October 24, 3104

"What are you doing here?"

The sun had just begun to rise over the horizon, casting a faint light over the land. In front of me, the man I sought was already standing, unmistakably my target. He looked different from the images in the documents—two decades can change a person—but I was certain this was him.

"Good morning, Mr. Evans, I presume?"

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed and unchanging.

"Yes. What are you doing here?" he repeated, his tone flat but laced with a suffocating pressure that felt like a threat.

"Mr. Collins sent you a letter." I reached into my inner pocket and handed him the envelope. Mr. Evans took it, his eyes scanning the letter’s contents.

When he finished reading, he simply said, "Follow me."

Without another word, he turned and started walking in the opposite direction.

We moved in silence through the forest, each step increasing the weight of the quiet that hung between us. I struggled to think of a way to break the tension, but the oppressive stillness left me at a loss.

"Stop."

The command was calm, yet absolute. In an instant, Mr. Evans grabbed me under the arm. Before I could react, he shot forward with incredible speed. I felt a surge of power gather in his right leg, and suddenly we were airborne. In less than a second, we landed on a branch ten meters above the ground, far from where we’d started.

Before I could process what was happening, he propelled us to another branch. We moved like this, leaping from tree to tree, covering an immense distance with each silent bound. After five or six jumps, he finally set me down, my feet finding solid ground again.

"That was… fast."

We had crossed a vast stretch of forest in moments, yet I noticed that he moved without making a sound, as though the forest itself conspired to keep him undetected.

"Come in."

Hearing these words, I turned from the direction I had been looking, hoping to gauge just how far we’d traveled. But it was impossible; the original point was no longer visible. As I shifted my gaze back toward Mr. Evans, I saw a house nestled in the forest. It was built from thick, rounded logs about four meters long, carefully fitted together without nails. The roof was steep and gabled, with wide eaves designed to shed snow, and there was a single window on one side.

Inside, the house was modest and practical. The walls were plain wood, the floor made from wide wooden planks. A sturdy brick stove stood in one corner, clearly used for both cooking and heating. A rectangular table occupied the center of the room with a long wooden bench beside it. Next to a small bookshelf was a rocking chair, and in one corner, a bed stretched against the wall, bordered by a wardrobe that extended along its length. The only modern touch was an ether lamp. Everything, apart from the lamp, was crafted from wood, lending the space a timeless, rustic feel.

"Sit wherever you’re comfortable," Mr. Evans said.

With few options, I took a seat on the bench at the table. Mr. Evans settled into the rocking chair, picking up a book that had been resting there.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his tone impassive.

I hesitated. Mr. Evans was an enigma, an iron wall, and I had no idea how to sway him. But I had no choice but to be direct.

"Could you… take me as your apprentice?"

For the first time since we met, his expression shifted slightly—an eyebrow raised.

"Why?"

And there it was: the question I dreaded. I had little to offer in return for his guidance. The modest payment from Rebeca was a pittance, I didn’t possess extraordinary talent, nor did I have any valuable information or treasures to trade.

"No, you misunderstand," he continued, cutting through my thoughts. "Why me?"

His question caught me off guard. Could he read my mind? And what did he mean by "Why me?"

"You’re a veteran of the war," I said, carefully choosing my words. "Your accomplishments were extraordinary—legendary, even. That alone is reason enough."

"But none of what you’re saying appears in any official records, and it's not recognized by the government," he replied, his tone skeptical.

"I spoke with several veterans who served with you," I explained, holding my ground. "Their accounts might be exaggerated, but they were convincing enough for me."

Taking a deep breath, I finally admitted, "I don’t have the central arteries in my right leg, or in my right hand from the elbow down and from the knee down."

"Even after all this time, it hurts to say this." For the first time, I’d admitted it aloud, fully expecting him to dismiss me or, at best, call me a fool. Bowing my head, I waited.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"What is your ejection fraction?" he asked, taking me by surprise.

"Seventy-five percent."

A heavy silence fell, pressing on me like an unseen weight.

"Unfortunately, you won’t be able to use my arts."

Everything collapsed. The hope I’d built up within myself now felt like a knife in my back, betraying me. But through the suffocating silence, I heard him speak.

"Your arteries aren’t large enough to withstand the circular intensity required by my breathing technique.”

Huh? That’s why? Phew… I was already bracing myself for another mental breakdown.

Mr. Evans tensed up, clearly displeased with my reaction. Believing that I initially did not even want to be his apprentice and only obliged to come to him with such a proposal.

"You’d better start explaining yourself," he said, his tone laced with a deadly seriousness, "or I guarantee that no one will help you leave this forest alive."

It was the longest sentence he’d spoken so far, and I had no doubt it was more than just a threat. His intent was real, and testing it would be unwise.

"No, you misunderstood me," I said quickly.

The pressure he was exerting didn’t entirely fade, but it eased enough to allow me to explain further.

I told him everything—from the accident that led me here to the challenges I faced along the way. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of grief in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"That’s why," I continued, "even though I don’t have the central arteries in my arm and leg, the remaining ones are reinforced and ideal for handling high-intensity ether."

He stayed silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Well, your story matches what Old Fox wrote in his letter. But you should know the consequences of becoming my apprentice."

He continued, listing the terms:

"You’ll be bound to the Vaylith family. You won’t join any clan. You won’t join any guild. Relations with the HTU will be kept to a minimum. And, of course, you will not share the martial arts I teach you without my permission."

The conditions weren’t unreasonable, but they had serious implications. Being unable to join a clan made sense, but no guild affiliations and limited contact with the HTU? Finding a work contract could become a real challenge with those restrictions.

"I assume you want me to become a mercenary?" I asked.

"Mostly, yes," Mr. Evans replied. "You’ll be allowed to interact with clans and guilds and fulfill their requests. However, you won’t take individual requests from the HTU—only mandatory or rank-raising ones."

It was unusual. HTU individual requests were often the most lucrative, since they were tax-exempt and didn’t involve intermediaries taking a cut, unlike clan and guild jobs. Still, the chance to learn from Mr. Evans was worth the potential financial loss. Besides, it wasn’t like I’d be in high demand with the HTU just yet.

"Alright, I agree," I said.

"Good. Follow me."

"Wait… we’re not going to do the Master-Apprentice ceremony?"

"Not here."

With that, we left the house and made our way around to the back.

"What are your capabilities in archery and scouting?" he asked.

"I’ve passed basic archery courses, but I have no practical scouting experience. I only know the basics of camping."

"Then it makes sense why you wandered into Stone Wolf territory," he said, shaking his head. "Stone Wolves can climb trees easily, and if needed, they can knock them down. You were lucky they’re diurnal creatures. Otherwise, your journey might have ended there."

I swallowed hard, feeling a chill as his words sank in.

"How long has it been since you practiced the Cindercrest clan’s breathing technique?" he continued.

"About half a year," I replied.

"Then the ether from your ManaVentis should be pure by now. Rebuilding your body constitution will be painful, though, and it’ll take around two years."

The ether in ManaVentis shaped elemental abilities within ManaArmis. Body constitution determined the type and characteristics of etheric armor, like strength, speed, and resilience. Each person’s armor was unique, but those who practiced the same martial arts often displayed similar features.

"From what I’ve seen, you've managed to restore some balance to your body," he noted.

"To some extent, yes. My right hand is now almost as strong as the left, but my right leg still lags behind. I can run evenly, but my strikes are weaker on that side."

"That won’t take long to fix."

Finally, we stopped in front of a large, black stone veined with shades of green, carved with intricate wind-like designs and bearing countless names. A jagged break on the right side hinted that it had been part of something larger.

I was stunned. The monument looked old but was surprisingly well-maintained, with only a few small cracks.

"I recognize this… I've seen something like it before."

I remembered a similar structure in the Cindercrest clan—a memorial monument, though much larger. But unlike the usual monuments made from alloys with ether-absorbing metals, this was different. Only the Twelve Great Clans were permitted to own such monuments.

"Why is one of them here?"

"The Vaylith family," Mr. Evans began, "is a branch of the Frostwind Vanguard clan. Twenty years ago, I was ordered to eliminate an elf from the Imperial clan. At the time, I didn’t know his origins; we were in the middle of a war. But when peace negotiations began, one condition was the complete elimination of the killer’s family. To protect me, the leadership erased all records of my existence. Only databases like the one in Cindercrest still hold any trace of me."

"My family used every credit they’d earned over the years to save my life. Being a branch of a major clan helped, but I was forced into isolation here, with strict orders not to seek out any descendants."

"The recently appointed Grandmaster who took the Scouts’ command post," I said, piecing it together.

"Yes," he replied. "He was from the Frostwind clan, the one who gave me the original order. The Vaylith family had accumulated too many credits with the HTU, enough to break away and form an independent clan. But Frostwind saw that as a threat and decided to destroy us. That’s all history now. You found me alone, so nothing the HTU stipulated has been broken."

"Now, let’s begin. I trust you haven’t changed your mind?"

"No." I was shaken by his story, but I’d come too far to back out now. And whatever danger his past held didn’t affect me directly.

"Good."

This ritual is mostly symbolic. Its purpose is to allow those who are about to embark on a new martial path to feel the elemental ether they will be wielding in the future.

I bent one knee to the ground. Mr. Evans placed his hand on my head and said solemnly,

"In front of my ancestors, as head of the Vaylith family, I declare Kail the bearer of the Vaylith family name and descendant of Cyclone's Embrace."

At that moment, I felt a new energy surge through my ManaVentis. Previously dormant, it now pulsed with a swift, unrestrained ether that forced my own ether to circulate with it. And that’s how I first encountered the ether of the wind.