PANG

  "Five, four..." Garth counted under his breath.

  He wasn’t just tracking time—he was keeping count of how many times he had struck the pot. Eight so far. Only two more.

  His hands began to tremble, sweat dripping from his brow.

  So close.

  With each strike, the anxiety mounted. After the sixth hit, even a one-second delay could cause the Seris ores to explode.

  "Five, four, three, two, one..."

  PANG

  Just one more.

  "Five, four, three, two—"

  "Garth!"

  Lionort's voice rang out from behind him.

  Garth’s muscles tensed, then suddenly released.

  No... did I count 'one' yet?

  PANG

  Darkness swallowed him.

  For a moment, there was only black. Then, as if being painted back into existence, familiar colors returned—blurring and swirling until they reshaped into his bedroom. At the center of this scene stood his father and brother.

  "Big brother!"

  "Garth, you're awake!"

  He sat up quickly, blinking in confusion. His thoughts caught up with him in a rush, and he remembered what he’d been doing. Panic shot through him as he scanned their faces. He reached out and touched them both, needing to feel the warmth of life.

  When the relief hit, it came all at once. He pulled them into a tight embrace, clutching them as if they might vanish.

  “Garth, are you okay?” Mister Katharth asked, concern painting every word. Lionort watched him with a matching look of worry.

  "I... I'm fine, Father. I promise."

  He loosened his hold and took a breath.

  "If you're fine... then why are you crying?" Lionort asked gently, brushing tears from the corners of Garth’s eyes.

  He hadn’t even noticed them forming.

  "I... I'm just tired, is all," he said with a weak smile.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  His gaze drifted to the only window not covered by a bed. Morning sunlight streamed through it. He pushed himself to his feet.

  "Where are you going, big brother?" Lionort asked.

  "I have to get to work. You need to get to school."

  "I thought you said you were tired?" Mister Katharth added, raising an eyebrow.

  Garth stared at the sore-riddled palms of his hands. He was tired—but there was no room for rest. Not yet. The moment he stood, the exhaustion started to seep in.

  "I am," he admitted, then clenched his fist. "But I’ll sleep when I’m done, not when I’m tired."

  He gave his father a tired but determined smile.

  Mister Katharth’s heart ached. There was nothing he could do but watch his son work himself ragged in a desperate effort to give them all a better life.

  "Now, let’s go. We’ve got a busy day ahead."

  Garth injected some energy into his voice, trying to lift the heavy mood he’d created. Lionort nodded and headed to the backyard to take a shower.

  But before he could, Garth stopped him.

  “Give me a few minutes,” he said.

  He walked out back, finding everything exactly as he’d left it.

  The powder hadn’t exploded. Relief coursed through him.

  He approached the pot. A mound of brown, sand-like powder sat waiting for him.

  My hand must’ve delayed instinctively, he thought. If my body hadn’t reacted on its own, both Lionort and I would be dead.

  The thought made his heart feel faint.

  He couldn’t let that happen again.

  Next time, he would make something this dangerous far away from others.

  He picked up a random rock from the ground, dipped it in water, then gently dropped it into the pot. A small amount of the powder clung to the rock—and crystallized.

  He repeated the process with several more stones, preparing them for later use. Once done, he began cleaning the area, carefully removing any dangerous remnants.

  One might assume that a pot used to boil diseased tree sap would be toxic for anything else, but the compound had been neutralized during processing.

  He washed it out with detergent—nothing more.

  After finishing his cleanup, Garth called for Lionort, and the two of them showered, readying themselves for the day.

  Once they were dressed and prepared, they said goodbye to Mister Katharth—and parted ways. Literally.

  As Garth made his way down the path, his brow furrowed. He had forgotten something.

  Wrapping Jelly.

  The substance could be used to encase his bombs in a jelly-like material capable of absorbing and dispersing impact.

  Commonly used for glassware and food storage, it was cheap and easy to find—but he had forgotten to buy it.

  Now he was stuck carrying volatile, impact-ready explosives.

  He patted his pockets.

  Six Shakles.

  Enough to buy twenty Wrapping Jellies.

  But he had concocted twenty-four bombs: seven acid bombs, eight Sun bombs, and nine smoke screens.

  He’d have to use the Jelly only on the most dangerous ones.

  He made a quick stop at the market, bought what he needed, and then continued on to the Guild.

  Upon entering the Guild, Garth instinctively scanned the hall, filled with Venators preparing for their next raid.

  He didn’t see the person he was trying to avoid. Kareous. The failed raid leader.

  His shoulders relaxed slightly.

  He made his way to the notice board, searching for a raid group in need of a Valet.

  At his current rank and strength, that was the only role the Guild would allow him to take—no Voids above Sparrow.

  He needed to grow stronger. Fast.

  Once reevaluated, he’d be eligible for better roles—and better pay.

  His eyes landed on a notice without a Valet assigned.

  He tore off the slip and headed to the designated waiting room.

  When he walked in, the group cheered.

  The last member had finally arrived.

  They had been waiting for two hours. If the clock had struck the full two, they would have left without a Valet. Garth had gotten lucky to not have to wait for anyone.

  Everyone stood and headed out.

  Before long, they arrived at the site of the Void.

  Garth stared into the swirling blue pool embedded in the earth, its center ringed by eight orange orbs spinning slowly.

  This one was classified as an eight-Sun Sparrow—two levels higher than the last Void he’d entered.

  Though it was the only one available, he would’ve chosen it anyway. He was stronger now. He needed to see just how strong.

  Part of him was even excited to test his other abilities.

  'Maybe I should let one of them chomp off my hand...'

  He cringed.

  'Yikes. Maybe not.'

  He drew in a deep breath—and leapt in.

  The cold hit immediately. The Void’s waters were strange as ever, but once he passed through, his body was dry again.

  They fell several meters before landing at the bottom of the cave.

  Everything beyond the entry point was pitch black.

  One of the team members turned to Garth.

  “Can you produce torches from your Space Ring?”

  He nodded and handed them out.

  Each member slammed the tip of their Star Stone torch onto the ground.

  THUD

  Each one lit up in a bright glow.

  "Over there!" a voice shouted.

  A rabbit-like demon darted across the far side of the cavern.

  “Get it!” the raid leader ordered.

  Ranged fighters fired off attacks, but the creature slipped away with ease.

  “Dammit! We have to get it!” one shouted, rushing ahead.

  “No, stop—!” the raid leader began.

  Too late.

  Three members charged into the darkness.

  "AHHHHH!"

  Their screams echoed from the shadows.

  “Damn. It was a trap,” the raid leader muttered.

  “Smart demons? That wasn’t in the report,” another added.

  Garth gripped his left hand with his right, trying to steady it. Fear rippled through the group.

  “Who gives a damn?” the raid leader growled, fury rising.

  “If Robert is dead...”

  Energy crackled around him. His hair rose.

  “Then I’ll make them pay.”

  Flames flashed—and he vanished in a red blur.

  Light surged in the cave ahead and demonic growls echoed. Within seconds, the noise stopped.

  The raid leader returned, carrying a wounded but alive teammate over his shoulder.

  “He’s still alive,” he said, smiling.

  The tension in the group eased.

  He’s pretty strong, Garth thought, a flicker of awe crossing his expression.