Chapter 15: The Heavenly Guild

  Age: 12 Years Old.Location: The Swamp Hut – Zone 2.

  The greatest enemy of mankind is not a dragon. It is not a demon lord. It is not even the inevitability of death. It is Boredom. And its sidekick, Bad Food.

  I sat at my rough-hewn wooden table, staring into a bowl of gray, steaming slop. "Day 1,825," I whispered to the spider crawling on my cup. "Congratulations to me. I have survived five years in hell."

  I picked up a spoon carved from the beak of a Terror-Bird and scooped up a chunk of meat. It was Swamp Hydra meat. Nutritionally? It was incredible. Packed with dense mana and protein. Taste? It tasted like a wet leather boot that had been marinating in gym socks and battery acid.

  I put it in my mouth. I chewed. Squeak. Squeak. It had the texture of a car tire. I swallowed it whole, feeling it slide down my throat like a lump of lead.

  "No salt," I murmured, a single tear leaking from my eye. "No pepper. No garlic. No soy sauce. Just... boiled sadness."

  I slammed the spoon down. The wooden table cracked down the middle. I didn't mean to break it. I barely touched it. But that was the problem. I looked at my hand. My skin was pale, smooth, and looked like the hand of a scholar. But underneath that skin, my muscle fibers had been reconstructed. Rank 4: Muscle Refinement Stage. I had finally broken through last week. My muscles were no longer just flesh; they were woven steel. My bones were denser than iron. I could punch through a stone wall without using a drop of Qi. I was the Apex Predator of Zone 2. Monsters ran when they smelled me.

  But what was the point of having the strength to crush a mountain if I couldn't get a decent pinch of salt?

  "That's it," I stood up. The chair disintegrated under the sudden movement. "I'm done. I'm retiring from the hermit life."

  "Master?"

  A soft voice came from the corner of the hut. Lysandra (Age 10) looked up from where she was oiling her bone daggers. She had grown. The starving, terrified slave girl I bought for five silver coins was gone. In her place was a predator. She was a Rank 3 (Low) Assassin. Her stealth was so natural that even the insects in the hut didn't know she was there. Her gray skin was flawless, her white hair was tied in a strict combat bun, and her crimson eyes were sharp, intelligent, and fiercely loyal.

  "Are we going hunting?" she asked, her pointed ears twitching in excitement. "I saw a Mud Drake near the East River. Its liver might be tasty."

  "No more livers, Lys," I said, waving my hand. "We are moving. I crave civilization. I crave a mattress that isn't made of dried grass. But mostly, I crave Sodium."

  I clenched my fist, feeling the steel-like density of my muscles. "Besides," I muttered, mostly to myself. "My mission here is done."

  I had hit the ceiling. Rank 4. The Muscle Refinement Stage was complete. For five years, I hid in this mud because I was weak. I was ignorant of this world, and without Mana, I was nothing but prey. If I had tried to return to the Capital earlier, things would have gone south immediately. I would have been used as a pawn or discarded as trash.

  But now? Now I had the strength to protect myself. I didn't need to show my full hand. To the world, I would present myself as a Rank 2 Body Refiner a lucky boy who survived by eating a magical fruit in the forest. That would be enough to keep the pests away without attracting the true monsters.

  ‘Solitary training has its limits,’ I thought, recalling the old wisdom from my past life in the Murim. You cannot become a Dragon by hiding in a cave forever. To climb to the next level, you need friction. You need to see the vastness of the world, clash with other hard-working geniuses, and experience the heights that others have reached. You need to verify your own Dao against the world. If I stayed here, my growth would stagnate. I would become a frog in a well. I needed competition. I needed to enjoy life. And... I suppose I had a family now. I finally had the power to make sure they didn't die while I was playing hermit.

  "It is time," I said, turning away from the window. "Time to go see what this world has to offer."

  The Separation

  I started packing. It was a short process because I owned almost nothing. I grabbed a large burlap sack and filled it with Monster Cores. For five years, I had killed thousands of beasts. I had a stockpile of Rank 2 and Rank 3 cores that would make a small kingdom jealous. This was my retirement fund. I packed some rare poisonous herbs (for tea), my toothbrush (made of bristles from a Boar), and finally, I picked up Nameless. My cleaver. It looked like a rusted piece of scrap metal, but it was heavier and sharper than any sword in the capital.

  I turned around. "Lys, get your" I stopped.

  Lysandra was already packing. She had a small backpack made of snakeskin. She was humming a happy tune, her long pointed ears twitching happily. ... Lysandra dropped her bag. Her ears drooped instantly, pressing flat against her head like a scolded dog. "I am ready, Master!" she beamed, looking at me with those big, adoring eyes. "Where are we going? The Human Capital? I have heard they have sweet bread there!"

  I froze. I looked at her. Gray skin. Long, pointed ears. Glowing red eyes. She was a Dark Elf.

  In the Kingdom of Helios, and indeed most of the human continent, the Church of Light held absolute power. Their doctrine was simple: Humans are children of Light. Everything else is a beast. Elves were tolerated because they were pretty and rich. Dwarves were useful for smithing. But Dark Elves? They were branded as "Children of Demons." They were slaves, outlaws, or corpses. If I walked into the Capital with her, the City Guards would attack us at the gate. The Church would send Inquisitors. I would have to kill them. Then more would come. Then I'd have to kill the Knights. Then I'd be a wanted criminal with a bounty on my head.

  ‘Troublesome,’ I thought. ‘Way too troublesome.’

  I wanted a lazy life. I wanted to go to the Academy, sleep in class, eat good food, and pretend to be a mob character. I couldn't do that if I was babysitting a "Public Enemy Number One."

  To be honest, it was a dream of mine. Back on Earth, I never had the chance to go to a real school. And in the Murim? Hah. If you called that blood-soaked pit a "school," then hell is a vacation resort. Their curriculum was simple: "Kill your roommate by age ten or become fertilizer." I'd rather die than go back to a place like that.

  But here? In this world? They had a real Academy. With desks. Uniforms. Cafeterias. Homework. It was the one thing on my bucket list from my Earth life that I never crossed off. I wanted to experience it. I wanted to sleep during lectures, complain about the food, and pretend to be a nameless mob character in the background. It was my ultimate wish.

  But I couldn't do that if I was babysitting a "Public Enemy Number One."

  "Lys," I said, my voice heavy.

  She stopped humming. She looked at me, sensing the shift in the air. "Master?"

  "Put the bag down."

  "Why?" she tilted her head. "Is it too heavy? I can carry yours too!"

  "You can't come with me."

  The silence that followed was louder than a thunderclap. Lysandra dropped her bag. Her tail stopped wagging and tucked between her legs. Her face crumbled. "W-What?" Her voice cracked. "Master... am I... am I being thrown away?"

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  She fell to her knees, scrambling across the floor to grab my leg. "Please! Don't leave me! Did I do something wrong? Is my cooking bad? I'll get better! I'll sleep outside! I won't eat! Please don't abandon me!"

  Tears streamed down her gray cheeks. She looked like a kicked puppy. "I'll cut off my ears!" she sobbed, reaching for her dagger. "I'll paint my skin white with chalk! I'll be a human! Please!"

  ‘Ah, sht.’* I felt a headache coming on. I hated crying. It was awkward. I didn't know how to deal with it. If I told her the truth*"Racism exists and I'm too lazy to fight the whole government for you"* she would just try harder to hide. I needed a lie. I needed a Cool, Chunibyo Reason that would make her leave willingly.

  I sighed deeply. I gently grabbed her wrist, stopping her from cutting her own ears. I channeled my inner theater kid. I looked down at her with a gaze that I hoped looked "Profound and Mysterious" (and not just tired).

  "Foolish girl," I said, letting my voice drop to a low, vibrating baritone.

  Lysandra froze, sniffing. She looked up.

  "Do you think I am abandoning you because of something as trivial as cooking?" I scoffed, turning away from her to look out the window at the midday sun. "No. I am leaving you... because you have graduated."

  "G-Graduated?" she whispered.

  "I am returning to the Human World," I said, clasping my hands behind my back. "I must walk in the blinding Light to deceive the masses. I must wear the mask of a noble and play their petty games." I turned back, my red eyes flashing. "But the Light is blind, Lysandra. It cannot see the rot beneath the surface. To truly control this world... one must rule the Shadows."

  Lysandra’s mouth opened slightly. The tears stopped. A spark of awe ignited in her eyes.

  "I cannot be in two places at once," I continued, pacing around the hut like a villain explaining his monologue. "While I manipulate the daylight, I need an agent in the dark. An Emissary. Someone to build my garden in the underworld."

  I pointed at her. "You are that Emissary."

  Lysandra gasped. She clutched her chest. "Me? You... you trust me with such a task?"

  "Of course," I lied effortlessly. "Why else did I train you for five years? Why else did I feed you Monster Cores? It was all for this moment."

  I walked over to her and placed a hand on her head. "Go back to your people, Lysandra. The Dark Elves. They live in the Shadow Forest of Zone 4, do they not?"

  "Yes..." she nodded fervently. "But Master, they are weak. They are scattered tribes, hiding in caves, hunted by slavers and beasts. They have no honor left."

  "Exactly," I said. (My internal thought: 'Perfect. Go there. Find your parents. Hide in a cave. Stay safe until society becomes less racist.')

  But Lysandra heard something else. Her eyes widened. ‘Master is saying... they are weak, so they are ripe for molding. He wants me to take this scattered trash and forge them into a weapon.’

  "Go to them," I commanded. "Show them the power I have given you. Make them understand who the true masters of the night are."

  Lysandra stood up. The sobbing girl was gone. In her place stood a fanatic. A soldier who had just received orders from God. She wiped her tears and stood at attention. "I understand, Master. I will go to the Shadow Forest. I will find the tribes. Those who submit will serve. Those who refuse..." She touched the hilt of her bone dagger. "...will become fertilizer for your garden."

  ‘Whoa, calm down,’ I thought. ‘I just meant show off your muscles so they don't bully you.’ But I couldn't correct her now. The mood was too perfect.

  "And..." Lysandra hesitated, her cheeks flushing with excitement. "What shall we call ourselves, Master? If we are to be your blade in the dark, we need a name."

  I paused. I hadn't thought that far ahead. I looked around the room. Dirt. Bones. A hole in the roof where I could see the sky. Sky... Heavens... I wanted something that sounded arrogant but essentially meant nothing.

  "We are..." I declared, looking at her with dead-serious eyes. "The Heavenly Guild."

  (It sounded like a cheap restaurant chain. Or a cult. Perfect.)

  "The Heavenly Guild," Lysandra repeated the words as if they were holy scripture. She tasted them on her tongue. "The wings that shadow the earth... The judgment from above..."

  She dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. "I, Nightshade (her new code name I just made up), accept this mission. I will not fail you, Lord Cain. I will conquer the underworld. I will unite the outcasts. And when you call for us... we will be an army capable of swallowing the sun!"

  ‘An army? Empire? Just... make sure you eat your vegetables, okay?’

  "We are... The Heavenly Guild."

  "The Heavenly Guild," Lysandra repeated the words as if they were holy scripture. "The wings that shadow the earth... The judgment from above..."

  "Wait," I called out, stopping her just as she prepared to jump. "I have a parting gift for you."

  I reached into my bag and pulled out a stack of dried broad-leaves bound together with vines. It looked like trash, but written on the surface in charcoal were complex diagrams, breathing patterns, and flow charts.

  "Take this," I tossed it to her.

  Lysandra caught it reverently, as if it were made of gold. "A... secret manual?"

  "It is the Dark Heaven Scripture," I said. "It is the foundational martial art of the Heavenly Guild."

  (In truth, this was the basic infantry training manual from my past life in the Celestial Demon Sect. I had spent my free time rewriting it, adapting the Qi flow to work with the Mana of this world. It wasn't a "Divine" or "Rank 6" technique, but it was incredibly efficient. It forced the body to break its limits and allowed for explosive growth in a short time. But there was a hidden reason I chose this specific art. The Celestial Demon Sect was filled with ambitious, backstabbing demons. The only thing that bound them together was absolute power and fear. This technique cultivates Demonic Mana. Since I am the one who adapted it, and I am the Master of this specific energy frequency, anyone who cultivates this art becomes connected to me. Their mana will instinctively submit to mine. It was the ultimate leash. If a member betrayed the Guild, I wouldn't need to fight them. I could simply command their own mana to implode. That was how the Heavenly Demon ruled his sect.)

  "If you find promising young children," I instructed, my eyes narrowing, "teach them this. Anyone who wishes to join the Guild must learn this technique. It will grant them power quickly. Both physical strength and Mana capacity will soar."

  Lysandra pressed the manual to her chest, her eyes burning with resolve. "I understand! I will create an army of warriors"

  "Good," I nodded. "Now go. Before I change my mind."

  "Yes, my Lord!" Whoosh. She didn't use the door. She moved so fast she blurred, diving out the window and sprinting toward the dangerous Zone 4. She looked happier than I had ever seen her. She was running toward a war zone with a smile on her face.

  I stood there in the silence of the hut. "She's so dramatic," I muttered, shaking my head. "Well, at least she's gone. She'll probably just find a nice Dark Elf boyfriend and settle down in a village."

  (I had absolutely no idea that I had just unleashed the future Empress of the Underworld upon the continent. I just wanted her out of my hair so I wouldn't get arrested.)

  The Transformation

  Now that I was alone, it was time for the makeover. I couldn't walk into civilization looking like a Swamp Yeti.

  I walked to the water barrel in the corner. The surface was still, reflecting a wild face covered in three layers of dried mud and blood. "Disgusting," I judged myself.

  I grabbed a bucket of water and a bar of rough soap made from rendered bear fat. I scrubbed. I scrubbed until the water turned black. Layer by layer, the savage peeled away. Underneath the filth, the skin was surprisingly pale. Living in a swamp meant little direct sunlight, and my cultivation technique kept my pores nonexistent. My face had lost the roundness of childhood. I had a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the aristocratic features of the Valerius bloodline. I looked like my mother—beautiful, cold, and fragile.

  Except for the eyes. My eyes were dull red. They didn't shine. They looked like the eyes of a fish that had been on ice for three days. "Perfect," I muttered. "I look like a depressed noble. Nobody suspects the depressed guy."

  Next, the hair. My black hair reached my waist. It was a tangled mess of knots. I grabbed Nameless. The rusty cleaver hummed. It had severed the necks of Rank 4 beasts. Today, it was a barber's tool. Snip. Slash. Slice. I cut it ruthlessly. I left it short on the sides, slightly longer on top, messy but intentional. The "I just woke up and don't care" look.

  Finally, the clothes. I opened the old, moldy wooden trunk that had survived the carriage crash five years ago. Inside, folded neatly, were the clothes I was wearing the day I was exiled. A fine silk shirt with the Valerius crest. Black wool trousers. I picked up the shirt. I held it against my chest. It was... tiny. "I was seven," I reminded myself. "Now I'm twelve. And I'm Rank 4." If I tried to put this on, I wouldn't be wearing a shirt; I’d be wearing a tourniquet. It would explode the moment I flexed.

  "Useless," I tossed the silk rag back into the trunk.

  I turned to my own collection. Over the years, I had learned to cure leather. I pulled on a pair of trousers made from Black Swamp Crocodile hide. They were rough, stitched together with dried sinew, but they were tough as iron and fit my muscular legs perfectly. For a shirt, I wore a sleeveless vest made from Shadow Wolf fur. It was scarred and faded, but it was warm. Over it all, I threw a tattered grey cloak I had scavenged from a dead adventurer years ago.

  I looked in the reflection again. I didn't look like a noble. I didn't look like a beggar. I looked like a savage hunter who had crawled out of the Neolithic era. Primitive. Wild. Uncivilized.

  "Excellent," I nodded. "I look like a barbarian. Nobles ignore barbarians because they smell like work."

  I grabbed my burlap sack. Inside clinked the fortune of Monster Cores. I wrapped Nameless in dirty rags and tied it to my waist with a piece of rope. It looked like a butcher's tool, not a weapon.

  I stepped out of the hut. I took one last look at my home of five years. The broken roof. The pile of bones. The scratch marks on the trees. It was a hellhole. But it was my hellhole.

  "Goodbye, free rent," I said, slinging the heavy sack over my shoulder. "Goodbye, Hydra meat."

  I turned toward the south. Toward the King's Road. Toward the Academy. My stomach growled. "Hello, Capitalism. Hello, Fried Chicken."

  I began to walk. The Monster of the Swamp was dead. Cain Valerius, the Survivor, was returning to the world.