Princess Monochrome Morgan, though recently the cultivating reptilian had favored being called Lady Momo, was dangerously close to reaching the end of her patience.


    Were ''patience'' something that could be quantified in any meaningful way, then her gauge would read out at zero because she''d already reached the secret reserves. The metal plating of the ship hull she clung to, combined with the occasional spray of salt water, chilled her and kept her cold– A sensation she still despised with a passion despite no longer being cold-blooded. If not for the love of the father that raised her, Momo might''ve already ditched the plan in favor of killing those gibbering morons.


    Seriously, why the Hells couldn''t those two shut up already? They knew the plan as well as she did. Lady Momo had already pulled off the more challenging parts of the job successfully: Sneaking on the 2nd ship, quietly pickpocketing the mark, and was ready to deliver the goods over 15 minutes ago. Yet there she waited, cold and wet, unable to finish the job because idiots always gotta have a mouth on them.


    Just hearing the unprofessional and pointless screaming match spilling through the open hold''s porthole was enough to make Momo wish her transformation gave her the ability to roll her eyes in disgust.


    So unprofessional.


    "Yeah, I said it bitch!" Gloated Pete "Rock-for-Brains" Stumpchild with a raspy leer. "What, is your hearing as screwed up as the rest of you?!"


    *Slam!* The hull rattled as someone on the other side stomped hard


    "Hoofless?!" Scoffed a feminine voice, Momo assumed it was the one with the blonde ponytail. "What do you mean hoofless? I got two perfectly good hoofs right here, you blind goat bastards!"


    "Baaaa-hahaaaa! Yeah, but you only got one at the end of each leg, you freak of nature!" Came the mocking laughs of Greg "Crybaby" Stumpchild.


    "The only freaks down here are two Satyrs with only a single set of horns between them!" Blondy gave as good as she got. "I don''t have time for this crap, I''m needed on deck. Now shut your fool criminal mouths and behaviour or I swear I''ll-"


    "You''ll what, Hoplite!?" Pete demanded. "You gonna arrest us twice? Huh?!"


    "No, you dumb shit, I''ll just kick you in the head so hard you''ll be wearing my hoofprint for a week."


    "If you kick Pete, please do it twice so it looks like they came from a real woman." Sneered Greg. "We wouldn''t want to give the other prisoners thinking my friend here has bad taste."


    "Hells yeah! Do it, kick me in the head twice!" Pete exploded into a fit of moronic laughter. "I''d lose Face if the others found out you touched me."


    "Well…" Blondy drew out the word, and Momo could hear the smirk even if she couldn''t see it. "I''d just hate to be the reason for your loss of Face… For either of you boys."


    Suddenly, the Satyrs no longer found things so funny.


    "H-hey! Put that unnatural thing down. We''re Capital prisoners, remember!"


    "Don''t wet your fur, Greg. Can''t you tell she''s just bluffing? Bitch doesn''t have the guts to-"


    "Meeeeh." Momo let out a long growl of contentment as the comforting sounds of an ass whooping were finally delivered.


    Once Blondy was done giving the goats matching face brands, she would be sure to leave the room right after. Hopefully, one of the idiots would still be lucid enough for Momo to pass off the Suppression Cuff keys, fulfilling the terms of the Oath her parent made. Escaping the boat was the goats'' problem, not hers. They''d have to keep their mouths shut about any calamitous discoveries, whether they were caught again or not.


    Lady Momo was already dreaming of the warm comfort of her favorite napping spot on top of Morgan''s head and was debating whether to eat now or later when-


    *Splash!* A colossal wave slammed into the hull below the Princess, and the resulting spray drenched what little scales remained dry.


    With any luck, this whole vessel—crew and cargo—would be tragically lost on the return voyage.


    <hr>


    It wasn''t even close to sunset at the moment, yet Morgan could study the night sky hanging above him all the same.


    Of course, the seemingly paradoxical nature of the situation was only surface level as the starry heavens that seemed to stretch out endlessly in every direction did not, in fact, really do that. It only looked bigger from the inside, and he knew its true edge was only around 20-30 meters directly behind him. Although it was possible that the barge he stood on had drifted closer or farther away after the patrol guard vessel had docked with them. Sadly, gauging the distance with the naked eye was impossible, and even Perception was of no help. The Bloodline either couldn''t sense or display the concealment Spell''s Aether, or there were some elements of different metaphysical mechanics at play there.


    But if all the Scientist wanted was to find where the Spell''s edge was, he didn''t need the mystical ability of his Bloodline. He just needed something he could chuck in the right direction, and when the item suddenly disappeared, he''d have his answer. But for the best result, he''d need to throw something eye-catching even in the dim lighting and aerodynamic enough to go the distance.


    Something like a… Spear, perhaps.


    The Professor''s gaze lowered from the false heavens to a section of nearby deck he knew held the potential scientific instrument. Unfortunately, the one holding it took notice of his attention and where that attention lay, tightened his hold on the simple wooden haft—the long leaf blade tipping the end shimmering in the dark.


    From underneath the plumed helmet''s open-face visor, the Hoplite warrior grimaced openly. He moved so the great round shield adorning the other arm could more easily be brought up in defense, the face of some screaming humanoid monster etched on the shield. Morgan might''ve missed the subtle shift in stance if the metal greaves, arm bracers, and breastplate weren''t all polished till they resembled a mirror. With all the stars reflecting off the amour, the guards'' movements made them look like disco balls that evolved bipedalism.


    Hmm… That effect could be an intentional design choice, now that he thought about it. The sight was very distracting and helped break up the body''s silhouette.


    Regardless, Morgan didn''t mind the man''s blatant hostility. In fact, he welcomed the interaction as another chance to openly study the biology of this latest Mortal species.


    Unlike their mythical counterparts on Earth, real Centaurs were built like Satyrs in terms of humanoid to animal proportions. Crispus, like the other Centaurs in his unit, had hairless top halves that could''ve passed for Humans if they wore a hat to cover up the erect horse-like ears. Unlike the Satyrs, whose two hoofed legs conveyed nimble speed, the backward-jointed brown-haired limbs on Crispus looked like they could kick trees down with a single hoofed kick. They were tall, too, and the biggest almost matched the late Bronte in height.


    "Morgan, we agreed you''d stop antagonizing the guards for personal entertainment." Chided Ego beside him, fully aware the Hoplite was within earshot.


    "I''m bored of waiting for our ride, " he grunted, crossing both arms in self-indulgent childish annoyance. "I''m just looking at the guy, and if he feels threatened by me, then he can just say so."


    "You know he won''t because doing so would be considered rude, and besides, I''m sure he finds you just as alien as you find him. Please go find something to keep you occupied that won''t get us into trouble." The Monk lectured for Crispus''s sake before projecting in a softer tone. [Don''t worry, I''m sure Momo will be back at any moment. If anything had happened, we''d hear the commotion.]


    Morgan gave a noncommittal grunt before finally looking away from the glowering Hoplite to regard the spectral Monk.


    "Well, I did come up with something entertaining, but I''d need his spear to-"


    "I knew it!" a cracking voice still settling after the turbulence of puberty announced. "I did catch you gawking at my doru with hungry eyes."


    With equal looks of uncertainty, Ego and Morgan turned slowly to the only person sharing the deck. There, they found Crispus taking a battle-ready stance, his spear not entirely leveled at them but now gripped with both hands.


    "Well?" The Hoplite demanded when neither spoke, his voice breaking ever more as he grew flustered. "Should I take your silence as an admittance of guilt?"


    "No friggin way I just heard that." The Professor said, primarily to himself, before igniting a quickly formed Mana lantern, casting the deck in warm yellow-white light. "<u>Wisp.</u>"


    The Wisp light was nowhere near the level he used on Bronte, but its steady glow was more than able to banish the dark and give them a better look at the… Holy shit.


    "What is that? Glowstone?" The guard said with a beardless frown, brown eyes blinking back tears of discomfort. "Glowstone is a heavily regulated mineral in Olympia; I''ll need to see some documentation if you don''t wanna join the scum in the cell."


    "Damn, kid." Morgan cursed, allowing the Technique to fizzle out as irritation caused his scar to itch. "What are you 15, 16?"


    "I''m 17!" Crispus hissed the correction with a speed only angsty adolescence could produce.


    "Holy child soldier, Batman." Ego gasped in alarm.


    "Lowly Spirit, are you insulting a member of the Capitol Guard, the elite proctors of Olympia''s people and embodiment of the Councle''s will?" The youth demanded before pausing, adding, "Wait, what is a ''Batman''? I''ll need a description of any insult to include in my nightly report."


    "It wasn''t an insult." The Professor came to Ego''s defense. "We''re just surprised that the city council, or whatever it''s called here, lets brats run around with such dangerous toys."


    The Monk flashed Morgan a disapproving frown.


    "Actually, I''m more concerned for the boy''s well-being. But I wouldn''t mind giving this council a piece of my-"


    *Stomp!*


    "I am a fully grown Centaur!" Crispus seethed, slamming a petulant hoof down as all adults are known to do occasionally. "I am a Warrior of the 13th Cut! Trained and assigned as a full member of this patrol crew. I will not be treated like a child by-"


    "Hey recruit! Stop flirting with the civilian and make yourself useful for once!" Called a different guard that Morgan recognized as the one he''d passed Pete and Greg''s cuff keys to.


    Man and Spirit watched as another armored Centaur strutted confidently to the guard rails of the docked patrol vessel, a watercraft resembling a two-story modern fishing boat wrapped in dozens of bronze protective plates. This Hoplite''s exposed skin glistened with a thin sheen of perspiration, but she seemed in very high spirits as her blond horsetail swayed merrily behind her.


    "Damn you, Cressida, I asked you not to be so casual in front of potential criminals." The Recruit groaned as he turned around, his animalistic thighs twitching sporadically as if batting away invisible biting flies. "And I was not flirting."


    "Really?" Cressida teased as she smirked down playfully at her junior. "But he''s your type."


    "No, he isn''t." Crispus, Ego, and Morgan corrected all in unison, but for very different reasons.


    "Wow, that was impressive teamwork!" She giggled before focusing on her fellow unit member and tugging at one of the many lines of rope tying the barge to the patrol vessel. "Anyway, The Captain says you''re staying with her to help bring in the barge while the rest of us escort the prisoners straight to the Fort. So hurry up and untie the lines."


    "Wait! That''s not fair!" The full-grown Warrior Cultivator whined. "I''ve had to work impound duty on the last three arrests! It has to be somebody elses-"


    "Hmm, I must be hearing things after such a long shift." Cressida suddenly interrupted the accusation with a wide sisterly grin. "For a moment there, I thought I heard some insubordination nonsense from my cute junior brother. But for such a blasphemous thing to occur would be ridiculous, right?"


    Crispus''s tan skin whited a couple of shades as a shudder of fear ran through him. Morgan felt a pang of sympathy for the bronze-covered brat at seeing that sibling relations worked the same no matter the Universe.


    "Oh good." The blond mare giggled after receiving a very panicked nod of agreement from him. "Now get to work before I have to discipline you like a goat."


    With that confusing threat made, the Centaurs went off to complete their assigned tasks, leaving the Human and Spirit alone under the looming cabin.


    Although not for long, it would seem.


    *Pop*


    Suddenly, 12 kg of wet Sacred Beast materialized on top of the Professor''s head. Cold salt water dripped off her and soaked the lab coat''s back. Momo wasn''t shivering, but from the way she gripped him, the poor creature had to be freezing. Immediately, Morgan used his coat sleeve to wipe away some of the moisture while Ego immediately launched into a string of questions.


    "Momo!" They whispered. "Are you okay?"


    "Meh." She nodded irritably.


    "Did you fall into the water?"


    "Mer." She shook her head.


    They raised an eyebrow at each other.


    "Alright." The Monk let that line of questioning go and got down to business after seeing every guard was out of earshot. "Did you manage to make the delivery?"


    "Meh."


    "Did our… associates escape yet?"


    "Mer."


    "Were you seen?"


    "Mer."


    "Are you sure nobody aboard saw you?"


    "...Meh." Momo paused, likely to give the Spirit a dirty look before answering.


    "Then you''ve successfully fulfilled our end of the bargain. Thank you, young Monochrome." Ego sighed in relief, their shoulders slumping as the biggest threat facing their little group had been dealt with. "We''re safe, and it should all be smooth sailing from here on out."


    "What the Void is that thing?!" Came an outraged cry of a cranky tot from the other side of the barge. "Is that a- Both of you better wait right there, or I swear on my Dao I''ll have you all put in chains and arrested!"


    "After the rope!" Cressida added helpfully from somewhere unseen.


    "All arrests will be conducted after the ropes." Crispus amended hurriedly.


    [Dang.] They projected, coming as close to a curse as they could. [You know, I really should''ve seen that coming at this point.]


    [Yeah, you were kinda tempting fate with that one.] The Professor mused as he gently soothed the gecko to sleep and hopefully miss the approaching shitstorm. [Let me take the lead on this one. I''ve worked with kids his age before and speak young-adult fluently.]


    The Monk gave him the side eye at which Morgan''s perpetual frown started deepening, only for the expression to be rendered moot. Their avatar vanished, leaving the man scowling at the distant horizon.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    [Sure. Why don''t you talk with him and try to hurry things upstairs.] Came the sly Spirits mental projection. [In the meantime, I''ll pop into the cabin and see if I can get Captain Varvara and Septima to hurry things along.]


    His only response was a snort of indifference before settling his sights on the reddening boy soldier furiously undoing complex knots of rope at the cheers of his senior. The other Hoplites, another Centaur, and a male Cyclops had joined in on the fun with Cressida. Although at hearing the distant chanting, Morgan was starting to question how his universal translator worked precisely. On the brighter side, he now understood that nobody in the guard unit was related by blood.


    "Go little brother, go little brother, Go!" Sang the others, fists and spears pumping in the air with every repetition. "Go little brother, go little brother, Go!"


    "I''m only two years younger than Sebastian." Little brother Crispus sniffed, pointing a finger at the grinning Cyclops. "If you''re going to embarrass me, could you at least just call me brother?"


    "Go Little Brother, Go Little Brother, GO!" Was the unit''s answer.


    Watching the hazing ritual unfold as Momo''s soft snores began rumbling the top of his hair had a calming effect on the Professor. Which was something he desperately didn''t want to happen at the moment. Being alone without racing thoughts and life-or-death situations to distract him from the burnt chest wound would be… agony?


    The Scientist tentatively flexed a pectoral… then the other… then both at the same time…


    Nothing.


    Aware he was on ice but unable to stop himself from slamming a boot down to test the thickness anyway, he took in a deep breath. The fleshy machinery was a little stiff but did not offer the bruised and damaged resistance he expected—what basic biology told him should be the case.


    A man of his Dao, Morgan peeked down his t-shirt''s neck hole. Exactly as he recalled, the softball size gift from Shrimpson was still there, just as red and blotchy as ever. Sticking a hand up through the shirt''s bottom, he poked the raw flesh experimentally. He let out a tiny grunt as the area was just as tender as before but far less than it should be. This new level of pain was equivalent to if someone had quickly pressed a hot iron to his chest, as opposed to the far worse reality he suffered.


    The injury was still an ugly looking thing, but far better than the carnage the area would have been in if not for Rebar''s Qi-powered protection.


    Hmm…


    A whim overtook him, and the Professor willed his Prana Repository open.


    Oh? His Qi banks had finally started building up again in the last hour and a half or so. Now, that was an interesting development, especially with the injury''s internal-only recovery. The timing was enough to make one question a potential connection there. A hint at a deeper relationship between the Body Foundation and his physical anatomy.


    *Thud. Thud*


    Any more speculations were put on hold as two expertly tied bundles of rope landed at Morgan''s feet, one after the other.


    "You threatened me with chains yet tossed me rope." The Professor noted dryly, looking up to find the hard-faced youth back. "I''m guessing either someone slashed the patrol budget or your unit left with all the Class Suppression Cuffs?"


    The patrol vessel was silently chugging away at a decent speed and had already begun shrinking away in the distance. Wherever this Fort was, it must have been on a different section of stump than the one before them because the vessel''s heading was now veering to the right.


    "It would seem that those of my station are not allowed to make non-emergency solo arrests before reaching three months in grade." The Hoplite said through gritted teeth, his spear pointed at the Human''s head. "That is what the law states. Just as it states that untamed Sacred Beasts within the local territory of a recognized settlement must be collared, caged, or bound appropriately. Bringing a Sacred Beast to a settlement and failing to take even the basic of safety measures is a crime. Now, surrender peacefully."


    The unspoken part of his message was clear; Tie you and the Beast or I will.


    "Hmm." Mused Morgan, never one to pass up a perfect fishing opportunity. "And how do you know my little Momo is untamed? How can you confidently say that such a well-behaved, perfect little creature like her is dangerous?"


    Now, those questions got the Centaur''s frown to flip upside down.


    "Captain Varvara told us that no one of her Cultivation Rank was present. Since no Wayfarer can subjugate a Beast without a collar, you are in violation of the law." Suddenly, Crispus''s face went dark as he flashed an angry look at the cabin above them before returning to a shit-eating grin. "No doubt the Spirit ran to our betters above, and your Noble Patron will have added the Beast to whatever backroom deal is being made."


    "The Hound is more like a wealthy backer in this case." Morgan corrected, though a part of his mind noted the Captain''s higher advancement. It could be why a Class Core window showed up for every Cultivator but the unit leader.


    "Regardless, I''ll likely be ordered to release you both when the others join us."


    "But in the meantime, you want to flex your authority over a civilian by using this unsupervised moment to push me around legally." The Professor predicted with a sigh. "Either I''ll comply, and you''ll prove to ''everyone'' that nobody is above the law, or I''ll resist, giving you cause to declare an emergency and arrest me by force. That sounds about right to you?"


    Morgan had to resist adding that the brat was likely only pulling this crap because an arrest would make him look good to the rest of his unit. Of course, saying that aloud would only needlessly enrage Crispus further, as no one liked having their deeper psychological motivations thrown in their face. Especially idiotic teenagers way in over their heads while trying to save Face.


    "So you admit that refusing my generous offer of a peaceful surrender is tantamount to an emergency." The Hoplite all but snarled as he came closer, unknowingly compromising his footing.


    "I don''t know about all that," Morgan chuckled, absently stroking the sleepy creature''s head. But I do know two things. First, I''m not waking Momo; she needs her rest. Second, if you take a single step towards me, you''re going to regret it."


    "You smug bastard!"


    If not for the physical upgrade ascending to a Cultivator granted Morgan, he and possibly the Princess might''ve died.


    Fully done with the Professor''s flagrant indifference to a Centaur of the law, Crispus broke into action to apprehend the criminal. Letting out a war cry, that may or may not have sounded like something between a screech and a stallion''s neigh, before charging forth gallantly with shield and doru spear raised. If the fool had noticed his left hoof had gotten snagged on one of the first mooring lines he himself untied, then that glorious charge would have lasted more than a single step.


    "Oof!" Surprise knocked the air out of his lungs as the boy''s leg pulled the rope taut with all his weight, his top half wiping forward with enough force that the spear forcibly slipped from his grasp.


    Whatever manufacturer created the weapon must have known their craft well, for despite the half-ass throw, the spear quickly stabilized in flight. In an instant, 2.5 meters of wood and bronze became a rotating death drill no wider than Morgan''s right hand.


    The Professor was confident of that measurement, for he used the back of that same hand to slap certain death away from Momo and him. As with the Battle Shrimp''s punches, knowing where and when an attack was coming made deflecting it a breeze. Now the spear would sail harmlessly into the Olympia Sea behind him… where the concealment Spell''s edge should be!


    Best of all, the weapon''s haft was still sliding past his hand, so adding a little downward force near the end should increase the trajectory and give the scientific tool better distance.


    Elated that everything worked out for him anyway, the Scientist made to turn around and hopefully catch sight of the moment it disappeared, but there was a problem. Mid-turn, he made the mistake of noticing the stupid kid''s face looking up at him from the deck floor. Tears were already pooling in the corners as horror and regret began twisting his features. Yet, Morgan suspected those emotions weren''t for the innocent (well, maybe not totally innocent) Human he almost slaughtered. It was for the weapon.


    Depending on circumstances, Earth soldiers could be held financially liable for damaged or lost equipment, and the cost was normally taken out of their pay. That was just the financial aspect; it didn''t even account for the potential punishment for such a loss, which could be discharge papers. Judging from the kid''s total despair, he probably couldn''t afford the cost of either outcome.


    …God damn it.


    Tisking in annoyance, the Professor shifted plans at the last second, just as 2/3rds of the spear passed over his shoulder. With all the force he could bring to bear, his fingers closed down like an iron vice. Finger joints popped audibly, and friction superheated the flesh as momentum refused to stop cold on such short notice. Realizing he wouldn''t stop it in time, Morgan opted for a last-minute hail mary and bent the entire wrist forward.


    The doru slipped through his fingers, but instead of escaping to sea, it soared meters into the air, flipping end over end until finally succumbing to gravity.


    *Shunk!*


    The wickedly sharp spear embedded itself in the deck, its quivering blade so close to Crispus''s head that the boy went cross-eyed just looking at it.


    Oops. That was a close one.


    "You dropped that." Morgan deadpanned, none of the sheepishness he felt visible on his face as he walked over to the boy. "No need to thank me."


    "Th-Thank you?!" The Centaur sputtered up at him in questioning disbelief.


    "You''re welcome." Morgan offered him a hand.


    *Slap!*


    "What?" He growled, angrily knocking away the assistance before kicking away the rope, still binding his leg and rolling over to stand. "I wasn''t thanking you!"


    "Perhaps you should consider the idea." Suggested a low, commanding, feminine voice. "After all, I would say you were but a moment away from being sentenced to the disciplinary barracks for losing Capital property."


    The little Hoplite who couldn''t catch a break, spun on the spot to face the Centaur leading the group descending the stairs. He slammed a fist into an open palm before bowing so quickly at the waist he nearly pitched forward.


    Septima, followed closely by Ego, walked in the wake of a rather severe-looking Centaur. Older than any of the other horse folk he''s seen by at least a decade and a half, this specimen could still give all the whippersnappers a run for their money. No-nonsense muscles hide inconspicuously under dark skin and even darker hair on the head and thighs alike. Yet, there wasn''t a wrinkle or crow''s feet in sight. If not for the occasional thread of silver standing out, the half dozen thin white lines of scar tissue would have been his 2nd best tip-off of her veteran status. The impressive weaponry the battle-tested Cultivator was packing was the 1st.


    Though she wore nearly identical armor, round shield, and sheathed shortsword as the other Hoplites, her spear was clearly a cut above the rest. The symbol of her station: the spearhead was broader and held a darker bronze sheen, while the haft was intricately carved with what looked like scenes from different battles.


    "Captain Varvara!" Crispus shouted with alarm once everyone had stepped on deck. "This Hoplite greets you and wishes to give context to what the Captain may or may not have seen just now."


    "Which part do you think requires context?" Septima loudly asked Ego with false curiosity. "The part where he tripped on a bit of rope the Professor warned him about? Or is this about the nearly disastrous manslaughter charge he so nearly avoided?"


    The theatrical Monk put on a thoughtful expression, their gaze fixed to the Heavens as if the false sky hid answers.


    "Neither, my Lady, as that much is obvious to everyone here." They said before coming to an apparent ''epiphany'' and excitedly proposing to the Hound. "Surely, young Crispus must wish to come clean about his misuse of authority for personal gain, which was what started this whole mess."


    "How could you possibly-" The guilty party foolishly started to say, only to have the question die outright under the glowering glare of his superior.


    "We know," Captain Varvara answered in clipped tones. "Because the Spirit is connected to Lord Morgan. With that connection, they were able to supply a rather detailed accounting of everything their vessel experienced. I found your boldness while not under your elder siblings'' supervision very surprising."


    With little effort, the higher Ranked Cultivator ripped the spear out of the floor and shoved it into Crispus''s arms with enough force to send the head-and-a-half taller Centaur flat on his ass.


    "I''ll have to give Cressida and the others the whole tale when I see them tonight at Fort Epimetheus." The Captain promised without an ounce of heat over the shaking youth. "In the meantime, why don''t you steer this scrap heap to impound while I see the civilians off."


    "Yes, Captain!" A pale Crispus squeaked before turning a brown flickering tail and running up the stairs without so much as a backward glance.


    They all watched him go. Some were impressed by the speed he took the steps, and others were curious to see if he''d slip and fall on his own spear in the escape. Who could say which idle thought belonged to whom?


    "Interesting kid. I''m sure he''ll go far if he''s not killed by pirates, falls on his spear, or whatever heroic death enlisted brats find cool these days." Morgan broke the silence once the cabin door slammed and added to Varvara. "So, I''m going to assume the fact that I''m not in chains means my party and I are free to enter the Capital city?"


    Morgan watched with no small amusement as the female Centaur''s nostrils flared like a horse but was surprised when instead of answering directly, she leaned her opulent spear on the guard rail. Raising a brow, the Professor made to rephrase his question more politely when something materialized in the Captain''s hands that she pointed in his direction. There was a flash of yellow light.


    *Click.*


    Eris''s Swiss army knife of a necklace momentarily shot up in temperature before rapidly cooling. Blinking away the tiny lights dancing in his vision, he caught a glimpse of what the women held before it disappeared again into interdimensional storage. It appeared to his Earthling mind as a cubic polaroid camera on a stick, only where a lens should be a single puck-sized Rune glowed a radiant yellow. Then, it was gone like it never existed in the first place.


    Restricting an urge to start asking questions or even acknowledge anything strange had occurred at all, Morgan played his off ignorance by giving the Hound a vague annoyed look.


    "The Captain only wished to confirm your Cultivator Core''s status as a Wayfarer before allowing us all entry," Septima explained with an exasperated look at the unabashed woman. "Under normal circumstances, such an intrusion on a fellow Cultivator''s advancement would be taboo, but as we''re-"


    "Lord Morgan, what sectors of the Europa Realm did you find yourself visiting or otherwise occupying during the first week of Jiǎzǐ?" Varvara bluntly interrupted, ignoring Septima''s indigent protests to hold Morgan''s gaze in an iron vice of will. "Please answer honestly, lie and I shall know."


    [The first week of Jiǎzǐ is around early June on Earth.] Ego hissed hurriedly into his mind. [Whatever you do, don''t lie, but don''t give any more info than you have to.]


    [When have I ever done otherwise?] Morgan mentally snorted before answering aloud. "I wasn''t in any sector of Europa at the time."


    "Have you ever visited the Achaea Sector during the same time period?"


    "Nope." He said, absently fidgeting with his hair.


    "...I see." She said evenly after a long pause. "Have you visited Helike city before or after the start of the 108th Epoch?"


    “Helike? …Helike…” The Professor said in a murmur, repeating it as if to check if the name tasted familiar. "Helick… Are you referring to the capital city of planet Helick located in Europa''s Achaea sector?"


    "The very same," Varvara confirmed eagerly, the first time she''d shown any visible emotion thus far. "Helike was a major trading hub for the sector and the Realm as a whole. In the past, it was not unusual for up-and-coming cultivators like yourself to visit in search of resources and opportunities."


    "Yeah, I''ve never heard of the place until now." Morgan shrugged, earning barely stifled chuckles from the Hound and Monk, and a glare from the Hoplite Captain. "What happened to it?"


    "If this is the first you''ve heard of Helike, then-"


    "Simple, I made an educated guess. Vajrayana has five Realms, and you seem interested in only one sector in particular. You asked about a city yet didn''t bother mentioning the planet, so I figured they share a name like the one we''re floating on, likely meaning Helike was a capital city." The Professor cut through the accusations with the same bluntness Varvara seemed so fond of. "And when anyone uses past tense to describe an important location, it''s usually safe to say something bad happened."


    "The reports my clan received said the city was essentially wiped out of existence by some natural disaster. Likely a rogue tidal wave from the coast." The Hound reported, all humor gone as grey eyes flashed dangerously. "Varvara, what are you suggesting by this line of… unusual questioning?"


    "I suggest nothing. I only loyally follow my standing orders from the Olympia council to ask these questions to anyone entering the city under unusual circumstances." The Captain stated with indifferent professionalism. "Also, the famed Caesar Clan''s reports seem outdated. The most recent reports say Helike was brought to ruin by a storm of apocalyptic proportions, a Fate none of the city''s Faction-assigned oracles saw approaching."


    "The loss of Helike is a tragedy beyond measure, even more so under such strange circumstances. I, for one, can understand the council''s concern for Olympia''s residents. However, I can and will swear on my Soul that Morgan has nothing to do with those sad events." Ego jumped in before the Hound could rise to the verbal bait and gave the Centaur a respectful bow. "Captain Varvara, we have all had a trying day, and I fear our moods will only worsen without food and rest. If there are no more questions, please allow Lady Septima to take us so you may return to your proper duties. We do not wish to take any more of your time than necessary."


    Wow. In only a few sentences, the Monk put the kibosh on any potential bickering between the two sides without insulting anyone. An impressive feat, if a little dull in Morgan''s opinion, but he''d take it.


    "I see the wisdom of your words Spirit and-" Varara paused mid-sentence, her gaze went vacant for a moment before focusing back on Morgan. "-and they come at the perfect time. Lord Morgan''s Core report has just been completed, and I have only one question left to ask."


    "Please do." He said, ready to get off this damn boat.


    "The heads of the tourist department wish to collect information on the kinds of travelers visiting our city." The Captain said with a robotic stiffness not present before, like the explanation was a sales pitch she wasn''t allowed to skip. "Specifically, they wish to know what age group you are in to better align local businesses and notable attractions with what is trending."


    "You- I mean, these department heads want to know how old I am?" The Professor blinked, not mentally prepared for the sudden survey. After performing some quick calculations and date conversions, he gave up on the math and reached out to the Spirit. [What''s the current Earth date?]


    [July 18th.]


    "I am 77 years old."


    "Pardon me?" Septima gasped. Clearly, her aunt''s letter failed to warn her of that novel bit of trivia.


    "How can you be my senior by almost a decade and still look so," the veteran Hoplite struggled to find appropriate words. "Fresh?"


    "Friends in high places." Morgan said cryptically before pointedly changing the topic to something far less personal and prone to questioning. "So, do I get to keep the Class Core report, or does that get added to my file?"


    "You may keep the report if you want it…" The Captain said slowly, still looking at him with obvious jealousy as a square sheet of paper appeared in her hand. "The Array is merely a tool used for seeing the Rating of potential threats, so there is nothing of interest to be…"


    Upon casually glancing at the sheet, Varvara''s eyes did a noticeable double take on the continents. At first, her expression remained neutral, a little confused to be sure, but nothing alarming. That all changed when she reached some kind of understanding the rest weren''t privy to, and suddenly, neutrality twisted into total disgust—disgust aimed at him.


    "What does it say?" Morgan asked and extended a hand, though by the sudden rage roaring in the woman''s eyes, one would think he''d just issue her a command at gunpoint.


    Sneering at the Professor like he''d just kicked a sack of puppies into a river after setting fire to an orphanage, the bitch dropped the report on the floor. With venom dripping from every word, she answered the question. "Nothing that isn''t true, I suspect."


    The report fluttered down, flipping too fast to catch sight of what was printed on one side until finally, it landed face up. There, a picture of a single Rune glowed with the same dark blue light and font he''d seen used on Class Core windows.


    The symbol resembled a tilde (the little squiggle over the letter ''N'' in Spanish), a fishing hook, and a backward-facing 7 layer over each other. While meaningless to the Human and likely the uncivilized Beats still snoozing away, the others sharp hisses of horror told him the meaning was nothing good.


    [It''s the symbol for Wanderer.] The Monk came to his rescue without him needing to ask. [Officially, it translates to English as ''Those who travel without direction.'']


    [Hmm. Didn''t that land squid Lysander call me a Wanderer once?] He asked, a knot growing in his stomach as Septima''s muzzle opened and closed soundlessly, incomprehension rendering her mute. [Based on context, I just assumed it meant non-Cultivator.]


    [Well, you''re not exactly wrong in concept.] The Monk visibly winced and chose their following words very carefully. [Some Cultivators might use Wanderer to describe regular Mortals, but not in a positive way. I''m not sure where your Rating ranks in the hierarchy, but I do know that the term is often slang for-]


    "Trash?!" The Hound howled in anguish. "Your Overall Rating is Trash?!?