"Who are you?" Rody was shocked, another person had approached him without notice. The last time it was Margaret, a beauty tutor with the strength of a Moon Halo Mage King. Who could it be this time?

The person emerged from the darkness step by step, their unhurried pace oddly familiar to Rody.

This person, whom Rody had never seen before in his life, had a face full of messy beards, and hair in disarray over his shoulders, yet there was an indescribable sense of unrestraint and boldness about him. Rody observed that the stranger was extraordinarily tall, nearly two heads taller than himself, with a massive skeleton and broad shoulders. Though the muscles appeared lean, they still conveyed a robust, mountain-like strength.

The middle-aged man, in his linen clothes and straw shoes, hung a rusty iron sword at his waist, secured only with a grass rope, resembling a down-and-out swordsman.

"You can call me 'the Guide'. I've been responsible for guiding newcomers for the past half year," said the middle-aged man, confusing Rody. Seeing Rody's puzzled face, he smiled gently and asked, "Who introduced you here? Didn't anyone tell you that Argadopolus is a divine ruin forbidden to mortals? Little guy, don't tell me you're a hunter who accidentally wandered into forbidden territory."

"What would you do with a hunter who accidentally trespassed?" Rody asked, steadying himself.

"If he wasn't eaten by goblins, then I'd send him out," the middle-aged man laughed heartily. "Shall I escort you out?"

"My introducers are Margaret and Buck," Rody boldly claimed, lying.

"I don't know them," the middle-aged man shook his head and smiled. "Even if you don't have an introducer, it doesn't matter. I can be your introducer. I haven't seen a teenager with your potential in a long time. Perhaps you'll receive a good evaluation from the servants of the gods. What's your name, young man, and where do you come from?"

"Rody, from the Felic Duchy, Whitestone Town," Rody replied, pausing slightly, choosing not to mention his birthplace, Koror, which he least wanted to recall.

"Felic Duchy has produced quite a few talented individuals for assessment in recent decades. A truly gifted land. Whitestone Town, hmm, I think I've heard of it, but I can't recall much," the middle-aged man scratched his head and smiled. "Your name is Rody, then I'll call you that! Welcome, Rody. It's rare for young people to come for assessment in the divine ruins. In my decades of experience, you're the first child I've seen participating in the assessment…"

"Decades?" Rody was inwardly shocked and asked softly, "Guide, how many people come for assessment each year?"

"Every year? Haha," the middle-aged man laughed. "If one or two come for an assessment every two or three years, that's already good. Often there are no assessments for ten or eight years, or those who come are the same old guys from before, which is quite uninteresting."

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"Guide, may I ask your name?" Rody wasn't interested in the name, but rather in understanding the identity of this self-proclaimed guide.

"Name? It's been a long time since anyone asked me for my name. I think it's Alecles, yes, that's the name, and some call me 'Storm'. Little Rody, I'm sure you've never heard of it." After Alecles mentioned his name, Rody had no recollection of it. He thought of the many powerful figures from the past hundred years but found no match or similarity.

"Mr. Alecles, what are the requirements for assessment? Do I need to prepare anything?" Rody asked cautiously.

"You don't need anything," the middle-aged man shook his head and smiled. "Don't worry, just follow me."

The middle-aged man's walking pace was normal, but with each step, he advanced ten meters forward. He walked slowly, but Rody almost exhausted himself trying to keep up. Rody clenched his teeth and ran after the so-called guide, determined not to fall behind or admit defeat.

The two headed westward, encountering no goblins or monsters along the way, progressing smoothly and uninterrupted.

Rody, nearly breathless, struggled to keep up with the middle-aged man, who continued to move at a leisurely pace, always maintaining a lead of two or three body lengths, no matter how hard Rody tried to catch up.

"Can you keep up? Do you want to rest for a while?" the middle-aged man asked Rody, still very relaxed and gentle, but Rody was panting heavily, unable to respond. His stubbornness prevailed, and he shook his head in refusal

. An hour later, Rody felt that if he stopped, he would collapse, but he still bit down hard and persisted.

He didn't know when they would reach their destination, but he would rather faint from exhaustion than agree to stop and rest.

When daylight came, Rody couldn't believe he had run all night. At a small stream, the middle-aged man stopped to drink water. Unable to stop, Rody plunged into the stream, water rushing into his mouth and nose, and he lost consciousness.

When he awoke again, he found every part of his body aching, and the sun was high in the sky.

The middle-aged man stood nearby, smiling upon seeing Rody awake. "Can we continue the journey? Little Rody, you can rest a bit more."

"No need, I can do it," Rody said, summoning strength from nowhere, and got up resolutely.

"You don't have to push yourself too hard, kid..." the middle-aged man chuckled.

"I'm not a kid." Rody stumbled into the stream, gulped down water, and, despite the pain all over his body, chased after the guide with all his might.

Three hundred kilometers away, in a secluded valley rich in lush forests and profound silence, lay a huge ruin, half-hidden in the forest. The surroundings were peaceful, with no birds chirping or insects buzzing. About a dozen men in linen clothes and straw shoes were sitting quietly, reading or napping, all silent. Behind them, a dilapidated hall with intact ancient doors carved with strange images and peculiar characters stood.

As the sun set, the men continued as usual. Some read, others sat quietly. Occasionally, someone would wake up, yawn, and start a quiet game of chess with a companion, with no words exchanged.

In the tranquil valley, as the night deepened and the moon rose high, no one left, and everything remained the same, as if the overlapping of day and night had no effect here.

Five days later, when Alecles brought a ragged, utterly exhausted Rody to this place, someone looked up curiously at Rody. Lying on the ground, gasping for breath, Rody didn't care where he was; he just wanted to sleep soundly. Alecles approached the group of men, sat down on a rock, took out a wine pouch, drank a couple of gulps, and passed it to someone next to him.

"Storm, where did you find this little guy?" someone asked after looking at Rody.

"This kid seems a bit unusual," another commented.

"A child from the Felic Duchy, perhaps a descendant of the Blue or Silver-Eyed Singers. I found him interesting, so I brought him back, saving him from wasting time wandering in confusion," Alecles said with a slight smile. "It's been a long time since a young person came for assessment. I didn't expect the first one to be so young."

"Young is good; youth symbolizes hope. I like young people," an unremarkable, elderly man with a face full of wrinkles nodded.

"Recently, there's been turmoil outside, and many promising young people have been destroyed," a skinny man sighed. "It's not that there are no outstanding young people for assessment; it's just that they die young."

"Perhaps a great chaos is about to engulf the world…" an old man with silver hair, resembling a sage, nodded slightly, speaking only half a sentence.