Eni traveled for a long time. Time in this world flowed strangely: at moments it stretched like thick tar; at others, it vanished in a blur of short skirmishes and raids. She operated like a professional looter—a silent raid on a godforsaken chapel here, a sweep of a tiny hamlet there, stripping away everything of value. Once again, a dragon’s nest appeared in the distance, and obeying her survival instinct, Eni bypassed it in a wide arc. Dragons weren't Cyclopes; they required a different approach entirely.

  Finally, amidst the dense overgrowth, she stumbled upon something intriguing: a miniature castle enclosed by a high fence. As she drew closer, a familiar itch of irritation crawled over her skin.

  "Those sexists again..." she hissed, recognizing the banners of the very same gang she had encountered at the start of her journey.

  They hadn't changed. As soon as she approached, the sound of grinding mechanisms echoed from the walls—the bandits were cranking their crossbows. But Eni was no longer that frightened girl. She tore through their ranks like a hurricane of steel and silk. Her blade sang its dark song. Eni cut through them like paper. The wet sounds of rending flesh and the piteous pleas for mercy merged into a single background hum that failed to move her. They had earned this.

  Having cleared the perimeter, she entered the keep. On the staircase, a swordsman whose face was twisted with fury tried to intercept her. A few swift strikes, the clang of metal, and the animal lay breathless at her feet.

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  Eni continued her ascent and froze. At the end of the corridor stood an old man in a bizarre robe. "A mage?" the word escaped her.

  This was the first true sorcerer she had encountered face-to-face. Such individuals were clearly a rare breed, meaning the old man was either immensely powerful or possessed unique, dangerous tools. Giving him no time to weave a complex web of spells, Eni lunged.

  The mage’s first move was to fire... a firework at her? A pyrotechnic burst of multi-colored sparks slammed into Eni’s chest, blinding and searing, but her armor and her uniform held firm. She closed the distance and drove her sword into his gut. The old man shrieked, his trembling hands snatching a vial of red liquid which he drained instantly. The wound began to mend before her very eyes.

  The mage started muttering a spell at high speed. Eni heard a strange metallic clatter from somewhere above, as if something heavy had been set in motion, but she didn't wait for the magic to reach its climax. With one powerful surge, she ended it, opening the conjurer’s throat.

  As the mage’s body went limp and slumped to the floor, items spilled out from the folds of his robe. Amidst the clutter on the floor, glass vials shimmered alongside a handful of blue powder and a strange bone rune. Eni picked up the rune, feeling a chill radiating from it, and then reached for a yellow ink bottle.

  On the label, written in an elegant script, was a single word: "Nickincki."

  Eni froze, her eyes widening. She looked at the bottle, then at the mage’s corpse, then back at the bottle. Vee’s words about her all-powerful father flashed through her mind. "Ahem... Let’s just pretend I never saw this," Eni muttered quickly, tucking the ink beneath her uniform. Getting entangled in the secrets of the Coalition’s Leader was the last thing she wanted right now.

  The Voice in her head gave a satisfied hum: "You’ve earned another Skill Point, Eni. Not a bad haul for such a frail old man."

  Eni allocated the point into her stats on the fly, feeling a new wave of strength saturate her body. As she was leaving the looted bandit base, a heavy thudding echoed behind her. Another Cyclops emerged from the woods, drawn by the scent of fresh blood. Eni threw a quick glance at it, sized up her strength, and decided that she’d had enough heroic feats for one day.

  She picked up her pace, effectively outrunning the monster that howled hungrily in her wake, putting as much distance between them as possible.