After practising for an hour or so in the small storage room, Ethan checked his status.
<Human: Ethan Brandon>
<Rank: Low-Bronze>
<Talents: Enhanced Speed (F+), Protective Shield (F+), Iron Enhancement (F+), Accuracy Enhancement (F+), Regeneration (F+), Dagger Wield (F-)>
<Transformations: Shadowfang Wolf(Peak-Iron), Razorback Boar(Peak-Iron), Black Beetle(Mid-Bronze), Brown Bear (Mid-Bronze)>
<Level 2>
<Health Points: 700>
<Mana Points: 600>
<Strength: 75> <Agility: 60> <Intelligence: 60> <Vitality 70>
<Free Attributes: 5>
<Skills: Basic Footwork (Novice - 12%)>
His skill progression had barely increased despite the intense workout.
"Only two percent?" He frowned, wiping sweat from his brow. "No room to move properly in here. Can't practice full sequences."
Still, progress was progress. His Enhanced Speed talent had evolved to the F+ rank from last night's hunt.
...
In District Two, inside a lavish manor house, a porcelain vase shattered against the wall.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVEN'T FOUND HIM?" Han Wei's roar echoed through the ceiling, servants scurrying from the dining hall like frightened mice.
Only one remained - Feng, one of his father's trusted attendants. The man kept his eyes downcast, hands folded before him.
"This lowly one begs forgiveness, Young Master," Feng murmured, forehead nearly touching the floor in his bow. "We've searched every inn, every tavern. We've questioned the military, checked his barracks... It's as if he vanished."
Han Wei grabbed a priceless jade table - a gift from the Capital Lord - and smashed it against the marble floors. The sound of shattering treasure barely soothed his rage.
"A mere scout," he snarled, his voice suddenly quiet and more terrifying than his shouting. "A nobody from District Three. He humiliated me in my own domain, and you're telling me he's outsmarted my father's entire network?"
Blood trickled down his chin where he'd bitten through his lip.
"His family," Han Wei whispered, eyes gleaming with something that made even Feng shiver. "Find them. Anyone he cares about. Anyone who shares his blood."
"Young Master... there is no one."
"IMPOSSIBLE!" The word exploded from Han Wei, a crystal decanter following it against the wall. "Everyone has someone! Parents, siblings, friends, lovers - find them!"
Feng swallowed hard. "He was raised in the Southern District orphanage. No known blood relations. His military file lists no emergency contacts."
Han Wei froze, a predatory stillness overtaking him. "The orphanage?"
"Yes, Young Master."
"Who oversees it?"
"A retired soldier. Low-Bronze rank. No connections to anyone of significance."
A smile spread across Han Wei's face - not the expression of joy, but something that resembled a blade being unsheathed.
"Perfect." The word carried death in its syllables. "Burn it."
Feng's head snapped up, shock momentarily overriding protocol. "Young Master?"
"Burn it to ashes." Han Wei's voice was terrifyingly calm now. "But first, find out if anyone there remembers our friend. Anyone who might have cared for him. I want them separated... for special attention."
He walked to the window, gazing toward District Three with eyes that promised retribution.
"No one defies a Han without consequences. If I can't find him..." his fist clenched, knuckles white, "...I'll make him come to me. When he smells the smoke and hears the screams."
Feng bowed lower, cold dread settling in his stomach. "When should we-"
"Tonight." Han Wei didn't turn from the window. "Do it tonight."
Feng backed out of the room, sweat beading on his forehead despite the manor's cool air. Twenty years serving the Han family had shown him many things—cruelty, power, ambition—but the darkness in the young master's eyes just now was something new.
Something dangerous.
As the door closed, Han Wei lifted a crystal glass, studying how the light refracted through the expensive material. "No one humiliates a Han," he whispered to the empty room. "No one."
The glass shattered in his grip, blood mixing with alcohol as it dripped to the marble floor.
Meanwhile, Ethan slipped from the restaurant's back entrance, his hood drawn low.
As he turned a corner, a familiar figure caught his eye—Morrison, his former captain. The veteran scout stood by a weapons stall.
Ethan ducked behind a fruit cart, Enhanced Speed ready to activate if needed. Morrison hadn't spotted him yet.
"You buying or just looking?" the fruit vendor demanded.
"Sorry," Ethan said, grabbing a few apples and dropping star coins in the man's hand. "Keep the change."
He blended back into the crowd, keeping Morrison in his peripheral vision. The captain wasn't alone, with four scouts with him.
'Are they looking for me? Or are they just buying things...Either way, I need to be careful.'
...
Night descended over the city, shadows lengthening as Ethan slipped past the guards and into the forest. Meanwhile, across District Three, a different kind of darkness gathered.
"Remember the plan," Feng instructed the men behind him, his voice low. "Make them feel welcome and safe. Treat Ethan as a hero whose friends deserve rewards. Get names. Get relationships."
Murmurs of acknowledgement rippled through the group, three men total, all wearing simple merchant clothing. Nothing that would reveal their true purpose.
"Good." Feng straightened his collar and knocked on the orphanage's weathered door.
Footsteps approached from inside—light, unhurried. The door swung open to reveal an elderly woman, her silver hair tied in a neat bun.
Despite the late hour, her eyes remained bright with kindness, crow's feet crinkling at the corners of her mouth from decades of smiles.
"Hello gentlemen, how can I help?" Her voice carried the warmth of someone who had spent a lifetime caring for others.
"Good evening, Mrs...?" Feng inquired, his smile revealing nothing of his intentions.
"Chen. Mrs. Chen." She smiled, the gesture lighting up her entire face. Behind her, children's laughter echoed from deeper within the building. The sounds of a fappy family, cobbled together from misfortune but bound by genuine affection.
Mrs. Chen's apron bore faint stains from the evening meal she'd likely just finished serving. A small wooden pendant hung from her neck, crude but lovingly carved, a gift from one of her many cared children.
"We're representatives from the District Two Merchant Guild," Feng lied smoothly. "We're establishing a scholarship fund for promising orphans, particularly those who've gone on to serve the city."