Chapter 122: The Road Ahead!

By the time they returned to Norcrest, dusk had already settled over the city.

For a triumph of this scale, their return was unexpectedly quiet.

No flowers.

No red carpet.

No crowds filling the streets to welcome them home.

Even the convoy entered the Antares Command base through a side gate without drawing attention.

That was what Manester wanted.

Joren agreed.

Inside the Frontier Marshal’s office, Joren sank deep into the soft leather chair, a cup of steaming tea resting in one hand.

Beyond the enormous window, Norcrest glittered beneath the night.

Countless lights stretched across the city.

Looking at them, who would have guessed that only a few hundred kilometers away, a battle worthy of the history books had just ended?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door opened.

Manester walked in carrying a thick document folder and dropped onto the sofa.

"Everything is arranged."

Fatigue showed on his face, but it could not hide the energy in his eyes.

"Sable has been given somewhere to rest. That bastard is somehow more impatient than we are. Says he is staying up tonight to finish his report and send it straight to Highcrest City."

His expression grew more serious.

"Kyo and I talked it over."

"Reclaiming that Fallen Zone is too big."

"Far too big for Norcrest to swallow by itself."

That was simply reality.

Taking the territory back was one thing.

What came afterward was another problem entirely.

How would the ruins be rebuilt?

Who would receive the resources inside?

Who would control the territory?

And most importantly, Norcrest did not have enough people.

Throwing three thousand Antares Command soldiers across an area that large would barely make a dent. Forget administration. They could not even properly garrison it.

Manester gestured toward the city outside.

"And if we start shouting about this right now, every satellite city nearby is going to smell blood."

"Then every bastard with an excuse will show up looking for a share."

"We would only make things harder for ourselves."

His fingers tapped the folder.

"Better to wait until the annual review meeting."

Joren smiled.

Old fox.

It was cautious, but more importantly, it left Norcrest in the best position to control whatever came next.

"Fine. I will leave it to you."

Joren set down his tea.

"I will stay out of sight for the next few days anyway. Gives me time to recover."

"Good."

Manester stood and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.

"You actually need the rest."

"Take these three days and get yourself back into shape."

Then he left.

The office fell quiet again.

Joren rose and walked over to the window.

His reflection stared back from the glass.

Seventeen years old.

It had only been half a month since he arrived in this world.

He had gone from a high school student expelled from school, working in a slaughterhouse just to get by...

To the Frontier Marshal of an entire city.

A Rank Five expert.

The whole thing felt absurd enough to belong in a dream.

Except Joren knew better.

None of it had been given to him.

He had cut his way here.

Blade after blade.

Voidbeast after Voidbeast.

Blood paving every step.

"Whew..."

A long breath left him.

For the first time in days, the tension that had been wound through his body finally loosened.

Fatigue followed almost immediately.

There was only one thing capable of making that exhaustion disappear just as fast.

Rewards.

"System."

The familiar pale blue panel opened across his vision.

Rows of data appeared.

Joren stared at them for a moment.

Then his heartbeat quickened.

He was rich.

Properly rich this time.

[Host: Joren]

[Realm: Early stage Rank Five]

[Mental Force: 10000, Rank Four Psionic Master]

[Combat Art: Myriad Manifestations Art, 1840/100000]

What interested him most was the Talent section.

After the slaughter in the Fallen Zone, it had been almost completely rebuilt.

The old blue Talents were gone, either fused or evolved.

In their place stood row after row of purple.

And above them all, a single orange Talent.

[Unnameable Form, Purple, Mutated]

A gift from the corrupted Shadow Fiend.

[Sanity Collapse] turned perception itself into a weapon. Anyone who looked at Joren or sensed him risked having their mind torn apart.

[Void Feast] made killing feed him in return.

As long as blood kept flowing, so did his recovery.

[Sovereign of the Skies, Purple, Flight]

Taken from the Golden Dragon Falcon.

Together with [Garuda Skyfall Wings], his aerial speed had become absurd. Mach 20 bursts, spatial movement within sight, and enough mobility that very few people in the world could realistically chase him down if he decided to leave.

Then there was [Glacial Boneplate], giving him both defense and large scale control.

[Voidshadow Execution], built for concealment, sudden movement, and lethal attacks from unexpected angles.

[Asura War Soul], which turned a desperate battle into exactly the sort of place where he became hardest to kill.

Strength.

Defense.

Speed.

Burst power.

Control.

Area attacks.

Survival.

Joren went through the entire system one piece at a time.

It covered almost everything.

And then there was the most important part.

Orange.

[Peerless Blade Saint].

The first Talent of that grade he had ever seen.

It had not merely strengthened him.

It had pushed him into Blade Intent and allowed him to create a Bladecraft that belonged entirely to himself.

[Final Edict].

He had already tested its power.

At full strength, even a Rank Six Awakened Warrior would probably think twice before trying to meet that blade directly.

Joren leaned back slightly.

Perfect.

Almost unfairly perfect.

His gaze finally moved to the bottom of the panel.

[Current Bloodstars: 53800]

After evolving his Talents again and again, more than fifty thousand still remained.

A number like that would once have had him grinning for hours.

Now?

It did not look nearly as large.

The stronger he became, the more Bloodstars every meaningful improvement demanded.

Another orange Talent would cost one hundred thousand.

Breaking from Rank Five into Rank Six would require close to the same.

From this point onward, any major increase in strength would begin at six figures.

Fifty three thousand eight hundred suddenly looked rather modest.

Joren decided to keep it.

There was no need to spend Bloodstars just because he had them.

If something went wrong, converting them into strength would only take an instant anyway.

He closed the system panel and returned to his chair.

There was still a long road ahead.

That did nothing to diminish the satisfaction sitting quietly in his chest.

Power that belonged entirely to him.

Power no one could confiscate, vote away, freeze, inherit, or revoke.

There was something addictive about that.

In a world like this, authority could vanish.

Status could vanish.

Money could become worthless overnight.

Only strength stayed with you when everything else was stripped away.

"Three days..."

Joren tapped one finger against the desk.

Highcrest City.

The center of the entire province.

A place crowded with powerful people, larger factions, better resources, and talents who had spent their whole lives believing they stood at the top.

Joren glanced over his current set of abilities once more.

A faint smile appeared.

Keep a low profile?

That might be difficult when his strength refused to cooperate.

If this world still followed the law of the jungle, where the strong ate and the weak were eaten, then there was no reason to remain on a small stage forever.

Highcrest City was larger.

Which meant there would be more people worth meeting.

More things worth taking.

And perhaps a few important figures who needed to learn exactly what Joren looked like when he arrived.

That should be interesting.