Chapter 506: Grave Of Nonagon

Session complete.]

[Return to the staging area or continue to another session?]

Seeing this Bruce looked at the others.

"Do you guys want to rest, or continue?" he asked.

"Continue," Kael said. "I want to test the three-layer flame against something that can resist heat."

"Me too," Theron agreed. "I want to practice choosing-cuts against faster beasts."

"Agreed."

Bruce selected the next session and configured it for faster beasts and mixed types, with two parallel groups to force them to split their attention.

They trained for the full three hours.

By the end of the session, Bruce had tested the duration of his enhancement seals. Kael's seal faded at roughly the two-hour mark, while Theron's lasted closer to two and a half hours. The difference suggested that a seal's longevity was influenced by the recipient's own capacity to sustain it.

He had also tested first-principle writing against beasts with varying degrees of resistance, identified which seals worked best in different situations, and developed three new combat formations with Kael and Theron that made full use of their enhancements.

Kael, meanwhile, had tested his three-layer flame against heat-resistant beasts and found it significantly more effective than his single-layer flame.

The outer layers burned through the beasts' heat resistance, and by the time the creatures began adapting, the innermost and hottest layer had already penetrated their defenses.

It was a technique Kael had been developing in theory for days.

Now, he had proven it in actual combat.

Theron had pushed his choosing-cuts against increasingly difficult targets. The pure-reaper work that had first appeared yesterday had deepened considerably.

He was now routinely finding killing points that preserved more of a beast's body, leaving more essence intact for absorption and more usable parts for sale.

His scythe moved with growing authority.

When the final session ended, the three of them stepped into the staging area, tired but satisfied.

The pillar flashed a summary across its surface, a concise report of the day's training, including the types of beasts they had fought, the techniques they had used, and recommended areas for further practice.

Bruce read it with interest.

The report was more detailed than he had expected.

It noted that he had used first-principle writing twenty-three times and that his average energy expenditure per use had decreased by nearly ten percent over the course of the session as he refined his technique.

It also noted that his accuracy with target seals had reached the threshold for intermediate-level inscription work.

Then Bruce saw something he had not expected.

Observation: Participant Bruce Ackerman displays consistent fabric-level resonance with written constructs.

Recommendation: Library of Small Voices, Aisle Sixteen. Texts concerning fabric-adjacent talent development.

Bruce read the lines twice.

The pillar, the training facility's equipment, presumably connected to the city's broader systems, had recognized what his talent was.

More importantly, it had recommended the exact archive aisle containing records related to the phenomenon.

The city's infrastructure knew what he was.

Bruce filed the information away.

He did not yet know whether the observation was significant beyond the facility's standard assessment procedures, nor whether it would be reported anywhere beyond the pillar's internal records.

But one thing was clear.

The city's training facilities could recognize his talent category.

Which meant information about him was circulating through the city's systems whether he liked it or not.

He stepped away from the pillar.

Kael, who had been reading the summary over his shoulder, spoke quietly.

"That recommendation is specific."

"It is."

"And the pillar knows what you are."

"The pillar knows. The city's systems know. Which means any Nonagon member with access to those systems knows."

Kael's expression tightened.

"Which means Sisel Marn probably knows."

"Which means Sisel Marn almost certainly knows," Bruce corrected. "If she didn't already."

"Does that change anything?"

Bruce considered the question.

"No. We were already operating under the assumption that she'd eventually find out. This simply confirms it."

He glanced toward the portal.

"The sponsorship is still our shield. The plan remains the same."

They thanked the staging attendant and stepped through the portal back into Xiltra.

The guard stationed at the Proving Ground nodded as they passed.

"Good training?"

"Good training."

"Come back anytime."

They headed toward the Guild district as the late afternoon settled over the city.

Bruce's thoughts remained on the pillar's recommendation.

He wanted to return to the Library and examine the fabric-adjacent talent texts it had pointed him toward.

He had already read Elenora's papers and the observations surrounding Case Six yesterday, but those had been personal records. The texts in Aisle Sixteen would likely approach the subject from a more theoretical perspective.

There could be studies on how fabric-adjacent talents developed across different ranks. Case studies from other cities. Perhaps even manuscripts written by souls who had explored the theoretical question Yolen had raised regarding the relationship between talent and base-language.

There was enough potential information to make another visit worthwhile.

He would return to the Library tomorrow if possible.

For now, however, they needed to eat.

Market. Food. Study.

He mentioned his plan to Kael and Theron as they walked.

Both agreed.

After a moment, Theron spoke quietly.

"Can we also do a short Deepwood hunt tomorrow? The guard said it might reopen by then."

"We can check," Bruce said. "If the portal is open, we'll make a short hunt in the morning and visit the Library in the afternoon."

"And if it's still closed?"

"Library in the morning. Proving Ground or the stone dungeon in the afternoon."

He shrugged.

"Either way, we have options."

"Alright."

They crossed into the market square.

...

The quiet observer with the tea cup was at the same counter.

Bruce noticed him from thirty paces away.

Same soul.

Older.

The same thoughtful quality that had set him apart from the ordinary watchers yesterday.

He was sitting at the same counter, holding the same small cup, watching the square with the deliberate, unhurried attention of a man who had chosen his seat because it offered clear sightlines to several entrances.

Today, however, when Bruce and his companions entered the square, the observer's eyes tracked them deliberately.

Then Bruce sensed a small, intentional shift.

The observer stood.

He began walking toward them.

Kael, whose perception enhancement was still fading but remained active, spoke quietly.

"He's coming."

"I see."

"Elenora's letter."

"The person she expected to move later."

"Grave Ondar's intermediary?"

"Or Grave himself. I don't know yet."

The observer approached at an unhurried pace.

He crossed the market square diagonally, taking a route that would naturally intersect with theirs without making his intention obvious.

When he reached them, he stopped at a polite distance of roughly five paces.

He raised one hand in a small, formal gesture, palm outward.

"Bruce Ackerman," he said.

His voice was low and dry, carrying a faint accent Bruce could not place.

"May I have a short conversation?"

Bruce studied him.

The observer was older than most souls in the square, or at least appeared so. His face was lined and spare, carrying the weathered quality of someone who had spent a long time living before death.

His clothes were plain.

Not Caelen's deliberately inconspicuous plainness.

Not Elenora's carefully chosen lack of distinction.

Just ordinary.

He carried himself without weight, yet there was something difficult to overlook about him.

Bruce estimated him to be A-rank based on his glow.

Possibly S-rank, if the man was deliberately suppressing it.

It was difficult to tell.

The observer did not radiate hostility.

But neither did he give off the feeling of a friend.

He carried the aura of something harder to categorize.

Bruce nodded once.

"A short conversation," he said. "Here, where I can see you. Not somewhere private."

"Of course."

The observer gave a faint nod.

"I would have preferred the same."

He did not come any closer.

He simply remained where he was.

"My name is Mord," he said. "I serve Grave Ondar as his occasional eyes."

His gaze remained on Bruce.

"I am not his intermediary in the formal sense. Grave does not use intermediaries for most matters."

A faint pause.

"But I am what he sends when he wants to look at someone before deciding whether to approach them himself."

"Elenora predicted that Grave would want to look at us."

"Elenora predicts most things my employer does correctly. She knows him well. That is because she has known him for a very long time."

Bruce noted the phrasing.

A very long time.

According to Elenora's papers, Grave Ondar had been a member of the Nonagon for more than three centuries. If Elenora had known him for a long time, that meant decades at the very least.

Possibly most of her political life.

"What does Grave want to look at?" Bruce asked.

"You, specifically."

Mord's expression remained neutral.

"He has been informed about the orb overload. He has been informed about your talent category. He has also been informed that Elenora Vessa has sponsored you under her personal seal."

A faint pause.

"He finds that combination of facts interesting."

"Interesting enough to send you to look."

"Interesting enough to send me. Yes."

"And what have you concluded after looking at us?"

Mord smiled faintly.

"That I have not finished looking."

His gaze moved briefly across Bruce, Kael, and Theron before returning to Bruce.

"You are not a soul who can be understood after two days of observation. But I have learned enough to recommend that Grave meet you himself."

Bruce felt his hand instinctively wanting to close into the fist signal.

He deliberately kept it open at his side.

"When would he like to meet?"

"At your convenience."

Mord's tone remained calm.

"Grave is not in a hurry. He has lived long enough to find other people's urgency amusing. He would meet you whenever you are willing."

He paused.

"But I will tell you honestly: Grave does not meet souls like you lightly. If he agrees to meet you, it will be for reasons he considers substantial. He does not meet casually."

"What does he want to talk about?"

Mord was silent for a moment.

"That is for him to say."

He regarded Bruce thoughtfully.

"I will tell you only this. Grave Ondar is the oldest member of the Nonagon and the one who has engaged in the most Codex conversations throughout his career. He has spent a very long time thinking about questions that most souls at his rank never bother to ask."

Mord's eyes narrowed slightly.

"If you meet him, those questions are what he will want to discuss."