Jerome acted like he was thinking, taking his gaze away from her. Then he shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She nodded and left at that. He could tell she didn’t buy his answer though. But there was nothing he could do about it.

The rest of the day at the training ground was quite uneventful. Jerome had already proven he was just as powerful, if not more powerful than their most powerful Sprout. No one had the guts to bring trouble his way now. But he also knew he would have to watch out for all fifty-three or so of them when they entered Terra Praeta.

He kept up a pretty good routine which the other Sprouts found strange. He lifted, did some calisthenics, ran, meditated, and repeated the whole thing. All the while he felt curious eyes on him.

Hyde and Agatha were studying his training routine — as was Layla — and probably committing it to memory as well. Hyde was particularly curious about how Jerome could think of holding himself up parallel to the surface of the earth with just his hands holding onto a ladder that was perpendicular to the earth’s surface. He had come around to ask about it a few times. Even trying it out himself.

Jerome had thought that they would want to distance themselves from him since he had beat up their leader and possibly made a mockery of them all.

To Hyde, this was an easy exercise, but no one had thought of doing something like this before. He also wanted to see if Jerome would apply the up-and-down movement he usually did with his other exercise regimen to this one. But Jerome disappointed him a bit since it was limited to just push-ups, pull-ups, and lifting.

When the sun started setting, Jerome ended his training and headed back to Kilian’s palace.

The moment Jerome left their view, he turned back slightly and caught a glimpse of something that made him smile; everyone wanted to try some of the exercises he was doing. Their eyes were blazing with competitiveness; they all took turns on the various apparatus he had used.

No one wanted to be left in the dust, he imagined. If they could figure out how he trained and why, perhaps they could figure out what made him so strong and fast…

And probably try to beat him at his own game. He smirked at that.

He went looking for Rihal when he got to the Palace but his master had gone on another mission. Jerome couldn’t help but wonder what might be happening outside the estate. He didn’t receive news of anything and somehow, he had gotten used to it. A life without smartphones and media was medicine to the soul but now he missed it.

He sighed and went straight to the library to study. Maybe he could find something about secret techniques there.

“Hghrm-hghrm!” he cleared his throat to wake up the sleeping librarian at the front desk. Did the guy ever find time to rest? No wonder he was still Blank.

Jerome quickly chided himself for thinking such thoughts. Just because he was now a Sprout didn’t mean he should look down on others.

“Yes, yes!” the librarian startled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Senior Jerome.” he bowed a little in his sitting position.

“Please don’t,” Jerome said, slightly embarrassed. This guy was Blank before he became a sacred artist he was sure. “Just Jerome will do.”

The Blank smiled at him. “As you wish… Jerome.” He tested the name on his lips. “How may I help you?”

“I seem to have lost my identity bracelet. Can I borrow books without it?”

“Yes, Jerome. You’re a known Sprout so I guess you can for now, but you’ll have to get a new bracelet as soon as possible.”

“Good. I’d like to get a book that details cycling techniques. I’ve read all the books on the shelves in the Sprout wing and none of them discuss anything related to that.”

“Ah,” the librarian opened his mouth to talk but someone else beat him to it.

“You don’t have authorization for that.”

Jerome looked up to see the owner of the new voice, a voice he knew well and hoped not to hear again.

“Fifteen.” The older Sprout looked… bigger than he did the last time he had seen him. Like he had been training. Muscles rippled underneath his red robe as he walked a few more steps toward Jerome.

Fifteen gritted his teeth, hearing his number from Jerome. It must have sounded like an insult because Jerome once called him senior. But now they wore the same blood red initiate robes. And Jerome’s was stitched with leathers of the same color, making him stand out as a warrior, a much higher status than that of a librarian.

“Very well,” Jerome replied. “I’ll come back.” He left to go look for the Lord of the Palace.

Moments later, Jerome bumped into him. Kilian was leaving his study when Jerome met him. Jerome explained his need but Kilian smiled and shook his head.

“Even I don’t have authorization to give you something like that,” he said

“Then who does?”

“Wait a while for Rihal to get back and he’s going to sort it out, okay?” Kilian rushed off after that.

Jerome sighed, walking back to his room. The back and forth had left him frustrated and a little exhausted. All he wanted to do now was sleep. But he gave himself a mental slap and started meditating. The door to his room had been reinstalled so he at least had more privacy. He pulled out the Sunfire stone and sat down on it to meditate. After meditating for what felt like a few hours, he put his Sunfire stone away and got ready to go to the underground training hall.

Scarcely had he taken out his gray training robe when a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder, suppressing his strength, and pulling him away from his bed. It slammed him against the opposite wall with enough force to break all his bones.

Jerome was fortunate to see the face of his assailant before he passed out. Dark hair half covered the sneering face with black orbs for eyes which held a hint of lunacy.

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Fifteen! The damned library attendant!

Jerome came to and he quickly stilled himself, listening for sounds that he may recognize. His back hurt like hell and he could feel dried blood around his ears and neck. He could tell he was outside the palace. He only had his inner tunic on which caused him to shiver in cold. Jerome could vaguely remember the last time he felt cold. Those were the days in the orphanage.

He felt eyes on him the next moment and sighed. There was no way his captor wouldn’t know he was awake. A sacred artist’s senses were far superior to that of a mere mortal.

He stood up unsteadily and looked around. He was in an unfamiliar part of the estate. Or maybe he wasn’t even in the estate anymore. He was in a clearing of hardened earth, surrounded by a hedge as tall as he was. He heard voices a few paces away and turned to see Fifteen and the sleazy viper who stood with Rihal watching his training a while back. How long had it been?

“Why am I not surprised,” Jerome said.

“You would keep silent in my presence. Do you understand me?” the sleaze bag’s voice carried to him on the wind, as though traveling through space to reach him. He was soft spoken and seemed like one who chose his words carefully.

But Jerome felt deep down that there were many things wrong about the person who spoke with that voice. Like he was wearing the skin of a royal to disguise his hideous nature. He felt an instinctual distrust toward this… Idrel, as Rihal had called him that day.

“You don’t own me,” Jerome deadpanned.

One moment, the viper was a distance away, the next he was right in front of Jerome. A tremendous force poured out of him and Jerome found himself on the floor, drowning in an aura attack so thick, he felt like he was going to be crushed to paste!

“What did you say?” Idrel leaned forward as if to listen carefully.

Jerome couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even breathe. He struggled to gulp in air, but the air felt as heavy as his lungs. He tried to lift himself up but failed.

“Remember this moment when next you’re tempted to speak to me with disrespect.” Idrel stood up and faced fifteen who had walked over. The pressure he was emanating from his body slowly ebbed and Jerome inhaled loudly.

“My Lord. I hope this puts me in your good graces,” fifteen said reverently, trying to ingratiate himself with the royal.

Jerome snorted, standing on shaky legs. “Your end is near,” he said, addressing the library attendant. “You just don’t know it.” He moved a few feet away from Idrel to put some distance between them.

“Are you talking to me, you runt?!” fifteen growled. Jerome could sense that the man whom he used to think was all bark and no bite had grown a backbone. He guessed the ripped body was not for show.

“Of course, I’m talking to you. Who else would I be talking to?” Jerome said. He never bothered to find out what happened to the Sprout after Rihal sent him to the overseer.

Fifteen looked over at Idrel as if asking permission. Idrel shrugged playfully. “Just don’t kill him,” he said.

Jerome prepared himself for what was about to come. The library attendant grinned and rushed toward him. Jerome waited for the moment when he was precisely three feet away from him.

The flowing steel whipped out of his pointed finger and wrapped around fifteen’s forward leg, just above the knee — as thin and sharp as a blade. With a slight pull, fifteen’s leg was separated from his body. Fifteen screamed in pain as he crashed into the ground. Idrel cursed behind him.

Jerome didn’t want to kill the attendant, so he didn’t attack him anymore. But he made sure Suzie consumed the vitality in the leg he amputated. Fifteen watched as his amputated leg dried up into a husk of its former self. He was already cycling to stop the flow of blood out of his blood vessels.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you bastard!” Fifteen roared. There was a hint of madness in his eyes as he continued to curse. Jerome didn’t answer him. He turned to face Idrel next. But he knew he couldn’t win against a Spirit Realm artist.

“You’re going to regret that,” Idrel said, and began walking toward Jerome.

Jerome shivered — more from the promise of wrath in the royal’s voice than the cold of the outdoors. He suddenly lost control of his body, as if his center of mass shifted. He found himself falling forward toward Idrel. It was a weird feeling. Before he could orient himself to do anything though, he was in Idrel’s grasp.

Spirit Realm artist that he was, Idrel didn’t have to apply much effort to break Jerome’s arm. The crunching of bones was followed by sharp pain. Jerome began to convulse but Idrel didn’t stop. The viper broke his collarbone next. Jerome gritted his teeth and held in his scream.

Idrel chortled happily. “Your pain threshold must be really high! Would you like to see how much you can take?” he slammed Jerome, face first into the hard soil.

Jerome felt his facial bones shift and break. He grunted in pain as he tasted blood in his mouth. He tried to summon Suzie to attack but for some reason, he couldn’t ‘will’ it to attack. His core was also sealed shut.

“You can make it stop whenever you want.” Idrel placed a foot on the back of his right knee, applying pressure little by little. “You only need tell me what I want to know.”

Jerome began to huff and puff, taking great gulps of air to prepare for the incoming pain. That knee had already been shattered once, another time and he wasn’t sure it would ever be the same.

“Let’s start with an obvious question, shall we? Who are you, Jerome?”

“Damned if I know,” Jerome replied.

“Wrong answer.” The pressure on the back of his knee increased and the bones gave. Jerome screamed. Pain was all he felt before he passed out.

~~~

Rihal

“What could be the issue now?” he muttered, walking back to Kilian’s palace to check on Jerome. Was he angry at him? Is it because he hadn’t been around for a while?

They were supposed to meet up at the training ground but Jerome didn’t show up. His disciple didn’t strike him as someone who would miss training just to spite his master. In fact, Jerome was obsessed with getting stronger.

He got to the palace and went straight to Jerome’s room. Rihal found nothing there. Everything was in order and his room was clean. His storage bags were still here though, which Rihal found odd. Jerome never went out without the pouch containing the Sunfire stone. Every other bag, he could leave behind but he always took the Sunfire stone with him.

He recounted the pouches in his drawer again, counting nine of them, with seven of them filled with air-tight crates of uncut high-grade crystals.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rihal muttered. A wide scan of the whole castle showed that Jerome wasn’t in the building either. He quickly used his void bridge to change location, teleporting to Ash’s balcony in a split moment.

“Ash, are you in?” he called out. He could smell her floral scent wafting through the blinds of the room.

“Uncle Rihal don’t come in!” Ash quickly said. Rihal heard her shuffle around to cover herself up.

“I won’t,” Rihal quickly blurted out. “I just want to know if Jerome was here. He didn’t show up for training this morning.”

“What?!” The surprise in her voice was all he needed to know that his disciple wasn’t here either, or had even been seen by Ash for that matter. Which meant something really bad was happening and he was in the dark about it.

Rihal quickly sent a transmission to Kilian, letting him know what was going on. Jerome couldn’t have just left this side of the estate like that. That was not who he was. He also wasn’t summoned by the Sovereign, if not he’ll be the first to know. He didn’t want to think about it but the thought came to him unbidden.

His disciple was missing.