The wind carried the scent of crushed leaves and alchemical ash. It was midday now, but the forest wore its shadows proudly, like old scars left by time.
A campfire still smoldered in the grove, its embers silent witnesses to the scuffle that had happened not long ago.
And beside the burnt stones, half-buried in dirt and bruised pride, lay a boy.
Velric d'Elmont, heir to the Verdant Cauldron, stirred.
His face was pale, his robes muddied, his belt missing, and one of his boots had been tossed some paces away, as if in the aftermath of an undignified tantrum. Or worse—a mugging.
His eyes fluttered open slowly, consciousness creeping in like a reluctant guest.
"…He took my belt," Velric muttered.
Then it all returned to him like a slap: the choking grip, the fall, the peasant's audacity, the stolen potions.
He sat up sharply—and groaned.
Footsteps approached in haste.
"Velric?!"
Three shadows burst into the clearing, each dressed in similarly regal academy robes, marked by the green-and-gold trim of the alchemist division.
Their faces shifted from concern to confusion to cold rage as they saw the scene.
"By the Cauldron's curse—who did this?" barked a tall girl with a scar on her cheek, dark hair tied back in a scholar's braid.
"Where's your belt? Where are the tinctures?" another asked, checking the damaged campfire. "This place looks raided."
Velric stood shakily. "He was masked. Fast. Crude. Disgustingly unrefined. Didn't even touch the stabilizing kits. Just went for food, potions… and insulted my family name while doing it."
His voice cracked near the end, not from pain, but shame. A noble being outplayed. Humiliated. Not by a beast, but by a nobody.
"He knew what he wanted," murmured the third teammate, kneeling beside the scattered supplies. "Didn't break anything he didn't need."
"A common thief?" the girl asked.
Velric's jaw tensed.
"No. Not common." He looked at his empty potion rack. "Calculated. Desperate, but trained. He didn't panic, he acted. Efficiently."
His fingers curled into fists.
"I swear this," he spat, each word laced with venom, "I'll find that rat. And I'll make him wish he'd died in this forest."
---
Far deeper in the woods, under the cover of moss-laden stone and fern shadows, Zane bit into a dry stalk of preserved root, chewing silently.
It wasn't good. It wasn't bad.
But it was food, and in this twisted dimension of monsters and madness, that made it holy.
His eyes were fixed on nothing in particular, yet his mind was turning gears, grinding through possibilities.
The boy he'd attacked wasn't just any alchemy student. That flask design, the etching on his pouch—the ornate ivy pattern…
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Identity Match – Velric d'Elmont. Status: Upper-noble lineage. Political influence within academy guilds: Medium-High. Resource access: Extensive. Vindictiveness: Concerning. Hair maintenance cost: Excessive.
Zane let out a long, slow exhale.
He didn't regret it. But now, he had to move with more than instinct.
He had to think like someone trying to stay alive in a world that played by ancient laws.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Advisory Notice – This is not a modern world. Here, there is no "security camera," no "authority to report to," and no such thing as "pressing charges."
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: The strong rule. The weak kneel. The clever survive. You are not strong. Nor feared. Not yet.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Status: Targeted. Probability of being hunted by noble brat and friends: 86%.
Zane rubbed his temples.
"Great. I picked the one noble with abandonment issues and a personalized hair ribbon."
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Correction: That was not a hair ribbon. That was an alchemist's steam-thread binding strap woven with mana-threaded silk.
"Even worse," Zane muttered.
He tossed the empty stalk aside, stood, and looked toward the rising treeline.
So far, he had survived by being beneath notice.
Now… he had become noticed.
His body could now handle basic movement, maybe endure a blow or two. His system training had hardened him slightly—resistant to weak poison, with endurance that didn't collapse under pressure.
But the world wasn't just monsters and wilderness.
It was people. With influence. Ambitions. Histories.
And Zane had just stepped on one's pride like a rotting melon.
"I need a plan," he said aloud.
Not a grand one. A survival plan.
---
Back in the Grove
Velric paced, his teammates setting up the ruined camp anew, this time doubling the perimeter traps.
"Track his movement," he ordered. "He couldn't have gone far. I want his trail found before nightfall."
"What if he's hiding like a snake?" the scarred girl asked.
"Then we'll dig him out."
Velric stared into the flames with dead seriousness.
"He laid hands on me. He humiliated a noble of Eldryn's inner circles. That's not just an insult. That's a declaration."
---
Back at Zane's hideout
Zane inspected his surroundings again.
A burrow between stones. Covered in thick vines. No light, but good cover.
"Too open," he muttered. "No escape route. No elevation. If they find this…"
He stood again.
His body ached—but his steps were steady.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Strategic Tip: Begin mapping terrain. Seek higher ground or natural barriers. Consider smoke-redirection traps, false trail setups, and poisoned decoys.
> 🔵 [S.A.S.S.]: Also, maybe don't rob people with entire teams of skilled chemists next time. Just a suggestion.
Zane smirked faintly. "Noted."
This world wasn't fair.
But that was fine.
He didn't need fairness.
He just needed to think faster, move smarter, and punch first when necessary.
This wasn't the story of a hero.
It was the quiet pages of a shadow—one that learned how to become more than prey.