as the guilds prefer. You have wasted your time requesting this meeting, especially after how you just treated me. As such, I invoke the Rite of Refusal."

The color drained from his face. His sneer warped into a scowl.

"You wouldn't dare."

His voice dropped into a snarl, his lips curling as if he'd been personally offended.

I met his glare head-on, my expression unwavering. "I would. Would you dare deny one of the Archduke's laws, may they ever be carved in the marble?"

His eyes twitched. His bravado cracked.

And I saw him for what he truly was.

Soul Realm 3. No Truth.

Which meant only one thing—he had paid others to carry him through Otherrealms.

People like me.

He realized, belatedly, that he had no leverage.

"Would you risk being blacklisted by all the entertainment districts in the entirety of the Free City Alliance?!" He shouted, his voice high and shrill—a tantrum, plain and simple.

I didn't even blink. "Would you risk being blacklisted by the Senate?"

His jaw snapped shut.

His threat was feeble. Laughable, really. I had already invoked the Rite of Refusal. If he denied that, he would be stripping his own authority bare for all to see.

Before I even walked in, I knew I outranked him.

He was a city-wide asset to Junnum.

I?

I was a Walker.

An international asset with the highest authority over caravans, roads—everything.

"You wouldn't…"

I cut him off.

I wasn't interested in hearing another word.

With a flick of my wrist, I confirmed the Gloss recording had been sent to the Senate.

Standing up, I turned and walked out the door.

Two men in black suits replaced me, stepping inside without a word.

Behind me, Brynth let out a panicked yelp as they dragged him away.

[You have obtained the Skills: Diplomacy, Intimidation, and Interrogation.]

***

To round out a boring day, of course, I had the most exciting task waiting for me at the end of it.

Paperwork.

And somehow, despite my Arte literally allowing me to move paper at will, despite my speed-reading ability working at its peak, not a single part of the task was even remotely enjoyable.

From signing off on my monthly stipend and salary requests to approving the acquisition forms for Ten, V, Fractal, and the rest of my party, it was all the same monotonous drudgery.

Ultimately—it just wasn't fun.

Sensing my growing frustration, Fractal fluttered into the office in her bird form, the shimmering hues of her feathers flashing in the candlelight. As soon as she landed on my desk, she shifted, feathers melting into skin as she took on her humanoid form.

"Ooh! Ooh! I got it! I got the rest of the pieces for that game!"

Her voice was a rapid-fire burst of excitement as she bounced in place, barely containing herself.

"It turns out, you're supposed to make your own cards for the game! The mana pieces from Myne are just there to help beginners learn how their mana functions. But the real game? You input your skillcubes, arte, Shells—everything! Each person's deck is highly personalized because the entire game was apparently made through an Arte! Isn't that wild? An Arte that became a game! Or was it a game that became an Arte?"

She chittered on, an endless ball of energy, whether in her bird form or human form.

I watched her, noting, not for the first time, that her humanoid form was... appealing.

But it wasn't quite my type.

For starters, she was tall—easily just under two meters.

Second, her hair was her metallic feathers. They weren't exactly soft—unless she was molting. That said, they were entrancing to look at, especially with the way they caught the light, shimmering in waves of color.

And yet…

I remembered reading that article from before—the one about how Spirit Beasts chose their humanoid forms.

Which meant, if she hadn't taken this form based on my subconscious preferences…

"…Fractal, do you have someone you're seeing romantically?"

She didn't even hesitate.

"Yup."

I nodded. That made sense.

I had been gone for a year. She had been my protector for that entire time, pulling me out of the hells of that library again and again.

It was only natural.

And yet, I still asked, "Who?"

Fractal's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "You wouldn't like him, though. Mostly because you wouldn't like where I met him."

I narrowed my eyes. "…Oh?"

She tilted her head, the mask-like haze over her face shifting playfully. "Yeah. His name is Sven. Vanitas introduced him to me."

My pen slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the desk.

I exhaled through my nose, rolling my shoulders back. Calm. Stay calm. This was Fractal. She wouldn't lie to me. She couldn't lie to me. Our bond wouldn't allow it. But that didn't mean I had to like what I was hearing.

"Sven," I repeated, tasting the name, weighing it. "And I'm supposed to know who that is?"

Fractal's smirk grew. "Not yet. But you will."

I frowned. "You sound like Vanitas."

She laughed at that, the sound like wind chimes shaking in a storm. "I've spent enough time around him. It rubs off."

I didn't like that. Not at all.

"I saw that name in a book," I muttered. "A book of potential futures."

Fractal cocked her head, the shifting haze of her mask curling like smoke. "Oh? Then you already knew this was coming."

"No. I saw a name." I ran a hand through my hair. "I didn't expect it to be dropped in front of me like this."

"Then consider it a gift."

"A gift?" I scoffed. "Fractal, you just told me you're seeing someone Vanitas introduced you to. In the Halls. Do you not see why I might be a little... concerned?"

She tilted her head, then shrugged. "I see it. I just don't think you need to be."

Of course she didn't.

I leaned forward, resting my palms against the desk. "Fine. Then tell me. Who is he?"

Fractal's eyes glowed, shimmering through hues of deep violet and electric blue. "Sven is... interesting."

That was not an answer.

I narrowed my eyes. "Fractal."

She tapped her fingers together, a rare moment of hesitation crossing her face. "I don't think you should meet him yet."

That threw me off. "What?"

"Not yet." Her gaze met mine, something sharp behind the mirth. "You're not ready."

I felt something cold coil in my gut.

Not ready?

The last time someone told me I wasn't ready, I walked into a realm that nearly broke me. The time before that, I cracked open a cursed book that rewrote my very being.

I hated those words. I hated them so much.

I pushed off my desk, crossing my arms. "Fractal. I want the truth. Who is he?"

She hesitated again. Then, softly, she said—

"Someone you'll fight beside. Or against. Depending on the choices you make."

That was worse than any answer she could've given.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.