[Lunia Inner City, Southport Manor]
The heavy oak door of the Southport manor opened, revealing the warm, firelit interior. Greem staggered across the threshold, his breathing ragged. Vanessa's unconscious form was a dead weight on his back, her arms dangling over his shoulders. The coppery smell of her blood cut through the homely scent of baking bread.
"Greem!" Clara exclaimed, jumping up from a chair. Her smile of relief vanished instantly, replaced by wide-eyed horror; "By the gods! What happened? Bring father! Now!"
Their mother, Elara, emerged from the kitchen, her hands still dusted with flour. Her cheerful greeting died in her throat. Without a word, she turned and rushed to fetch bandages and water.
The commotion brought Arthur Southport down the stairs, his face shifting from curiosity to grave concern in an instant. His merchant's eyes, sharp and assessing, took in the scene: his son, streaked with dirt and sweat, and the tall, armored woman bleeding on his floor.
"Is that Vanessa Tyrien? One of the town watch knights?" Arthur asked, his voice low and steady as he moved to help Greem lower her gently onto a long bench.
'As expected,' Greem thought, even as he panted for effect. 'Vanessa is known in the high circles of Lunia'
He then began his act. He let his shoulders slump, his voice trembling with manufactured shock. "Wolves… a mutant, a magical beast… it came out of nowhere on the road back to town" He looked at his father, his eyes wide with feigned terror. "Vanessa… she fought it… she killed it, but…" He let a choked sob escape. "Please… you have to save her, Father!"
The lie flowed easily. A mutant beast was a common enough danger near the forbidden mountains to be believable, and it explained the brutal, unnatural nature of her wounds.
And just like that, everyone was fooled. Their concern for Vanessa and trust in Greem overrode any suspicion. Arthur, who had trained as a physician to better manage his medicinal herb trade, began barking orders.
"Elara, my kit! Clara, boil water and tear clean linens!"
As his family burst into a flurry of activity around Vanessa, Greem stepped back, allowing a mask of exhausted worry to settle on his face. Internally, he was coldly assessing. His father's skills were decent, but he knew the truth. Without the [Hemostasis Potion] from the Association, Vanessa's survival would have been a fifty fifty. With the potion, she would have been fine with the bare treatment he had given her, not to mention under the trained hands of a physician like his father.
The difference between life and death lied in one item, a medium-grade hemostasis potion. This was how wondrous the effects of alchemy were, and how strong the Association was.
Seeing Vanessa was in capable hands, Greem slipped away upstairs to his room, the weight of the night's true events—the ambush, the killing, the rewards—settling upon him. The mask of the concerned friend and son could finally drop, his face returning to its cold, almost cruel normal self.
The first rays of sun were piercing his eyelids when Greem finally surfaced. He sat on the floor of his room, the [Breath of the Dusk Hound] scroll resting in his lap. The entire night had vanished.
He had begun practicing the technique. The instructions were simple: a pattern of short, sharp inhales followed by long, silent exhales, visualising the patient, predatory breath of a shadow hound on the hunt.
Unlike the meditative state for magic, this was about rhythm and control, about making the body still yet flexible, organised yet natural.
He had fallen into the rhythm easily.
There was no bright light or feeling of cleansing.
Instead, a cool, focused calm had settled over him. His breathing had grown shallow, his heartbeat slowing to a steady, powerful drum.
It felt… natural. Like a part of him he never knew was missing had clicked into place.
When he finally opened his eyes, his body felt different. Not sore or raw, but tight and ready. His muscles felt like coiled springs.
The faint ache from the previous day's fight was gone. Most strikingly, the shadows in the corners of his room seemed deeper, more defined. He stood, his movements fluid and silent. He felt alert, predatory.
"Is it… sunrise already?" he murmured, shocked at the lost time.
He pulled up his status screen, curious.
[New Skill Acquired: Breath of the Dusk Hound]
[Agility rises slightly...]
[Vitality rises slightly...]
[Strength rises slightly...]
[Skill Proficiency: 8]
A genuine, sharp-toothed smile touched Greem's lips. No warnings. No conflict. Just pure, addictive attribute gains.
'No wonder they say breathing techniques are key to knighthood', Greem anaylsed
Vanessa, Emma, the brothers from the Demon Turtle Party...All possessed a breathing technique they practiced on a daily basis. This was complementary with physical exercise, and allowed them to overcome regular limits. It brought a cell-level physique enhancement, one that Greem could barely hold excitement of.
'How long will I need to catch up to Emma?', Greem wondered, immediately setting his goal. Unlike Vanessa who possessed low affinity in the Earth Element and grade 1 talent, the worst of all, Greem did not need to become a body refinement acolyte.
After all, focusing on one path was already difficult enough, and time consuming enough that diverging from this goal of elementary magic was not necessarily the answer. However, with knights surrounding him and a ring that allowed him to keep track of his progress and grow faster than the average human, Greem would be damned if he did not take advantage of this artefact.