Heaven.

That was the only description he had for what he felt. His entire being pulsed with a pervasive vitality that made him feel alive as he drank. Yet the air resounded with agonizing groans of suffering, and the stench of death hung in the air around him.

But how could he discern the scent of death? A malevolent tang that curled the hairs in his nostrils. How did he know that was the stench of death? Jerome raised his head from the delicious liquid he was drinking.

‘What is this?’ He looked around but saw only carnage.

Jerome would’ve retched if he could. A haze of vertigo hit him, and the foul smell of putrefying corpses assaulted his senses. He took deep breaths to steady his fractured mind then he looked at himself.

Jerome’s mind tumbled into chaos. He was drinking from the neck of a woman as she twitched incessantly. Her cervical vertebrae were crushed. This was an out-of-body experience. Another nightmare like the ones he’d been having since Pilgrims’ Keep began. Only this time he was himself. His memories were intact from the beginning of the nightmare.

“Stop!” He screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth. He tried grabbing himself, but his hands went right through his body. Jerome looked around for something, anything that he could use to stop himself. Everywhere around him people were moaning in pain. Many had lost their limbs and many more, their lives.

“Cease your carnage,” a voice reached him from afar, evoking an innate sense of dread in him. Jerome felt an instinctual fear of death come upon him.

This was his natural predator, not just any enemy. If it were an enemy, he could stand and fight. This felt worse than that. This was more like an apex predator. One whose purpose and natural inclination was to kill him, he felt deep in his bones like a chilling intuition.

Instincts as old as time urged him to flee, to abandon the wreckage he had sown in the cityscape in mere instants. He looked up and saw a golden light in the distance drawing near. Jerome fled, leaving behind the city in less than a few breaths. But the light reached him in no time.

“Your days of wanton destruction are over, child,” the voice said.

Jerome tried to speed up, to hasten his pace, but the light touched him, its radiance encompassed him, paralyzing him. He turned to look into the face of the one he dreads the most but the face he saw was his own.

‘How is this possible?’

“Farewell, child.” A sword of light comes down on him.

With a jerk, Jerome woke up sweating and panting. His breathing was ragged and frantic. He felt like he had been in a world of nightmarish creatures that weren’t supposed to be real, yet their existence couldn’t be truer. He stared into the void, grappling with the impossible reality of the truths he just experienced.

Impossible! How the hell is that possible? He thought, taking in deep breaths to calm himself to no avail. The storm of panic that raged through him refused to be quelled.

What the hell is going on? Is this world even real? Am I real? The world around him felt like a mirage, an existence that could dissolve at any moment before his very eyes.

He touched himself all over, seeking proof of his realness. This is absurd, he thought to himself. There must be some reason behind these nightmares. Am I going crazy? Is this the beginning of a crazed and mentally ill Jerome?

He tried thinking about the dream, to dissect the remnants of what he could remember but for some reason, that terror seized him in its clutches again and his mind nearly collapsed in on itself. The boundaries of his mind seemed to buckle and strain, threatening to shatter under the weight of the terror that held him captive.

Jerome held on to a branch of the tree as he hyperventilated, his heart nearly exploding in his chest. Its rough texture grounded him in reality as he gasped for breath. He reached for the mind-calming stone in his storage bag, his grip tightening over it.

The cool surface of the stone against his clammy skin was a balm, a lifeline to sanity amidst the chaos. It took him a long while even with the mind-calming stone to finally calm down. His breath steadied like a distant storm relenting and his heart’s frantic rhythm subsided.

His knuckles were pale against the bark of the tree branch, his body a canvas of tremors. Time stretched in the aftermath of his turmoil, a stretch of minutes or hours he couldn’t quantify, not without the proper tools that Vorthe didn’t have. The world around him slowly regained its contours, the edges of reality sharpening as if to affirm its existence.

With the mind-calming stone as his anchor, he found his way back to solid ground. And as the echoes of his panic faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breath, he began to reclaim the sense of self that had momentarily eluded him.

~~~

The Sunfire Wolf came out at first light to quench its thirst at the mouth of a stream within its territory. Its golden coat gleamed in the soft morning light as it stood at the entrance of its cave. The Sunfire Wolf was huge; tall enough on both fore and hind legs as Jerome, maybe more so.

It had enough food to eat for months, rendering its pursuit of prey unnecessary. Yet, as its paws touched the earth, an instinctual warning tingled in its senses, urging it back toward the shelter of its cavern.

An arrow as long as a spear and as thick as an adult man’s wrist pierced through its right foreleg and stuck deep into the ground, pinning it in place. The wolf howled and turned its head sideways as it tried to remove the arrow with its fangs, exposing its neck in the process.

A second arrow as big as the first one came at it, prompting the wolf to dodge with a desperate, powerful lunge but still failed to escape unscathed. The arrowhead still took a chunk of fur, flesh, and blood from it, bursting an artery in the process.

Fury surged within the creature, a fire that mirrored its namesake. Responding instinctively, it quickly spewed fire out of its mouth to cover the entrance to the cave and burn off the arrow pinning it down.

Its wounds are healing too quickly, Jerome thought as he watched its wounds defy his preplanned rhythm, healing with supernatural speed. He had to finish it off or else he’d become the prey. With practiced precision, he fired off another arrow that went through the wolf’s left eye just as it freed itself.

The arrow stuck so deep into its head that agony erupted within its mind and the wolf howled and thrashed about trying to get it out. But it was unyielding; another arrow found its mark, puncturing lung and heart, and securing the creature’s bulk to the earth once again.

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Jerome wanted to fire off another arrow just to be on the safe side, but the taut bowstring snapped under relentless pressure. He’d pulled the string to the extremes of its tensile strength every single time, which put great pressure on it. He descended from his vantage point on the tree, rushing towards the cave.

You better be dead, he thought, hoping in his heart.

The fire at the entrance had died down a lot. I was lucky enough to be able to shoot through the fire, Jerome thought with a smile. Sacred artists have it good.

A normal human wouldn’t be able to learn to shoot arrows accurately in just a few days. As a sacred artist though, that was a piece of cake. He went into the cave and saw the dying Sunfire Wolf on its last breath, spasming and convulsing in the throes of death, muscles contracting futilely as its vitality faded away until it died.

“Urgh,” he grunted, my brain feels like it’s about to explode, he complained to himself. But he got to work cleaning away the blood and skinning the wolf, yet he was mentally exhausted. He set up traps around the entrance to the cave and roasted some wolf meat to eat.

If he was a normal human, Jerome would be hard-pressed to eat wolf meat. Carnivores occupy a higher position in the food chain, preying on other animals.

For a normal human, eating this meat would have led to the accumulation of various toxins in their bodies including heavy metals like mercury among many other things. But thankfully, sacred artists were immune to most diseases that pose a risk to mere mortals.

He wondered where the line would be drawn. What diseases would sacred artists find difficult to heal naturally? He had never found any so far and none of the books in the library talked about diseases.

Jerome stored the rest in his storage bag which can preserve perishable goods for many days before they start getting spoilt. A portion of the wolf's meat sizzled over an open flame, sustaining him as he savored the taste of victory mingled with roasted sustenance.

With the clean-up completed, he sat down to meditate. His mind was a chaotic mess. He brought out the mind-calming stone and immediately his state of mind began to improve.

Much better. His anger and agitation disappeared, and he entered into a meditative state, allowing the tranquility in the air to guide him back to equilibrium.

~~~

Every Spirit Realm expert in the towers around the mountains was on the edge of their seats, held spellbound since Jerome first beat up Hedon. This time around they watched him do the unthinkable — slay a Sunfire Wolf.

“That lad possesses the heart of a beast, Lord Rihal,” the head guard who stopped the fight between Jerome and Hedon in the Keep said next to Rihal. “I believe he’ll do great if he got a good head on his shoulders, and a good master to guide him.”

“Hmm,” Rihal hummed in response. He could hear the Spirit Realm experts in the room whispering one to another. The undercurrent of their speculation filled his ears. They also believed great things lay before his disciple. He could also sense the discontent from one not-so-subtle sacred artist.

“If you’ve got something to say, Tekkel Alvric…say it,” he announced. The whispers died down and every other expert turned to a handsomely dressed sacred artist sitting at the back of the room with a scowl on his face.

Tekkel Alvric clenched his jaw as he looked away. He’d been scowling at Rihal for a while now, the intent in his gaze apparent for all to see. “No comment, Lord Rihal,” he said tightly with barely restrained ill-intent as he got up from his seat. “I’ll be taking my leave since the show is over.”

“Thought so,” Rihal muttered before concentrating on the projection in front of him. The wolf’s body alone would fetch a hefty sum in the marketplace. Alchemists would want its core and Artifact Refiners would fight to get its bones and hide. But he was sure it would never leave the Royal Estate.

No one knew if there were any treasures in the Sunfire Wolf’s cave. No one had ever gone near its cave. So, they could only wait for Jerome to seek shelter at any of the towers around the mountains. Sprouts and Spirit Realm artists have been forbidden from going into the mountains. It remained a ceremonial ground for Pilgrims’ Keep and anyone who did so would bring the wrath of the kingdom upon themselves.

Pilgrims’ Keep had no end time. The participants could stay in the mountains for as long as they wanted, as long as they could really. So, all of them had left which reduced the number of Spirit Realm experts left in the Keeps. Rihal wondered what Tekkel Alvric was still doing here though, since his charge was taken away on the very first day Pilgrims’ Keep began. Though, he didn’t need to wonder. He knew he was here to gauge the strength of the Blank who ousted his ward.

Rihal chuckled. The outcome of this Pilgrims’ Keep was not one he expected. Rihal was the most elated among all the experts gathered. When Jerome was planning to take on the Sunfire Wolf, he wanted to rush in there and drag him away from the mountains. He was on edge throughout the whole ordeal and only calmed down when he confirmed the death of the Sunfire Wolf.

Kilian would be pleasantly surprised at the turn of events, he chuckled as he thought to himself. This brat was going to shake the world, and everyone here now knows it. What they don’t know is he’d be doing terrible things to humanity. Rihal’s mood soured as the thought occurred to him.

He sighed. What a twist in fate.

~~~

Farryn. The Slums.

“What are you called, guard?”

The guard stood up from his stool and whipped around at Tekkel Alvric’s voice, but quickly took a step back.

“Milord!” he said, bowing as he took out the hookah mouthpiece from his mouth. He looked around in confusion, not expecting a noble to be here in the slum. “I’m guard 21. But what brings you to these parts, milord? The slum’s a lowly place for one esteemed as you.”

Tekkel could see him glancing at the orphanage from time to time. He just had to distract the guard enough for Hedon to do what he came for. But his being here alone was already suspicious. He didn’t need to wear his clan’s crest. All the guards in Farryn recognized him already.

Vorthe would find out soon enough that a noble went into the slums just as Pilgrims’ Keep was winding down, so he’d have to use his pouch to silence the mouths of all the guards here, but no matter what he did, they’d find out.

The Royals weren’t fools. Their intelligence network was a mystery to everyone, including the four Great Clans, which had always been a source of frustration.

But this was the slums, where no one had a vested interest, except maybe for the royals — something that was also a source of frustration.

“Tch. What a waste of land,” he said, looking around. This place was prime real estate but they refused to develop it. Not his problem though.

The guard coughed uncomfortably. “The royals do what the royals think is best for the royals. Who are we to complain?” He said that like it was a slogan.

“True,” Tekkel said, nodding slightly, “As long as we don’t disturb their interest, whatever that is, we have nothing to worry about.” Just that they would come sniffing around soon after to find out for themselves what the Alvrics were doing in the slum. He kept that to himself though.

The moon in the sky was bright and the atmosphere was cool. If not for the overpowering smell of piss in the air, he might have been able to relax. How did people live here?

He sighed, getting into character once again. “Just walking around to clear my head. Have you heard news from Pilgrims’ Keep?” he gestured for the guard to pass him the hookah pipe and took a swig of the concoction.

Better. The taste of apple and citrus hit his buds and he was momentarily distracted from the stench of his surroundings. He wouldn’t normally smoke in a shitty environment like this but he had a mission.

“No, Senior. I haven’t. Been busy working.” The guard offered him his stool and he sat down to enjoy the hookah.

“Ehn. This year’s Pilgrims’ Keep was an interesting one. Many new faces would become famous among the young ones,” he said with a smile.

“Ooh!” the guard exclaimed, already pining for the gist he knew was to come.

“One of them is in fact, from the slum. Perhaps that’s why my legs unknowingly led me here.” Tekkel looked around once more, feigning unease.

“You don’t gotta worry, milord,” 21 said, noticing the look on his face. “Slummers ain’t ever stayin’ up late into the night.”

He nodded, took out a pouch from his space ring, and shook it. The sound of coins rang out and the guard’s eyes lit up, eyeing the pouch. “I’d rather it remains a secret that I visited the slums.”

“Have no fears, milord. No one would hear from this one that you were here.”

He threw the pouch at the willing guard and went on to regale him with a tale of Pilgrims’ Keep.