Kan lost track of how long he had rejoiced in the realm of consciousness. When he finally pulled back into reality, he was greeted with Toku’s astonished face.

“How did you do it?” Toku asked with wide eyes.

Kan didn’t know how to answer. He remembered the day when he became a First Stage apprentice at the Shrine, concentrating firm and sharp on his Ichor flow, his anxious masters surrounding him to ensure his control didn’t slip—stage breakthroughs were dangerous, and the slightest wavering of the mind could lead to serious injuries. When he succeeded at the end of the day, he was exhausted but also ecstatic at the strength and power he’d never felt before.

This time, however, was utterly different. Instead of finding overwhelming strength inside him, he felt a subtle yet unbreakable connection to the Aura all around. It was as if nothing had changed within his own body, yet the whole world had offered to share its power in peace.

And … it was way too easy.

“I don’t fully understand what happened,” Kan replied honestly. “I thought my Ichor was depleted … I used to be an apprentice in the South until I had an accident.”

A realization dawned on Toku’s face. “The Artifact must’ve reawakened your Ichor. Maybe it was never depleted, just hibernated.”

Kan didn’t think it could be so straightforward. Every Grand Master at the Shrine had examined him head to toe after the incident and shook their heads at their loss. They wouldn’t have expelled him if there was the slimmest chance to bring his power back.

But Meizo was confident there was a cure, and Kan proved him right. How could he tell? And what had the Artifact just done? Was it really as simple as a difference between Northern and Southern paradigms?

Toku noticed Kan’s knitted brows and laughed. “Don’t look so puzzled. This is great news! Now, seems like I’ll have to show you to First Stage housing instead.” He nudged Kan merrily out of the hall.

* * *

The lodging area was on the far end of the practice field, a row of multilevel buildings packed tight with small rooms. Kan was relieved that he didn’t have to share the space with someone else. He had adapted too well to solitude after four years.

He unpacked his possessions. The strange amulet, the pre-bagged supplies, the travel sack he prepared for the wagon escort mission with Meizo. It was hard to believe how much had changed since then. He wondered idly what his boss back in that town would do to his old room and whatever was left in it—hired swords lived by the blades, and no one ever knew when they wouldn’t make it out alive. The rest of the gang never waited long before starting to fight over the left-behinds.

He paused when he untied the bundle from the medicine man.

A dozen carefully padded bottles were wrapped inside a roll of talismans. Kan brought each container to the candlelight and almost shivered as he recognized their contents. All poisons and antidotes, strong enough to kill anyone below Fourth Stage immediately.

With extra caution, he flattened the roll of talismans. These weren’t deadly, at least: a spell to enhance agility, another to speed up Ichor regeneration, another to strengthen physical defense. All were Fourth Stage spells, which he likely wouldn’t be able to control anytime soon.

Kan put the items away, baffled. Why Fourth Stage? And why poisons? The medicine man said it was a token of thanks for leading Wy out of his shop, and Kan hoped it wasn’t customary to offer poison as thanks.

The image of the medicine shop standing unscathed from the fight reemerged in Kan’s mind. It was no ordinary feat to protect such a large structure. Kan couldn’t help but think the Temples held too many secrets: Saiyon’s invitation, Meizo’s crate, the demons, and even the medicine man down at the foot of the mountain.

He was snapped out of his musing by a loud bang, the sound of his door flying open and smashing into the wall.

“This is the Southerner?” An apprentice that was all muscles stormed in.

“Must be. I saw him going into the Temple of Python with brother Wy,” another one behind him said, ducking his head under the lintel. He carried a sword that was likely one of the standard entry-level supplies.

“You’ll pay for this!” The first one roared.

Kan had anticipated revenge from Wy’s friends or gang, though not so soon. “He’s been sent away already?” he asked, impressed by Yeven’s efficiency.

The fatuous question irritated his visitors. The muscle man responded with action and threw a giant fist at Kan’s face.

Kan didn’t step aside. He blocked the punch with the back of his palm, and in one swift motion, turned his hand over into a hook around his opponent’s wrist. He swept the apprentice’s arm backward in a tight arc, and the next moment the apprentice found his elbow twisted onto his back, his forearm pinned between his shoulder blades. He grunted in pain.

“Try a different way to say hi next time,” Kan said. “You should’ve asked your friend what happened when he tried to do the same.”

“Nish,” the apprentice gritted his teeth, “kill him.”

The other visitor, Nish, placed his hand on the sword hilt. “No masters to save you this time, kid,” he sneered at Kan. “We’ll do it fair and square.”

A bright and crisp voice interrupted them, “If you’re doing fair and square, go challenge each other at the arena.”

Three pairs of eyes shot to the doorway. A girl clad in dark red stood with hands on her hips and glared back at them. She was no more than fifteen, short and slim with a round face and big eyes. A pair of twin swords hang on her belt. “Don’t make a mess fighting here in the residence area,” she added.

Her complaint was well-grounded, and Kan released the muscled apprentice at once. The apprentice huffed and was about to strike again when Nish stopped him. “Not now,” he whispered, “that one is the discipline enforcer from the Temple of Phoenix.”

“Well?” the girl tilted her head.

“We’ll take it to the arena,” Nish silenced his companion with a wave of the hand. They’d hoped to teach the Southerner a quick lesson, but the arena gave its benefits: once both sides agreed to a challenge, they willingly accepted the risk of death as a consequence. Wy had been like a real brother to him, and Nish would kill the Southerner a thousand times over if it could ease Wy’s suffering.

“First Stage apprentice Nish. I challenge you to the arena tomorrow at daybreak.”

“First Stage apprentice Kan. Challenge accepted.”

Nish curled his lips into a bloodthirsty smile. Good. The clueless newcomer took the bait, and he’ll soon learn his place in the North.

Kan rubbed his temples as the two apprentices stomped out of his room. “Thanks,” he offered a tired smile to the girl. He didn’t need help out of the fight, though he appreciated the peace after a too-eventful day.

“Thanks?” The girl blinked. “For what? You aren’t with them?”

It was Kan’s turn to blink at a loss. “With them? No … From how much they hate Southerners, I don’t think they’ll like the sound of that idea.”

The girl gasped. “So they came to give you trouble? I should’ve taken them right to Master Yeven for bad discipline!” She looked in the direction where the two apprentices left, but they had long disappeared. “I missed such a great report!” She stamped her foot.

“I’m sure they’ll come back when they lose the challenge tomorrow,” Kan said. “Or someone else from their gang will.”

The girl eyed Kan up and down. “You are entry-level First Stage. You think you can win?” There was no judgment in her voice, only genuine curiosity, and she smiled when Kan nodded. “That’s quite some confidence. What’s your name? I’m Luya, by the way, Third Stage from the Temple of Phoenix. I come here occasionally to oversee general apprentice discipline.”

“Kan. Glad to make your acquaintance.”

“Kan?” Luya’s voice rang full of amazement. “From the Crescent Valley?”

Kan hadn’t heard those words since he crossed the Red River. To everyone on this side of the divide, the South is simply the South. “Yes,” he said. “Have we met before?”

Luya’s big eyes lit up. “No, but I’ve known you for a long time.”