I stared at the ceiling of my residence, considering the Guild's offer to cultivate for a month in their Saintly Martial Training Realm. Everything about it felt like a carefully constructed trap. The timing was too perfect—right when the borrowed power I'd gained would be completely gone.
"They think I'm a fool," I muttered, sitting up on my bed.
My instincts screamed danger, yet turning down such an opportunity would raise questions. The Guild rarely extended these invitations, especially to someone they viewed as an enemy. I needed to tread carefully.
A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I called.
Frederick Cohen stepped inside, his expression unusually serious. "Got a minute?"
"Sure." I gestured for him to sit. Our relationship had been strained since my return from the last Mystic Realm, but his warning about yesterday's assembly suggested he might be shifting allegiances.
