Merin steps off the train, and the first thing he does is call his parents.
Ever since the attack, the phone signal had disappeared, only returning as the train entered Nova Super City.
While resting on the train afterwards, he'd overheard whispers—many martial artists believed the attack wasn't natural.
Some claimed they smelled the distinct scent of bait, something used to lure Iron Tusk Boars or White Elephants.
And by some grim twist of fate, both herds had been drawn in.
The battle was won, but the cost was high.
Dozens dead, many more injured.
The Federation announced it would investigate the incident thoroughly.
Merin and a handful of martial artists who had taken down colossal realm beasts were rewarded.
He wasn't the most celebrated, though.
That title went to a trio of brothers, all in the upper Unification Realm.
He heard that they had returned early from the inner zones because the eldest was about to break through to the King Kong Realm.
After the call with his mother ends, Merin steps out of the station and calls for a taxi.
Just as he gets in, his phone rings.
He picks up and hears Evelyn's voice: "Are you okay?"
Sliding into the back seat, Merin replies, "Why wouldn't I be?"
While speaking, he gives the driver the address of the hotel he booked for the week.
He hears Evelyn's worried voice on the other end, "I heard giant beasts attacked the train you were on."
Merin raises an eyebrow. "It's already being reported?"
Evelyn says, "I started panicking when it struck one, and I still couldn't reach you. I asked my father to find out what happened. That's when I heard… it was your train."
Merin hums and turns to look out the window. The nightscape of Nova Super City flashes past—bright towers, quiet streets, flickers of neon against deep shadows.
They continue talking until the taxi pulls up in front of his hotel. Ten minutes later, Merin steps into his room, drops his bag, and heads straight for the shower after ordering dinner.
He hadn't eaten all day, and after that battle, his body demanded both food and rest.
Fresh and clean, he hears a knock and opens the door to receive his meal.
Halfway through his food, his phone rings—it's his mother.
He picks up, and her voice bursts through, "Why didn't you tell us the train was attacked?"
Merin, unfazed, says between bites, "I did. I said the train was late because of a physical issue. Giant boar and elephant herds count as physical problems."
He hears her take a long, shaky breath.
Merin keeps eating in silence, waiting for her next words.
After reassuring his mother that he's safe and well, he ends the call and finishes his food quickly.
Then he sits on the bed, closes his eyes, and lets his mind drift.
He can't help but think—why would anyone guide giant beasts to attack a train?
As far as he knows, there were no important passengers, no high-value cargo.
But the more he recalls, the more it bothers him.
The signal towers were damaged. Martial artists reported the scent of bait.
Two specific herds attacked—Iron Tusk Boars and White Elephants. Only those.
Not a mix. Not random.
It was too targeted. Too clean. Too intentional.
Merin frowns, resting his elbows on his knees.
He turns the questions over for ten minutes, again and again, but finds no answers.
In the end, he exhales sharply and lets it go.
He can't afford to waste time chasing shadows.
If he were in the King Kong realm, the attack wouldn't have even scratched the train.
No one would've died.
And that's the only answer that matters now—
Strength.
All he can do is grow stronger.
Merin searches his bag and takes out five healing potions—his reward for helping defeat the colossal beasts.
He had chosen healing over money or fame.
Sliding open the balcony door, he steps outside and sits down, letting the cool night wind brush against his skin.
He closes his eyes and draws in a long breath of the chilled air, then begins training.
First, the White Light breathing technique—its improved version, refined with the structural sharpness of the third Ice God Palm move.
The cold true energy flows through him like razors wrapped in ice.
Then he shifts to the Blue Light breathing technique, improved similarly using fire-based knowledge.
It burns like molten needles carving paths into his flesh.
His meridians twist and pull, torn by the clashing forces of fire and ice.
He keeps going until he feels his body at the brink of collapse.
Opening his eyes, he glances at his reflection in the sliding glass.
Blood streaks down his arms and neck—his skin ripped in several places from the internal strain.
He drinks a healing potion and sits still, letting the warmth of recovery mend his broken pathways.
Half an hour passes.
He inspects his body carefully.
Every place where his meridians had torn, now slightly thicker, tougher.
Refined through destruction.
After inspecting his body, Merin resumes training, burning through two more healing potions to keep going.
Only when the strain becomes too much does he stop and wash the dried blood from his skin.
Then, exhausted and hollowed out, he falls asleep.
Nine hours later, freshly dressed and fully rested, Merin steps out of the hotel.
Today, he's not headed to the Karst Crystal Research Institute—his start date is tomorrow.
Today is for exploring.
He plans to visit the city's famous landmarks and sample the local food.
In this world, every city is like a nation of its own—its culture, customs, and flavours are distinct.
Yet the language remains the same.
Long ago, humans didn't spread far enough apart to evolve different tongues.
They lived in close-knit tribes, huddled on the upper west coast where six months of cold each year kept the strongest giant beasts away.
Only after martial arts emerged did humanity expand, first into the central region, then down the entire west coast.
But the upper two realms of martial artists live far longer than common people—
And their lasting influence preserved the original language.
Later, when technology connected all the cities, the creation of new languages simply… stopped.
Merin walks the street, heading for the ecological garden just a few minutes from his hotel.
Halfway there, he's forced to stop.
A dark van—like the ones often shown in kidnapping scenes on TV—pulls up beside the footpath.
It stops right in front of him, cutting off his path.
Several men step out and form a loose wall ahead of him.
One says, "Come with us. Someone wants to meet you."
Merin narrows his eyes. "Who?"
Another answers, "Stop asking questions and just come. It's for your own good."
A third adds, "You won't get this opportunity again. We're being polite."
Merin says calmly, "Do you all want to die?"
It's the first time he's been threatened by people from the lower three realms of martial arts.
The first man sneers, "I think you're the one looking to die."
Merin doesn't waste words.
A wisp of white flame curls around his finger, the heat radiating off it like an open furnace.
The men instantly recoil, fear blooming across their faces.
Merin says coldly, "Get lost or get roasted."
They scramble backwards, tripping over each other in panic as they pile into the van and speed away.
Bystanders who had paused to record the scene now gaze in awe at the flickering flame on Merin's fingertip, pointed toward the sky.
He smiles lightly.
The flame vanishes.
And he turns, continuing toward the ecological garden without looking back.
The black van that had tried to intercept Merin veers away and soon enters the private driveway of a sprawling mansion.
One of the men, Cole, gets out and walks to the door.
He knocks once.
After a short delay, the door hisses open, revealing a waist-high service robot with wheels for legs and blinking blue eyes.
Without a word, the robot turns, and Cole follows it through polished hallways into a vast dining room.
A grand table stretches across the centre of the room—large enough to seat fifty guests comfortably.
But only one person sits at its head, leisurely cutting into his meal.
The man doesn't look up as he says, "Cole, did you bring him here?"
Cole steps forward, drops to one knee, and says, "Master Tristan, the mission failed."
He doesn't offer an excuse.
Failure needs no explanation—only punishment.
A plate instantly flies across the room and smashes into Cole's head.
It doesn't injure him—he's a martial artist with reinforced skin—but the sting of humiliation lands deeper than any wound.
Tristan doesn't even pause in slicing into his meal.
Yesterday, Shane failed his mission. I gave him one task: kill everyone on the train. He couldn't even manage that."
He carves another piece from his omelette, made from the eggs of a green ostrich—an extremely rare Titanic realm giant beast.
Tristan asks, "Why did the mission fail?"
Cole remains kneeling, silent. He knows no excuse will matter.
The wall opposite them flickers, transforming into a massive screen. Surveillance footage plays—Cole and his men surrounding a young man on the street.
Adam Taylor.
They demand he come with them.
Then, on Adam's right hand, a wisp of white flame ignites.
Cole and his men stumble back, panic on their faces, scrambling over one another to escape.
The robot's voice fills the room. "Conclusion: The mission failed because Adam Taylor is a Unification Realm martial artist."
Tristan exhales slowly. "Then how do I stop Adam Taylor from joining the Karst Crystal Research Institute?"
The robot replies, "Option one: Meet and negotiate. Option two: Delay his arrival past the scheduled induction. Option three: Eliminate him."
Tristan's fingers tap the edge of his plate. "Let's meet him now."
The robot interjects, "Sir, you have a prior engagement with the Sweetspice girl group."
Tristan frowns. "What's the meeting for?"
Their company seeks investment. They've sent the members to persuade you personally."
Tristan's smirk returns. "Where are they?"
"Golden Bird Room No. 5, Sir."
He rises. "Then I suppose I must attend… It's a very important meeting. Should help me unwind after Cole's failure."
Cole bows lower. "Apologies, Sir."
Tristan walks past him, lifting his bare foot.
Cole kisses it without hesitation.
Tristan smirks and calls over his shoulder, "Tell the kitchen to free my lunch. I'll deal with Adam Taylor later."
As the door closes behind him, Cole rises and turns toward the screen, watching silently as Adam steps into the lush expanse of the Ecological Garden. The feed switches to a live outdoor camera: Adam glancing around, checking the time, searching for a place to eat.
Eventually, he finds it—a tree-shaped café with multiple rooms suspended like pods in the canopy. Merin climbs the spiral path and enters one of the hanging tree houses. The room is nearly full, only one table left unoccupied. He takes it.
A few minutes pass. His coffee arrives first, steaming in a ceramic mug shaped like a curled leaf. Then the noodles, aromatic and steaming, were placed gently in front of him.
Merin eats slowly, savouring the spice and broth, until he notices something strange—one by one, the guests around him begin leaving. Even the staff vanish without a word.
He sets his fork down.
Without shifting his eyes, he opens his biological field—thin threads of perception expanding invisibly around him.
Footsteps.
Two men are climbing the spiral stairs.
He recognises the signature of one of them. One of the men who tried to force him into their van earlier.
The second signature is unfamiliar, but stronger.
This, Merin knows, is the man who sent them.
He spins the noodles again, calmly brings the fork to his mouth, and chews just as the two figures step through the entrance.
He doesn't look at them.
But the second man sits down, directly across from him, hands folded on the table.