Yu Mei and Han Lei left Han Sen's home in a whirlwind of threats and slammed doors. Their ultimatum hung heavy in the air: One month. Pay two million credits, or sell the house. Or we'll see you in court.
"Mother is useless," Luo Sulan whispered, tears dripping onto little Yan's hair as she clung to her daughter. "I can't even protect our home."
Han Sen's heart ached. His mother had been sheltered, cherished like a princess during his father's life. She'd never known hardship, let alone household chores. Seeing her fight to raise him and Yan after his father's death had shown him a strength he never knew she possessed. This fight was breaking her.
"Mom, stop," Han Sen said firmly, kneeling beside her. "Dad's gone, but I'm here. They won't take our home. Rest now. I need to speak with Uncle Zhang." He activated his comm unit, calling the family's old legal advisor and his father's friend, Zhang Wei.
"Uncle Zhang? It's Han Sen… How's your back pain?... I need legal advice…" Han Sen outlined the situation. When the call ended, his face was grim. Uncle Zhang had confirmed the worst. The law was on the vultures' side. Inheritance rights were clear. Pay or sell. Those were the only paths the court would likely see.
"Xiao Sen? What did Lawyer Zhang say?" Luo Sulan asked, her voice thin with hope and fear.
Han Sen forced a confident smile. "It's handled, Mom. Uncle Zhang outlined a solution. Focus on Yan'er. I'll take care of the house. No one is taking it." The lie tasted bitter, but her fragile relief was worth it.
"Thank goodness…" Luo Sulan breathed, shoulders slumping slightly.
Han Sen spent a restless night in the cramped house that suddenly felt even smaller under the shadow of debt. At dawn, he boarded the maglev back to the transfer station. He needed sanctuary. The other Sanctuary.
He materialized inside his designated Steelhold room – a secure, personal space only accessible by him until he evolved and ascended to the Second Sector. For now, it was his sanctuary within the sanctuary.
Two million credits. The number hammered against his skull. He had no power, no influence back home. Only cold, hard currency could save the ancestral house now. For a sixteen-year-old fresh out of mandatory schooling, it was an astronomical sum. Before, it would have been impossible.
But now? Now he had the crystal.
His gaze fell on the Primal-tier Scaled Lizard carcass still on the floor. He grabbed his knife. Efficiency was key. He butchered the creature, carefully drying the lean meat over the small room's furnace. The resulting jerky filled a belt pouch – emergency rations. His plan demanded mobility.
He needed live prey. Capture something common, use the crystal to evolve it, then harvest the valuable higher-tier flesh. But with the Golden Carapace armor, he could skip the weaklings. He could hunt Primals now.
His target wasn't the relatively sluggish Bronze Fangs near Steelhold. He aimed higher: Windblade Mantises in Gale Valley.
Windblades were textbook Primal-tier predators: fragile bodies but blinding speed and razor-sharp forelimbs capable of shearing through bone. Their weakness was the same as their strength – focus those deadly forelimbs. A well-placed strike from a decent alloy blade to their core could kill them. But catching one? Outmaneuvering it? That was the death sentence for most unprepared hunters. Few dared Gale Valley.
For Han Sen, they were perfect.
No Primal-tier claws are getting through Sacred Blood armor, he thought grimly. If it can't hurt me, it's just target practice. More importantly, once he severed its signature "windblades" and wings, a Mantis became helpless but remained alive. Easy to transport back here. Perfect for crystal-induced evolution into a Mutant-tier prize. That could fetch two million.
And if sheer luck struck? If he managed to kill one cleanly and actually acquired its Soul Beast… The Windblade Mantis Soul Beast manifested as Windrazor Daggers – twin, serrated blades. Exactly his preferred fighting style. As Primal-tier weapons went, Windrazors were legendary for their sharpness, rivaling some Mutant-tier blades. Their rarity, thanks to the danger of hunting Mantises, made them astronomically valuable. Selling just one Windrazor Soul Beast could solve his money problems instantly.
The journey to Gale Valley was desolate. Human presence thinned to nothing long before he reached the wind-scoured entrance. He found a sheltered outcrop just outside the valley mouth. Taking a deep breath, he focused inward.
Golden Carapace. Armor.
Liquid gold flowed from the ether, encasing him in moments. The familiar surge of power and protection settled over him. He drew his worn alloy dagger – a stark contrast to the divine armor – and stepped into Gale Valley.
The valley lived up to its name. Winds funneled between rocky walls, whipping through dense groves of alien trees and head-high, razor-edged grasses. Everything swayed and rustled constantly. Perfect camouflage for creatures painted in shifting shades of jade and emerald.
Han Sen moved cautiously, senses straining. Every rustle could be the wind… or the prelude to a blur of green death aiming to shear through bone. His golden armor gleamed dully under the filtered light, the only solid thing in a world of treacherous motion. He stalked deeper, every nerve alight, searching for the first glint of chitin or the tell-tale shikk of bladed limbs.