The city of Ardent District woke in layers.
First came the bells from the eastern watchtower—low and deliberate. Then the clatter of shutters opening along Scholar's Row.
Then the murmurs of vendors setting up rune lanterns and beast-core scales like they were selling fruit instead of power.
Jeather stood at the narrow balcony of his apartment, elbows resting against cold iron railing, staring down at the street below. The card shop next door had already opened; its wooden sign creaked gently in the morning wind.
He felt… strange.
Not hunted.
Not safe either.
Just suspended.
No retaliation from Jefferson.
No summons from the Headmaster.
No city enforcers knocking at his door.
He flexed his fingers. The faint outline of the tattoo on his hand shimmered—the nine-leaved clover resting beneath his skin like ink made of moonlight. It pulsed once.
"I don't like this," he muttered.
His beast did not speak in words, but he felt its quiet presence—steady, observing. He was the master. It was power waiting for command.
And yet, sometimes, it felt like it was watching him think.
He exhaled.
"I beat a Bronze Alpha. I sealed a Silver-tier Mire Stalker. I nearly exposed whatever that Gold presence was… and nothing?"
No revenge.
No whispers.
No public accusation.
Jefferson was the son of a Duke. Precious was a foreign princess. The Headmaster had an angelic frog as a beast—a creature rumored to cleanse entire battlefields with divine resonance.
Powerful people did not ignore humiliation.
So why were they quiet?
Jeather rubbed his temple.
For a split second, his vision flickered.
A memory not his own.
Flames.
A blade.
A voice saying, "I will not forgive—"
Then it vanished.
He swallowed.
"I need information," he decided.
Because if no one was retaliating, then something else was moving behind the curtain.
And he hated not knowing.
The Ardent Public Archives stood near the inner plaza, built from white stone and reinforced glass that shimmered faintly with warding runes.
Scholars, hunters, and minor nobles walked in and out in measured steps.
Jeather felt oddly underdressed in his simple dark shirt and boots.
He stepped inside anyway.
The scent of old paper and polished wood wrapped around him. Shelves spiraled upward across multiple floors. Rune crystals floated near the ceiling, illuminating titles stamped in gold.
A clerk glanced at him lazily. "Research or registration?"
"Research."
"Beast classification is second floor. Rare taxonomy is restricted."
Jeather blinked.
"Restricted?"
The clerk sighed. "Silver-tier and above documentation requires guild recommendation or noble endorsement."
Jeather gave him a flat look.
"So… poor people can only read about Common rats?"
The clerk did not smile. "Correct."
Jeather sighed dramatically.
"This is discrimination against talented but financially challenged youths."
The clerk blinked.
"…There is a public compendium for rare sightings. It excludes sealing methods."
"I'll take it."
The second floor was quieter.
He found a thick volume titled Compendium of Uncommon and Rare Beasts Observed Within the Central Provinces.
He settled into a corner table.
The book detailed beast rankings clearly:
Common → Bronze → Silver → Gold → Platinum → Emerald → Diamond → Master → Epic → Legendary.
His fingers traced the page.
Most hunters never surpassed Silver.
Gold-tier beasts were regional threats.
Platinum and above… were recorded more as disasters than hunts.
He flipped pages slowly.
Silver-tier:
Mire Stalker (aquatic predator, shadow-adapted)
Ember Lynx (fire-aspected, territorial)
Whisper Vulture (mind-distortion aura)
Gold-tier sightings were sparse and marked in red ink.
One entry caught his attention.
Clover Warden – Gold-tier anomaly.
Description: Multi-leaf spectral manifestation. Capable of probability manipulation in minor radius. Observed once, location sealed by High Council. No confirmed seal.
Jeather froze.
Probability manipulation.
His nine-leaf clover tattoo tingled faintly.
"That's… a coincidence," he whispered.
His beast stirred.
He was the master. It did not guide him—but its presence sharpened his awareness.
He flipped further.
Another note:
Unidentified Gold Presence – Balete Hollow Region.
Status: Unconfirmed containment. Hunters missing.
Jeather leaned back slowly.
So he wasn't imagining it.
There was something there.
Something stronger than Silver.
And yet, no announcement had been made.
No evacuation.
No warning posted.
Why?
He shut the book gently.
"Either the city doesn't know," he murmured, "or someone does and isn't telling."
By noon, Ardent District was alive.
Jeather walked through the central market, observing.
Hunters bartered cores.
Artificers infused cards into weapons.
Students from the Academy wore embroidered uniforms—some with glowing beast sigils faintly visible beneath their collars.
He felt… outside of it all.
No friends.
No allies.
No guild.
He was technically a student, but after the demon incident and public confrontation, the social atmosphere had shifted.
People whispered.
Some with fear.
Some with curiosity.
None with invitation.
He passed a group of Bronze hunters laughing loudly.
"…I heard the Mire Stalker's body vanished completely," one said.
"Probably sealed illegally," another replied.
Jeather coughed.
They looked at him.
He smiled.
They did not.
He kept walking.
"See?" he muttered to himself.
"Very friendly environment. Ten out of ten social experience."
He stopped near a street vendor selling fried skewers.
The vendor squinted at him. "You look troubled."
"I look mysterious."
"You look like you need food."
"…That too."
He bought two skewers and sat at a stone fountain.
He chewed thoughtfully.
Still no retaliation.
Still no message from Jefferson.
That worried him more than threats would have.
Jefferson was dark, controlled, calculating. If he were plotting revenge, it wouldn't be loud.
It would be precise.
And Precious…
Jeather frowned slightly.
She had looked shocked during the incident.
Not afraid.
Shocked.
Like something had deviated from a script.
"Am I overthinking?" he muttered.
A child nearby pointed at his hand. "Mom! That man's tattoo glowed!"
Jeather immediately shoved his hand into his pocket.
"It did not."
The mother pulled the child away politely.
He sighed.
"So much for staying low profile."
That afternoon, he visited the Hunters' Exchange.
The building was louder than the Archives—voices overlapping, contracts being stamped, hunters arguing over bounty splits.
A massive board dominated the central wall.
Silver-tier investigations.
Bronze patrol requests.
Missing hunters.
Jeather's eyes scanned carefully.
No mention of Balete Hollow escalation.
No Gold-tier alerts.
He approached the desk.
"Any rare beast contracts?" he asked casually.
The woman behind the desk raised an eyebrow. "Rank?"
"…Independent."
"That's not a rank."
"Optimistic?"
She stared at him.
"Bronze minimum for rare investigation assignments. Guild backing required for Silver and above."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"Hypothetically," he said, "if someone were to investigate independently and succeed?"
She leaned forward slightly.
"They would either be promoted," she said calmly, "or arrested for bypassing protocol."
Jeather blinked.
"Ah."
He stepped away.
Good to know.
He wandered toward the hunter supply stalls.
Rare beast information was expensive.
But rumors were free.
He listened carefully to conversations.
"…Something's been moving near the northern ravine…"
"…Platinum-tier rumor—probably exaggerated…"
"…Headmaster hasn't issued field exercises lately…"
Jeather paused.
That last comment.
The Academy usually sent supervised teams to deal with Silver-tier threats for training.
But recently? Nothing.
No field exercises.
No announcements.
And no retaliation against him.
A pattern formed slowly in his mind.
What if the Academy was… distracted?
He swallowed.
"What are you hiding?" he whispered.
As evening fell, Jeather returned to the card shop.
The bell above the door chimed.
The old shopkeeper glanced up. "Back again."
"I like your shop. It smells like dust and secrets."
"That's mold."
"…Ah."
Jeather wandered between shelves filled with sealed beast cards encased in glass.
Common-tier rats.
Bronze boars.
A single Silver-tier Ember Lynx card under heavy lock.
He studied it carefully.
The aura was stable. Contained.
Different from his Mire Stalker card.
His felt… restless.
"Do you sell information?" Jeather asked.
The old man looked amused. "Information costs more than cards."
"I have Silver-tier merchandise."
The shopkeeper's eyes sharpened slightly.
"You sealed one."
"Maybe."
The old man walked behind the counter slowly.
"Silver-tier beasts don't appear alone."
Jeather said nothing.
"They migrate," the shopkeeper continued softly. "Or they flee."
Jeather's chest tightened.
"From what?"
The shopkeeper met his eyes.
"From something stronger."
Silence lingered.
Jeather felt his beast's presence steady within him. He was the master. Power rested under his will. But knowledge… knowledge required patience.
"If a Gold-tier appeared," Jeather asked carefully, "would the city announce it?"
The shopkeeper laughed quietly.
"Only if they wanted panic."
Jeather's stomach sank.
"So they wouldn't."
"They would try to control it first."
"And if they failed?"
The old man's gaze shifted toward the Academy's distant spire visible through the window.
"Then the Headmaster would intervene personally."
Jeather's tattoo pulsed faintly.
But there had been no intervention.
Which meant either—
It wasn't Gold-tier.
Or it wasn't loose.
He exhaled slowly.
"Hypothetically," he said, "if someone wanted to leave Ardent District… what would they need?"
The old man smiled faintly.
"Courage."
"I meant legally."
"Travel permits. Hunter verification. Proof of self-sufficiency."
Jeather nodded.
He had some money now from his sealed beasts.
But leaving meant more than coin.
It meant stepping beyond controlled territory.
Into regions where Platinum and higher roamed.
His chest tightened—not with fear.
With anticipation.
He realized something quietly, painfully.
He had no friends here.
No attachments except his distant sister.
No one who would stop him.
And no one who would follow.
"That's depressing," he muttered.
The shopkeeper blinked. "What?"
"Nothing."
Night settled gently over the district.
Jeather returned to his apartment.
He closed the door.
Silence.
He sat at the small wooden table.
"I need allies," he murmured.
But trusting people felt… complicated.
His mind flickered again.
A blade.
A betrayal.
A vow of revenge that didn't feel entirely his.
He pressed his fingers against his temple.
"Why does this body want revenge?" he whispered.
His beast stirred.
He was the master.
Not the other way around.
And yet, sometimes his emotions didn't feel fully chosen.
He looked at the Silver card again.
Rare beasts.
Stronger regions.
Hidden Gold-tier presence.
No retaliation.
Too quiet.
The quiet before something moved.
He leaned back in his chair.
"Fine," he muttered.
"If you're not coming after me…"
"I'll move first."
His eyes drifted toward the northern horizon beyond the city walls.
There were rumors of rare beasts beyond regulated zones.
Places where guild influence weakened.
Where rankings meant survival, not status.
He smiled faintly.
"Maybe I don't need friends," he murmured.
"Maybe I just need momentum."
The clover tattoo shimmered faintly in response.
Outside, distant thunder rolled—though the sky above Ardent District was clear.
Jeather felt it.
Something was shifting.
And somewhere beyond the district's protection…
A presence stirred.
Unaware that its probability had just tilted.
Very slightly.
In favor of a master who had decided to move.