"I know," Azrael replied calmly. "Once I fully comprehend that technique and break into the Arcane Stage, I'll take missions to gain experience."
For a brief moment, Ryker simply stared at him.
Then he scoffed.
"Boring," Ryker said, clicking his tongue. "That's the safe way. Predictable. Slow."
Before Azrael could react, Ryker stepped closer and casually draped an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in as if they were conspirators about to commit something mildly illegal—which, knowing Ryker, wasn't far from the truth.
"I've got a better idea," Ryker said in a low, excited voice. "A much better one."
Azrael narrowed his eyes. "Whenever you say that, someone almost dies."
"Details," Ryker waved off. "Listen. Tomorrow, we take an easy mission—something meant for Adept Stage cultivators. Escort duty. Beast scouting. Something clean. We officially leave the academy under mission orders."
Azrael frowned. "And unofficially?"
Ryker's grin widened.
"We divert," he said. "Stormwind Mountain."
Azrael stopped walking.
Slowly, he turned his head and stared at Ryker as if he were reassessing whether his roommate had finally lost his mind.
"You want us," Azrael said carefully, "to head to Stormwind Mountain… with our current cultivation?"
Ryker nodded enthusiastically.
"Not only that," Azrael continued, his tone sharpening, "you're talking about hunting for natural treasures there? Knowing full well that Stormwind attracts rogue cultivators, veteran mercenaries, and magical beasts that could crush us without even trying?"
He paused, then added flatly,
"That's assuming the academy would even allow us to take a mission at our current stage. We've barely entered the Adept Plane—most official missions are restricted to those at least in the Arcane plane.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"You're either suicidal," Azrael said flatly, "or incredibly confident in your ability to outrun death."
Ryker laughed. Actually laughed.
"You worry too much," he said. "We'll be together. That alone cuts the danger in half. And everyone knows this simple truth—danger and opportunity walk hand in hand."
Azrael shook his head, already turning away.
"No," he said. "That's not bravery. That's recklessness."
He took a few steps forward, clearly done with the conversation.
Ryker watched him for half a second before sighing.
"Tch. Figures."
Then he followed.
"Alright," Ryker said casually, "let me try this a different way."
Azrael didn't respond.
"You want to get stronger, right?"
Azrael slowed.
Ryker smiled to himself.
"Thought so."
He grabbed Azrael by the sleeve and dragged him toward a quieter corner of the arena, away from the noise of sparring students and curious ears. Once they were mostly alone, Ryker leaned in, his expression losing its usual carefree edge.
"I overheard something," he said.
Azrael glanced at him. "That's never reassuring."
"My lightning instructor," Ryker continued, ignoring the comment, "was talking to his girlfriend. They weren't exactly being discreet."
Azrael raised an eyebrow.
"There's going to be an inter-academy competition," Ryker said. "The kind that only happens once every four years."
Azrael's expression sharpened.
"When?" he asked.
"Two years from now."
That alone would have been enough to pique interest—but Ryker wasn't finished.
"This one won't be like the previous tournaments," he said quietly. "The reward isn't fame. It isn't resources. It's access."
"Access to what?" Azrael asked.
Ryker's eyes gleamed.
"A secret realm."
Azrael's breath caught—just slightly.
Ryker continued, voice steady but charged with excitement. "The participants will be in the Fusion Plane. Some might even be in the mid-stages of Fusion. Absolute monsters. Geniuses from every major academy.
Azrael did the math in his head.
Two years.
Even with his dual elements… even with perfect cultivation…
"At our current pace," Ryker said, voicing Azrael's thoughts, "we'll barely reach the Arcane Stage. Mid-Arcane if we're lucky."
Silence fell between them.
"If we don't find a way to accelerate our growth," Ryker said softly, "that opportunity will never even look in our direction."
Azrael's gaze dropped.
A secret realm.
He had read enough to know what that meant.
Ancient inheritances. Lost techniques. Opportunities that could rewrite a cultivator's fate.
He looked up at Ryker.
"You're not making this up, are you?" Azrael asked.
"You're not feeding me bait just to drag me into a death trap."
Ryker raised a hand solemnly. "I swear on my future cultivation base."
Azrael snorted. "That's a weak oath."
Ryker grinned. "Still true. The academy will announce it eventually."
Seeing Azrael hesitate, Ryker pressed forward.
"You've spent enough time in the library," he said. "You've read the histories. The strongest figures of the Ravenheart Empire—every single one of them—walked paths soaked in danger."
Azrael said nothing.
"They didn't rise by playing it safe," Ryker continued. "There's an unspoken rule in this world. Those with greater potential are tested harder. You can't expect greatness if you never step beyond comfort."
Azrael exhaled slowly.
He didn't like being manipulated.
But he hated denying the truth even more.
Stormwind Mountain was dangerous.
But stagnation was worse.
He turned to Ryker, studying him with a faint, crooked smile—one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You know," Azrael said, "I always thought you were all brawn and no brain."
Ryker blinked.
"I didn't expect you to string together something so… inspiring."
Ryker's expression shifted — pride flashing across his face before the insult finally registered.
"Is that an insult," he asked, "or are you admitting I surprised you?"
Azrael chuckled and stepped away, already turning toward the dormitory path.
"I'll let you decide," he called over his shoulder.Ryker stood there for a moment, then laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "That guy really knows how to talk like he's agreeing without actually agreeing."
But his grin never faded.