Cassian had drifted off sometime in the afternoon, only to wake much later in the evening. The room was quiet, almost too quiet. Outside, the faint murmur of cultist voices carried through the streets, broken now and then by the hollow clang of a weapon or the smell of burning oil from makeshift torches. This village still wasn’t a home—just a battlefield’s shell.

Brigid was nowhere to be seen. Her desk, however, betrayed her absence—books cracked open mid-study, magical instruments scattered across the table like she’d simply stood up and forgotten the world behind her.

"She’s messy..." Cassian muttered, his eyes narrowing at the chaotic sprawl.

Maybe it was Katherine’s influence rubbing off on him, but lately, he’d grown into something of a clean freak. Disorder nagged at him like an itch at the back of his skull. Before he realized it, his hands were already at work, straightening papers, closing tomes, lining up the odd bits of enchanted metal and glass until they looked like they actually belonged to a mage’s workspace instead of a looter’s bag. Only when everything sat neatly in place did that mental itch finally fade.

With the matter of slaves looming tomorrow, his mind drifted toward the need for some last-minute training. Still, he thought with a faint sigh, better take a bath before that.

He stripped down and stepped into the cold water. A sharp jolt ran through his muscles as he lowered himself in, the icy chill biting, making his body tense before slowly unraveling into release. Cassian leaned back, face softening with a rare expression of relief.

Not feeling pain didn’t mean his body was untouchable. Healing patched wounds; it didn’t restore stamina, and though exhaustion never screamed at him the way it did to others, he could always feel the subtle pull of fatigue—the quiet heaviness in his muscles, the dull weight of hours piled onto his frame. The bath eased it, letting the weariness bleed out of him, leaving something close to comfort in its place.

Only when he felt properly settled did Cassian finally call out his status.

[Name : Senior Trainee Cassian ven DykeWarrior level : Adept

Attributes:Strength: 33Agility: 33Endurance: 57Intelligence: 19Dexterity: 27Vitality: 80

System Function:Training Field (Status: Available)

Skills:Cleaning: AdeptSword Mastery: Adept Lv3 (Gale Whisper Sword Style: Lv12)Full Body Massage Mastery: Lv2 (319/1000)

Passive Skills:Self HealingPain Immunity

Mana Rotation and Sealing Techniques: Blood Fire TemperingTotal Seals: ??Completed Seals: 1Rotations for Second Seal: 80/100Resources Required:Fire Mana Crystal: 1kgHeart of 3-Star Monster: (2/5)

Accepted Tasks: The Skilled Masseur: (0/10)Completed Tasks: Mage Slayer (Completed)Silent Execution (Completed)Path of the Gladiator (Completed)

Training Points: 501]

There weren’t many changes in his status—just the usual small shifts—except for one thing: a significant jump in his training points. That much was thanks to the slaughter of those devil’s spawns... and the chaos mana he had absorbed from them.

The sight made Cassian pause. For the first time, he wondered if the system and those devil spawns were somehow linked. Or maybe... tied to the one who had created the Dark Lord, Silias. The thought lingered like a shadow he couldn’t shake off.

But the truth was out of reach. To dig deeper, he would need to climb into the inner circles of the cult itself, and that was a gamble far beyond his current strength. He was still struggling just to piece together the smaller secrets, and the system—ever stubborn—refused to yield answers on the matter.

Cassian exhaled slowly, dragging his eyes back to the floating script. No point in brooding. Better to decide where to put these points.

"Now... what should I train in?" he muttered to himself, fingers twitching as if itching to spend them.

Before he could settle on an answer, footsteps stirred the quiet. The faint ripple of mana brushed against his senses, familiar enough that he relaxed. Brigid, returning at last.

He rose from his seat and moved to greet her, only to falter when the door opened. It wasn’t just Brigid. Another figure stepped inside alongside her—someone he hadn’t expected.

It wasn’t just Brigid who entered. The second presence Cassian had somehow failed to sense made his brow lift—an older woman, her bearing refined, the faintest trace of mana clinging to her like perfume. He read her instantly: stronger than Brigid, her movements calm, practiced, heavy with quiet confidence. And that kind smile she wore... it was the kind that concealed knives.

Brigid’s glare could have cut stone the moment her eyes landed on him standing there, utterly unbothered in his nakedness.

"Oh my liege, forgive this shameful display," Cassian said with mock solemnity, bowing as though presenting himself at court.

"If you’re really sorry, then fucking get dressed!" Brigid snapped through gritted teeth.

Cassian only smirked at her fury, giving a lazy nod before reaching for his clothes. Brigid pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered an apology over her shoulder. "Sorry, Grandma. He’s... a bit shameless."

Analisa shook her head slowly, willing her heartbeat to calm. The warmth in her face wasn’t because of his bare body—it was the memory that seared sharper. The taste of him lingering on her tongue, the way he had filled her so completely. And now, with him standing so casually before her, those forbidden recollections only pressed harder against the surface of her composure.

"Nothing worth seeing anyway..." she said, before her eyes sharpened slightly. "But tell me—does he at least fight well? It’s unfortunate, Brigid, but I can’t assist you in your current recruitment. This assignment isn’t under my command, nor under this battlefield. For now, he’s all you have to work with when gathering low-tier members. As for higher ranks—third-circle warriors or mages—I can spare a handful. Five each, at most, from my personally trained units. The rest are stretched thin, serving as my eyes and ears across the four battlefields I command."

Brigid exhaled, shoulders sagging. "Can’t be helped then. I still have a few weeks before I can add more recruits. What I really need is about a hundred soldiers, with at least ten third-circle warriors... and ten Pyraxis."

Analisa’s brows lifted, her expression caught between curiosity and surprise. "You already know the limit?"

"Yeah, this one’s a special kind. It even has a place for Solvaris like me..." Brigid said, a rare excitement in her voice. She looked ready to launch into a full explanation—only to stop short when Cassian emerged from the bathing room.

He was dressed this time, though his hair still dripped faintly from the bath. A plain white shirt clung to his shoulders, paired with simple trousers. It wasn’t armor, it wasn’t ceremonial garb—just ordinary clothes. And somehow, that made him look... unexpectedly handsome.

Brigid blinked at him, genuinely startled. "Why are you... so dressed?"

Cassian frowned, glancing down at himself in confusion. "This? These are just normal clothes, my lady."

To him, it was nothing. But to Brigid, who had only ever seen him stripped bare or clad in armor, the sight caught her off guard. In this plain attire, he looked almost like another person—refined in a way she hadn’t expected.

Analisa, however, barely spared him a glance. Her tone was cool, dismissive. "Clothes or not, it doesn’t matter. Put your gear on. I need to see if you can actually defeat a higher-circle warrior like you’ve been boasting around."

Cassian let out a small sigh, shoulders slumping. "Really? But I was finally feeling comfortable..."

Brigid shot him an irritated glare, while Analisa only gave a short, derisive snort. "Suit yourself," she said curtly, then turned to her granddaughter. "Crimson Hand Oliver Widel is waiting in the main hall. A swordsman like you, steady as iron though. Test him there."

Brigid didn’t need much convincing. She already knew Cassian wasn’t some ordinary fighter—he’d cut through dozens of demon spawns and even absorbed their essence. Still, she couldn’t ignore her grandmother’s order. With a resigned nod, she said as Analisa left,

"Sir Oliver was handpicked by my grandmother a years ago. He’s a Third Circle warrior—strong enough to fight above his rank under the right conditions. Are you sure you don’t want to wear armor? Even if it’s only a spar..."

Cassian blinked, genuinely surprised. "Hey, hold on—I only said I could beat Second Circle warriors, not Thirds," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of disbelief. Then, after a moment’s pause, he sighed and shook his head. "But... if it’s just a spar, it’s fine. Not like it’s a fight to the death. And I really don’t want to wear armor. Feels too damn suffocating. A few cuts here and there, I can live with."

Still, a flicker of interest stirred inside him. This was better than he’d hoped. Another opponent meant another addition for his Training Field. Unlike that metal-skinned Third Circle warrior he’d once faced—where the system hadn’t had enough data to replicate him properly—this fight could give him a perfect template. He already had one Third Circle cultist in his simulations, but fighting the same model grew stale. Different opponents brought out different instincts. And from the sound of it, this Oliver Widel was no ordinary soldier. He was elite. Stronger. Exactly the kind of challenge Cassian wanted.