Percival could push on, grind endlessly, but the gains had been depleted so much that it was barely worth the effort.
No, it was time to call it a night.
Nevertheless, he had no plans to go to sleep just yet.
He still had to train, to understand the two warring oceans of mana within him
And to make them one tide.
Percival rose from the thin tree, turned his back on the Gate World, and stepped into the quiet night.
He left the Skeleton Guard by the Gate.
Since access to an owned Gate World required magical consent, illegal entry was impossible; the Skeleton's main role was to collect payment, not defend.
It was only minutes after six-dark, yet the streets of Withercrook were as dark as midnight, with no lamps lighting his path.
Only the faint blue glow from the burning bones of his Skeleton Soldiers illuminated his way as he walked down the stony street.
A cool breeze whispered from the graveyard. The evening was silent.
As Percival disappeared down the lightless avenue, back at the tree, a shadow moved.
It coalesced, turning into a tangible thing, and out of it, a figure stirred.
A girl. Cloaked in dark fabric, a hood drawn low to conceal all but the sharp silver of her eyes.
She observed him. Quietly. Intensely. Her gaze traced his retreating figure until he vanished around a corner with his Skeletons.
Then, without a sound, she melted into a puff of shadowy smoke, dissipating into the night like a wisp of dark mist.
Like she was never there.
Moments later, she reappeared inside a grand chamber, a part of a large mansion.
It was a study, rich with high-grade timber shelves burdened by ancient tomes and scrolls that were neatly stacked beside flickering candles.
Heavy velvet drapes half-obscured tall windows, and a great oaken desk sprawled with manuscripts, ink pots, and curious artifacts.
Behind the desk stood Grigor, who set aside his tomes and adjusted his expensive robes at the sight of the girl.
"Daughter," he said.
"Father," said the girl.
Her voice was softer, gentler than the stillness of the vast room.
She drew back her hood to reveal a face of sharp, elegant beauty. Dark neck-length hair, thin gentle lips, a soft face, and eyes the color of a clear river.
Grigor closed a tome, carefully aligning it with the others.
"So," he began, steepling his fingers. "How fares our dear Hero, Percival of the Outworlds?"
The girl sat by the firelight. "He cleared a D-Rank Gate World," she said. "On his own."
Grigor's brows shot up with immediate interest. "On his own?" he repeated. "But don't D-Rank Gate Worlds require a full party of Level 20 Awakeners?"
"Yes," she said, watching him carefully, "but he did it by himself."
"Fascinating," Grigor breathed, almost to himself. "How curious. Now I truly wish to know the true extent of his power."
"It has something to do with skeletons," the girl reported. "He commands a small army of them. Skeleton soldiers."
This time, Grigor's surprise deepened visibly. "Skeleton soldiers? You mean… thin bony men? Or the actual undead?"
She fixed him with a steady look. "It was the undead, father. They were real skeletons clad in armor and wielding weapons. The army grew each time he came out of the Gate, and they obeyed his every command."
Grigor ran a hand through his hair. Now, his disbelief had folded into a form of pure fascination.
"This Necromancer class... It must be a Summoner type, then. One that calls the undead. A kind of… death Mage?"
"What else did you see, daughter?"
His curiosity was now urgent, hungry.
The girl thought for a while, her eyes glistening with her own questions.
"He owns the Gate World now," she said. "And refused to sell it to the Golden Spire Guild when they approached him."
"Isn't he supposed to sell his claim to the Baron?" Grigor inquired, narrowing his eyes.
"The Baron of Withercrook has been missing for a while now," she reminded him.
Recognition flickered in Grigor's expression. "Ah, yes. Of course." He pondered for a moment.
"That could become a significant political issue for him. If we were to help him settle it... perhaps he would find himself in our debt."
He looked back at his daughter, stepping closer. "Nessa, is that all you learned?"
She glanced away for a moment before replying, "He's already reached Lvl. 15."
The small smile on his face vanished, replaced by pure, unvarnished shock.
"Lvl. 15?" Grigor repeated, his voice a whisper of disbelief. "Are you certain?"
Nessa looked up at him. "Yes, father. He entered the Gate World at Lvl. 1 and kept grinding relentlessly. It was…"
She fell silent.
"As if what, daughter?"
She met his eyes again. "It felt like he was racing against time to grow stronger."
Grigor's shock was a tangible thing.
"Lvl. 15?" He placed a thinking finger on his chin.
"In mere hours after Awakening? Not even a full day? That is unheard of."
He paced slowly before the fire as his daughter watched.
"Even as an outworlder, he seems unnervingly knowledgeable about our world and our ways. To clear a Gate solo, to understand the value of Gate Worlds ownership and defy a top tier guild, to level up with such brutal efficiency... It makes no sense for a stranger to be so... cultured in our ways."
He stopped and looked at her.
"Surely you know more?"
But Nessa only shook her head. A slight, apologetic gesture.
"My ⸢Shadow Leap⸥ and ⸢Shadow Veil⸥ Skills were nearing cooldown," she said with a wavering voice.
"And my mana was almost gone. I couldn't follow him to his home to learn more."
She lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry, Father."
Grigor's expression softened instantly. He walked over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"It's alright, my dear. You only awakened today so I don't expect perfection already."
He lowered himself to her level and smiled faintly.
"Your Assassin Class may have seemed a disappointment at first because of my noble standing... I might have preferred a Mage or a Knight…"
Nessa only looked sadder.
"But your Talent of Shadow Manipulation is Legendary," Grigor continued. "That makes you more powerful than even the king's own daughter."
He squeezed her shoulder.
"You deserve a place in the Hero's Party. You deserve to be amongst the names in the histories, the ones who saved Evernia from the Demon Lord."
"But to do that," he paused, locking eyes with her, "we must first convince this reluctant Hero to reclaim his destiny and start… heroing again."
Seeing doubt flicker in her eyes, he steadied his voice, trying to reassure her.
"I see a great legacy in you, Nessa. Your first two skills are only the beginning. It is why I have hired the best tutors and secured you an instant slot in the Heaven's Blade Guild."
He smiled warmly.
And Nessa, even as uncertain as she was, even as her mind couldn't stop thinking about Percival, smiled back.
"Do not worry, dear daughter," Grigor said to her. "The future is bright for us Nightfalls."
—---—
Percival's door creaked open on protesting hinges.
He stood there for a moment, staring into the dark, damp silence of his broken house.
The air was still and thick with dust.
He summoned ⸢Soulfire⸥ in his palm, illuminating the hollow place.
His Skeleton Soldiers waited silently behind.
Percival sighed.
"Ditch the swords," he instructed. "Grab brooms instead."