Apollyon entered the Contribution Hall, a grand chamber adorned with intricate tapestries and a towering statue of a figure symbolizing progress and unity. The hall was still bustling with people, each carrying tokens, scrolls, or other items signifying their contributions to the system.

Approaching a kiosk where a clerk sat, Apollyon cleared his throat and greeted the clerk with a polite nod. The clerk, however, was an odd sight. He was thin and pale, his eyes too large for his face, and his fingers seemed unnaturally long as they tapped on the kiosk's surface with an eerie precision.

"Good day," Apollyon said, his voice steady but cautious. "I've completed a task at the forge and was told to report here with this token." He extended the miniature anvil token towards the clerk.

The clerk's unnaturally wide eyes fixated on the token, his long fingers hovering over it without touching. He didn't speak, but a slow, unsettling grin spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed just a shade too sharp.

Apollyon's discomfort grew, and he cleared his throat once more, trying to maintain his composure. "Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice faltering slightly.

The clerk's response was a soft, almost whispered murmur, laden with a peculiar cadence. "Oh, yes, everything is quite alright. Contributions, contributions, we love them dearly."

Apollyon couldn't help but shudder at the clerk's eerie demeanor. He had expected a simple confirmation of his task's completion, not this unsettling encounter.

"Can you please confirm if my task has been completed?" Apollyon pressed, trying to keep his tone as steady as possible.

The clerk's attention shifted from Apollyon to the token, his elongated fingers reaching out to take it. Instead of returning the token, however, he gestured toward a terminal located behind the kiosk. Apollyon hadn't noticed it before, and now it stood out like an enigmatic piece of machinery.

"Personal stamp," the clerk's whispered instruction was tinged with a sense of urgency. "For verification, for the record."

Apollyon hesitated for a moment, glancing between the clerk and the terminal. The clerk's insistence left him with little choice. He unfastened the leather strap from his belt, revealing his iron stamp—the simple emblem that marked his commoner status.

Gingerly, he handed the iron stamp to the clerk, who accepted it with an unsettling sense of purpose. The clerk then placed the miniature anvil token and the iron stamp side by side on the kiosk's surface, his elongated fingers tapping over them with an eerie precision.

Apollyon's heart raced as he watched the clerk's actions, the terminal behind the kiosk seeming to come alive. A soft glow emanated from its surface, casting a surreal light on the clerk's unsettling features.

The clerk's gaze shifted from the tokens to the terminal's interface. His fingers moved in a complex dance, tapping on buttons and manipulating holographic displays that only he could see. His lips moved in whispered incantations, words that seemed to straddle the line between a chant and a code.

The terminal emitted a low hum, and the surface of the kiosk began to pulse with a gentle light that matched the rhythm of the clerk's incantation. The miniature anvil token and the iron stamp seemed to resonate with the terminal's energy, their surfaces shimmering with a faint, ethereal glow.

Apollyon felt a sensation as if a thread of connection extended from him to the tokens to the terminal itself. It was as if the very essence of his contribution and identity was being woven into the fabric of this strange verification process.

The clerk's chant reached a crescendo, his fingers pausing in mid-air as the terminal emitted a soft, melodious chime. The light faded, and the clerk's gaze lifted to meet Apollyon's once more.

"Verified," the clerk pronounced, his voice carrying an otherworldly weight, as if he had spoken an ancient truth.

Apollyon's lips parted, a mix of awe and uncertainty swirling within him. "What did you—"

The clerk raised his long fingers in a gesture that silenced Apollyon's question. "Contribution logged," he whispered, his gaze distant and enigmatic. "Rewards await, rewards await."

Apollyon felt a sensation of being dismissed, his curiosity and unease left unresolved. The clerk's attention turned to the next person in line, leaving Apollyon to process the surreal encounter he had just experienced.

As he walked away from the kiosk and the unsettling presence of the clerk, Apollyon couldn't shake the feeling that he had glimpsed a deeper layer of this world's workings. The terminal and the strange verification process seemed to connect him to something greater, something that lay beyond the surface of his understanding.

Curious, Apollyon approached one of the terminals where he had previously accepted a task from, its interface humming softly as it beckoned him to engage. The holographic display shimmered to life, and Apollyon hesitated for a moment, his heart racing with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Gently placing his iron stamp on the designated port, he watched as the terminal's screen updated to show his contribution points. The number that appeared was dishearteningly small: 10 points. The contrast between the effort he had put into smelting and the meagre sum before him was stark.

As he stared at the display, a pang of frustration washed over him. The contribution points seemed like a mere drop in the ocean, an insignificant tally that did little to reflect the value of his labor. He couldn't help but scroll to the next interface which displayed the distant rewards he had only heard and dreamt about.

Listed here were all sorts of items he could exchange for: elixirs of various uses, tools, weapons, armours, storage orbs, manuals that detailed various kinds of information, time slots for mentorship, martial skills, artifacts and other miscellaneous objects and services.

He spent quite a while browsing the seemingly endless inventory to the point where his fingers began to ache. Of course, he spent most of this time admiring the various martial skills available; he read their brief descriptions and ogled at their extreme prices in utter disbelief.

He locked eyes with one skill in particular: ‘Hounds snout’ was its title. A brief description and a price tag accompanied it, “Harness body energy towards the nose to increase ones smelling capabilities, 500 contribution points.”.

‘Even this dogshit skill is crazy expensive’ he laughed internally whilst scrolling up at the more extravagant skills with glee.

“Getsuga Gud Slash: Unleash an energy slash forwards, 2000 contribution points”.

“Turtle shield: Form an energy turtle shield to block attacks, 1800 contribution points”.

“Focus: Slightly increase all five senses, 5000 contribution points”.

These were examples of the more ‘affordable’ skills listed in the store, the others were simply too distant for his expense.

“Tyrants slash: Cleave the world in two, 100,000 contribution points”.

Apollyon could only click his tongue in wonder at the exorbitant price listed for that very skill alone, ‘100,000 points….that’s roughly 27 years of daily smelting alone’.

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‘Cleave the world in two? What a cringe line, whoever came up with these descriptions and names sure have a few screws loose’ he sneered inwardly.

Besides the martial skills, he browsed through the mentorships available and was pleasantly surprised to see their reasonable prices. He noticed the absence of a trend in prices among the various services; some were higher, and some were lower. ‘It seems like the decurions set their own prices’ he thought convincingly.

On average, the typical hourly sessions from a decurion were roughly 50 contribution points. He looked at one price in particular with amusement,

‘Alfred you sly bastard’ he laughed aloud.

The price for Alfredo’s body energy lessons was a staggering 120 contribution points per hour. ‘That’s 240,000 points alone if all 2000 candidates took an hour lesson. He could outright empty the contribution store with this amount’.

‘Oh what a cruel world!’ he couldn’t help but compare his daily earnings to Alfreds potential earnings. ‘Surely father wouldn’t mind if I took a loan, right?’ he questioned the almighty gods hiding in his mind.

‘Rather, what are the chances that Alfred would snitch? Wait; would he even lend me contribution points in the first place?’ he contemplated. A mental battle soon emerged in his puny mind space.

On one hand, he could loan some points from Alfred to grow stronger at a fast pace whilst on the other hand he knew that his father would somehow find a way to hear of his ‘pay to win’ loop.

‘Right, there’s also a chance of that occurring’ he deliberated whilst picturing a man wearing a full suit of iron plated armour decorated with red accents adorned with a red mantle. ‘Theres no way he wouldn’t notice given the strange actions of that creepy clerk’. He recalled the clerks’ hidden gestures with his personal stamp and the terminal.

‘What actually happened to Quintus and Gorm’, he suddenly thought. Apollyon began to imagine the sorts of scenarios he would encounter if he was caught red handed, ‘Would anything actually happen to me? Would father step in?’ He knew that the military camp was in the domain of his father’s rule whilst also being a part of his so called ‘Jugend’ project; however, he was reluctant to believe that his father had total control of the military presence in his realm.

‘After all, everything seems to extend from the empire itself. The Dracir martial technique is a prime example’ .

‘In the worst case, ill more than likely be prosecuted forcing father to make a move which would indirectly expose my identity and possibly Alfreds’ causing an unknown chain reaction…’

Apollyon’s thoughts swirled into action inspecting every possibility and every perspectives surrounding the fallout that would potentially occur if he were caught in possession of something he shouldn’t have or possibly acquire legitimately.

‘Would my fathers enemies capitalise on this scandal?’ He had a gut feeling that they would, ‘Why wouldn’t they? If there’s a will; there’s a way’ he joked internally.

‘Right, safety first’ he mentally sighed, forcefully suppressing his selfish thoughts of cheating his way through life. ‘This all started because of my greed towards martial skills’ he blamed himself whilst cursing the contribution system and its inherent ability to extort young recruits. He paused for a moment whilst thinking of a possibility.

‘Alfred mentioned that unlocking the second mastery of the Dracir martial technique would naturally result in two skills; So wouldn’t that mean…’ he grinned in excitement,

…

‘that the Heimarch martial technique would have martial skills of its own too?’, Apollyon finished, his mind recalling a recent memory of a shield push and a tree blowing up.

He slapped his forehead in realisation, ‘Why fret over exorbitant skill prices when there’s free skills available?’. Naturally, he understood that contribution points should be spent wisely and shouldn’t be wasted on things he did not necessarily need. He truly did not want to be stuck in the contribution systems trap; constantly working to save up points to buy things and repeating the process. This was especially the case in the beginning as it resembles a trial-and-error phase.

‘Ahh I’m so dumb, all this excitement over martial skills has clouded my judgement. Right, I still need to discuss the similarities between the two techniques with Alfred’ he noted leaving the contributions hall in search of his butler.

However, there was one problem in his way, “Right, where do I find him exactly?” he mumbled as he trekked through beaten paths, peering into windows in hopes of finding his illusory helper, of course he was turned away a couple times in his search. Some had even reprimanded him for being somewhere he shouldn’t be. He moved with a casual stride, his steps deliberate, scanning faces and corners for any sign of the elusive figure he sought.

He searched the empty auditorium, the eastern courtyard where fellow Tiros sparred and trained in their spare time; he even asked a couple guardsmen, but he was quickly turned away unsurprisingly, ‘I really need to set up some sort of communication method, the next time we meet’ he begrudgingly thought.

As dusk began to cast long shadows, the camp seemed to hold its breath, caught between the fading light and the encroaching darkness. Frustration gnawed at Apollyon's patience. After clearing out places where he thought he would find Alfred, he suddenly thought of the quiet alcove near the western courtyard where the guardsmen trained and where he had interacted with Alfred on a previous night. However, he didn’t have much hope for finding him there.

In a shaded clearing with a lone oak tree overshadowing the surroundings somewhere in the western courtyard; Apollo arrived, standing before the tall tree. As expected, he didn’t find Alfred in the vicinity of the clearing resulting in a helpless sigh.

“Alfred, come out” he whispered jokingly as he settled down on the grass below entertaining the thought of his butler appearing into view like a shadow. He waited for a few moments before scoffing at himself, ‘Yeah why did I think that would work-’ he leaned his head back against the tree looking up at the sky, where stars were starting to twinkle like distant promises.

A breeze stirred, and for a moment, he thought he heard a muffled step. The wind seemed to hold its breath, the leaves frozen mid-rustle. And then, like a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision, a figure emerged from the darkness itself materializing before him, his form seemingly woven from the very fabric of night.

Apollyon's heart leapt into his throat, a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins as his instincts screamed at him to be alert. His eyes widened, his breath hitching as his mind struggled to process the uncanny appearance before him.

“You called?”

It was Alfred, his presence was a paradox, it was both striking and subtle, commanding attention yet blending seamlessly into the surroundings. His eyes were deep pools of mystery, holding a glint of amusement, as if he had anticipated Apollyon's call.

Apollyon struggled to find his voice, his thoughts still grappling with the surreal sight before him. His gaze flickered around, seeking any sign of a trick or illusion, but there was none. The clearing, the trees, and the night were all too real.

"Alfredo, u-uncle"

Apollyon stammered, his voice wavering slightly as he forced himself to regain his composure.

"Was that necessary?"

“You called and I answered” he replied, his voice containing a tinge of amusement.

“Again with the excuses” Apollyon exhaled, standing up as he patted his bottoms, ‘I know that was intentional’ he grumbled in silence.

“The lesson earlier about the Dracir technique” he deliberated.

“What about it? Are you talking as my student or as my nephew?” Alfred joked whilst studying the expression of the boy in front.

However, Apollyon only cocked his head to the side and stared at him in complete silence.

“…”

“Right-…”

…

“…-nephew” Alfred cleared his throat to eliminate the awkward silence, “I’m listening, go ahead”.

‘You’re only one day absent from the manor, and this is how you act? Huh? Bastard’ Apollo inwardly complained.

“Anyway, as I was saying, the Dracir technique; how is it related to House Heimarch’s martial technique?”

“Im glad you asked” motioned Alfred as he swung his arm behind him as if striking something physical yet invisible creating an audible ‘crack’ in space.

It was from this sound that visible cracks permeated around the air Alfred had struck out from with a closed fist. These cracks elongated into a spherical shape encompassing both of them within its scope. It then split apart, connecting to other cracks and widening to reveal a dark purple translucent barrier that revolved and expanded around them.

A soft, melodic hum, barely audible, emanated from the forming barrier, its faint purple glow growing brighter, casting a gentle, warm radiance that contrasted with the cool moonlight.

Apollyon watched in awe as the incandescent light expanded, creating a delicate lattice of intricate lines and symbols. The lattice seemed to shimmer and vibrate, its energy pulsating in time with the gestures of Alfredo's motions. And then, with a final, flourish of his hand, Alfredo released the light. It spread outward like ripples in a pond, extending until it enveloped them completely.

As the radiant energy settled around them, a hushed stillness descended upon the clearing. The sounds of the camp, once so vivid and present, were now muted, as if a veil of quiet had been drawn between them and the outside world. The moonlight still filtered through the lattice, casting patterns of light and shadow on the ground, but their sanctuary remained hidden from prying eyes.

“A simple martial skill, young master” Alfred said to the boy, his voice and tone readjusted to that of the past. His slightly hunched back now straight and pronounced.

“Is it teachable?” was Apollo’s first concern.

“Yes, it is but-”

“I need a solid foundation and enough activation energy, yada yada; I get it, continue with your explanation earlier” Apollo interrupted, all he needed was a simple ‘yes’.

“Right, understood young sire” Alfred cleared his throat once more as he prepared to explain a lengthy story steeped in history.