The morning sun crested the horizon, gradually dispelling the veil of darkness that had draped itself over the forest. Within the quiet stillness of the tent, Asher’s eyes fluttered open, their purple hue catching the soft rays that slipped through the fabric.
"Good morning, Young Master," came Lyra’s gentle voice from the side.
Asher offered a faint nod before asking, "Is there a river nearby where I can bathe?"
He had assumed a stream would be close enough for that purpose, but Lyra shook her head with a knowing smile.
"No, Young Master. I’ve already taken care of it," she said, gesturing ahead.
Asher stepped out of the tent, the warmth of the morning sun brushing against his face like a silent welcome.
"Good morning, Tenth Sun," the five guards said in unison, immediately bowing in respectful greeting.
Asher gave a brief nod. "Did anything happen during the night? Any disturbances like an assassin?"
"No, Tenth Sun," one of the guards replied, his voice steady and respectful.
’So, nothing then,’ Asher thought silently, his eyes scanning the tranquil forest clearing where they had made camp.
Three tents stood in the quiet morning light. The first belonged to Asher himself. The second, slightly smaller and more modest, housed the coachman, an ordinary man among warriors. The third tent, before which Lyra now stood silently, was unfamiliar to Asher.
Without a word, he began walking toward it.
As he drew aside the flap and stepped inside, he was greeted by the sight of a large, basin-like structure, his makeshift bath, prepared and waiting. Neatly arranged beside it were his bathing essentials and the clothes selected for the day.
Asher shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. ’Of course... there’s no way these nobles would ever bathe in a stream or river.’
With that thought, he bathed swiftly, changed into the clothes laid out for him, and stepped back outside. Returning to his own tent, he had a simple yet well-prepared breakfast before boarding the carriage once more.
Without delay, their journey resumed.
’Second day already. We should reach the capital by tomorrow night,’ Asher thought, his gaze drifting lazily out the carriage window, his expression steeped in boredom.
The silence, the stillness, it all pressed in on him.
’Am I truly meant to sit inside a carriage for three days, doing nothing but stare at trees and sky?’
The thought lingered like a haze. This stretch of the journey felt endlessly dull, as if time itself had slowed to a crawl.
Hours slipped by unnoticed, the sun now perched high at its zenith, casting sharp rays through the forest canopy. The carriage rocked gently as it moved along the uneven path, and for the first time since the journey began, Asher noticed Lyra’s gaze shift toward the window.
A voice from outside broke the stillness.
"Stop the carriage," one of the guards ordered.
Without hesitation, the coachman obeyed, pulling the reins and bringing the carriage to an abrupt halt.
Asher turned to Lyra, whose posture remained unchanged, calm and unshaken.
"Is it an assassin?" he asked, his tone casual, almost indifferent.
Then, a moment later, he blinked and let out a soft breath, mildly amused.
’Why did that sound like I was hoping for an assassination attempt?’
A wry smile crept onto his face at the thought.
"No, Young Master," Lyra replied calmly. "Merely a cluster of low-level monsters, creatures too dull to know when to attack and when to flee."
At her words, Asher rose from his seat and stepped out of the carriage. A quiet curiosity stirred within him. Since his transmigration, he had yet to see a single monster, had yet to witness the world’s dangers firsthand.
Not even an Emovira, a creature he’d read about, had crossed his path. He hadn’t experienced a single battle, not yet. He still has to wait over three weeks to see any action within the First training ground.
Lyra followed closely behind, walking just behind Asher with the silent grace of a shadow.
As he approached the guards stationed ahead, Asher’s gaze swept across the forest, but saw nothing. The clearing remained still. No movement. No sound beyond the rustling of leaves.
Yet he was certain, they were coming. He trusted that the guards, and Lyra, had sensed their presence from a distance away.
Only one guard dismounted, the others remaining astride their horses, clearly, the threat did not warrant full mobilization.
"What rank are the monsters approaching?"
Asher asked, standing near the carriage, his gaze fixed in the same direction the guards were watching.
"They’re merely Whisper-ranked beasts, led by a single Echo-ranked pack leader, Tenth Sun," the dismounted guard replied, already preparing to intercept them.
Asher folded his arms, his expression contemplative. ’So, Whisper rank monsters, with one Echo.’
He recalled the hierarchy he had read about.
’In this world, monsters are classified across ten tiers: Whisper — Echo — Veil — Fang — Mark — Grave — Crown — Myth — Void — End.’
But then, a thought struck him, sharp and clear.
This was an opportunity. His opportunity.
Back in the Wargrave First Training Grounds, he was bound by protocol, forced to wait an entire month before being allowed to face a monster. But here, beyond those regulated walls, such restrictions held no power. Out here, the world was untamed.
True, he had never killed before. Even these Whisper-ranked creatures had been fighting to survive since birth. They would be more experienced, more instinctive, more ruthless. But Asher had something they didn’t, superior stats.
’There might not be another chance like this,’ he reasoned. ’Even if I get critically injured, there are five guards here ready to wipe them out and pull me back. Lyra too, she wouldn’t let me die.’
And while there were no healers present, the passive regeneration from Virelass’ Crimson Pact would restore his wounds if it came to that.
The decision solidified in his mind. He would face the monsters.
With his current strength, he could likely dispatch them in an instant, leave not a single one standing without taking a scratch. But he didn’t intend to. That wasn’t the point.
He would fight them like he fought Kale.
Deliberately. Purposefully.
Experience was what he lacked most, and nothing, not stats nor talent, could replace that.
He would observe. Wait for openings.
No matter how weak the enemy, he would draw everything he could from each battle... until his foundation was forged.
But that didn’t mean he planned to get injured.
With that thought solidified, Asher turned to Lyra, who stood silently behind him. He removed his coat and handed it to her. She accepted it wordlessly, her brows faintly furrowing in confusion, but she said nothing, choosing instead to observe in quiet curiosity.
Without another word, Asher strode forward, stopping just a step ahead of the guard who had been preparing to engage.
"I’ll handle them," he said, his voice calm and steady. "If anything goes wrong, you’re free to intervene. That is an order."
He didn’t look back as he spoke. His tone left no room for debate.
The guard parted his lips to object, but the words never came.
It was a direct order from a Sun.
Even so, if the Tenth Sun were to be injured under his watch, the consequences would be severe.
He hesitated, torn between duty and obedience, then slowly stepped back. At the very least, Asher had granted him permission to intervene if things took a turn for the worse.
The moment his foot retreated, the rest of the guards followed suit, dismounting swiftly from their horses. Their hands hovered near their weapons, eyes sharp, muscles tense, ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of danger.
Lyra moved forward as well, positioning herself a few steps behind Asher. Her expression remained unreadable, but her aura had shifted, silent, watchful, prepared to protect.
No one spoke. No one dared.
All eyes were fixed on the young man who stood at the front of the group.
They were about to witness it, the Tenth Sun’s first true battle.