Jackal answered at once, voice dripping false gratitude.

  “How fortunate you arrived, Captain Apollos. We need the Army to dispense justice. We were chasing a thief who stole a priceless item from our boss, Sagat. Just as we were about to seize him, he ran into these three accomplices.” He gestured at Nerion, Lucca, and Silvestre. “Taking advantage of our mercy, they tricked us, helped the thief escape, then attacked without provocation — seriously injuring four of my men. We only wished to bring them to you for questioning, yet this young man interfered and assaulted us. Had you not come a moment later, these villains would have vanished.”

  Nerion, Lucca, and Silvestre stood gaping. Even Elisha blinked. No one had ever seen black turned white so smoothly. A few Tigers actually flushed, embarrassed by their lieutenant’s brazen tongue.

  Things started to look bleak. Elisha was ignorant of one crucial detail: Captain Apollos and Sagat were known to share drinks and coin. All Jackal had given him was the excuse he needed.

  Apollos nodded solemnly. “Then we must get to the bottom of this. Guards, take the three brats and the youth to the barracks. We’ll sort truth from lies there.”

  Translation: once inside, no one would ever see them again. Sagat would pay handsomely, and a few “resisters” dying in custody was routine.

  Elisha stepped forward, voice calm.

  “Captain, I am Elisha De Casas, heir to a noble Frontier house. This boy is my little brother; those two are our servants. We arrived today. Even fallen nobility cannot be dragged away without evidence. That would be an insult to the Crown itself.”

  Apollos’ eyebrow twitched. He had never heard of House De Casas, which meant they had no real pull.

  “Noble or not, you will come to the garrison for questioning. If it is a misunderstanding, you’ll walk free. So… Are you complying?”

  Jackal’s men smirked with open schadenfreude.

  Elisha then understood that Apollos favoured the mercenaries. Going to the barracks was to go to their doom. The only option was to escalate the scandal. Even if the Captain was corrupt, a public loss of face for the Army would be detrimental to his career, making him personally responsible.

  Nerion caught Elisha’s tiny nod and exploded exactly as planned.

  “How can you arrest us without even listening?” he roared. “That liar attacked us first! He threatened to cut off our legs! Everyone saw it! Is this the justice the great Army of Ansara brags about?”

  The crowd murmured. Soldiers shifted uncomfortably. A public scandal could reach Commander Sebastian De Renato — the Iron Wall himself — and heads would roll.

  Apollos’ face purpled. “You dare slander the Army? Fifty cane strokes for blasphemy! Men — seize that brat!”

  Elisha’s eyes turned murderous. Muscles coiled; pure-white Qi began to circle his arms. Better fugitives than corpses.

  Apollos saw the shift and smiled thinly. One move from the boy and he could slaughter them all “in self-defence.”

  Then…

  A loud, rolling laugh cut through the tension like a blade.

  “Hahahaha! To think the great Ferocious Tigers have to lie through their teeth just to catch three little orphans! You went for wool and came back shorn, Jackal!”

  Approaching through the parted crowd came Raye, belly shaking with every laugh, and beside him a beautiful young woman of about eighteen, medium height, long dark hair in a tight ponytail, clear skin, bright eyes, and full lips. Beauty that made men look twice and immediately regret it.

  Jackal’s face went the colour of an overripe plum. He shot a nervous glance at Major Serena. “Raye, are you attempting to obstruct Captain Apollos in making justice? These brats are known thieves! You shouldn’t meddle where you are not called,” Jackal warned, attempting to throw dirt on the Night Crows.

  Raye waved a meaty hand. “Your tongue gets sharper every year, Jackal. If mercenary work ever dries up, the taverns will hire you as a jester.” Raye wiped a tear while addressing Apollos. “Captain, these lads rode in with my caravan this morning. Young Elisha here guarded the wagons for free — Praetorian at twelve! I was just telling Major Serena about him when we heard the ruckus. Imagine my surprise seeing the Tigers trying to murder children over… what was it again, Jackal? A loaf of mouldy bread?”

  Serena’s eyebrow arched. “Is that true, Lieutenant?”

  Jackal opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

  A strangled squeak came out.

  The crowd, now three hundred strong, roared with laughter.

  Serena’s eyes flicked to Elisha, warm but sharp. “I want to get to the bottom of this. Young man, fighting in the city is forbidden, but let’s hear your side before anyone loses limbs.”

  Elisha bowed respectfully. “Major, I arrived at the end. I only saw my little brother and our servants running for their lives. That man attacked me without a word.” He nudged Nerion forward. “My brother saw it all.”

  Nerion saw his chance and took it.

  He flung himself at Serena’s legs, wrapped his arms around her greaves, and unleashed the waterworks.

  “Beautiful Big Sister Major… they were going to cut off our legs! One of them even pulled his trousers down in front of me! I’m just a poor orphan, I only have big brother as my remaining family, sniff sniff, no one ever believes us!”

  Serena froze. One of the youngest and toughest Centurions on the Frontier suddenly had a six-year-old sobbing into her shin armour.

  Lucca joined in, fat tears rolling. “They said they’d sell us to slavers!”

  Silvestre, never one to miss a cue, clutched his groin dramatically. “He kicked me right here, Big Sister! I’ll never be able to have children!”

  Half the crowd gasped. The other half howled with laughter.

  Jackal made a sound like a dying teakettle.

  Raye was bent double, slapping his thigh so hard his hand left prints.

  Apollos looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon dipped in vinegar.

  Serena knelt, gently prying Nerion off her leg.

  “Is this true?” she asked the Tiger leader, voice soft steel.

  Jackal opened his mouth — and produced only a croak.

  One of his own men, still curled on the ground clutching his ruined manhood, whimpered in confirmation.

  The laughter redoubled.

  Serena stood, hand on her sword hilt, eyes glittering with something very dangerous and very amused.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Lieutenant Jackal,” she said sweetly, “the Ferocious Tigers seem to have mistaken Coronas for a playground. Perhaps you’d like to explain to Commander de Renato why his city smells like a slaughterhouse and why half the Frontier is laughing at his soldiers?”

  Jackal went from plum to corpse-white.

  Apollos stepped forward, greasy smile plastered on. “Major, this seems like an exaggeration…”

  Serena cut him off with a look that could freeze lava.

  “Captain Apollos. When I want the opinion of a man who takes bribes in broad daylight, I’ll ask for it.”

  The crowd went “oooh”.

  Raye wheezed, actually crying with laughter now.

  Jackal did the only thing left to a man whose dignity had been publicly executed by a six-year-old.

  “It appears this has truly been a misunderstanding. We didn't know these children were new arrivals, and we made a mistake. Please accept this as compensation for the trouble we have caused.” He threw a fat purse at Elisha’s feet — one hundred gold crowns clinking like funeral bells — and fled, his remaining Tigers scrambling after him like kicked dogs.

  “Get out of my sight. I’ll be speaking to Sagat about how he runs his dogs in Coronas,” Apollos snapped, markedly angry and cursing the mercenaries, but ultimately saving the Ferocious Tigers from the possibility of Captain Serena intervening and punishing them herself.

  Nerion peeked up through his (completely fake) tears, voice trembling with weaponised innocence:

  “Big Sister, the bad man left us his pocket money! Do you think he uses it to chase other little kids?”

  Jackal tripped and nearly vomited blood from the anger. He didn’t dare look back and just kept going.

  The entire avenue lost its collective mind.

  Serena finally cracked, a real smile, bright as sunrise.

  She ruffled Nerion’s hair. “You’re dangerous, little brother.”

  Raye wiped his eyes. “On my life, Major, that was the single greatest thing I’ve ever seen on this Frontier.”

  And somewhere in the distance, Jackal was still running.

  Serena crouched to Nerion’s eye level, flicking a speck of imaginary dust from his cheek.

  “Don’t worry, little menace. As long as I’m in Coronas, the Ferocious Tigers won’t dare sniff around you.”

  She straightened, turning to Elisha. “And you — Mount David garrison, after the initial chaos with Mount Karol is over. Bring your sword arm and that terrifying little brother. We always need Praetorians who can make grown men cry.”

  Apollos snorted like a pig with indigestion. “Nothing to see here, men. Move!”

  He stalked off, but one of his soldiers peeled away into the crowd — message received: dig up everything on “Elisha De Casas”.

  Raye clapped Elisha on the back hard enough to stagger him.

  “See? Told you I’d deliver. Though I didn’t expect the delivery to include Jackal eating horse shit.”

  He lowered his voice. “Word of advice: Apollos is pettier than a scorned cat. Once you’re under Serena’s banner, he’ll think twice. One day you’ll outrank him and he’ll be the one sweating.”

  Elisha bowed deeply. “I owe you both more than I can repay.”

  Raye waved it off. “Repay me by staying alive and becoming famous. I want bragging rights.”

  They parted with laughter still echoing down the avenue.

  Back at the sagging inn, Mikael was already three cups deep when they burst in. They quickly went to their rooms.

  Elisha locked the door, then turned on the three culprits.

  “Explain. Slowly.”

  Between mouthfuls of stolen tavern bread, the true story spilt out — curly thief, mouldy bread switch, Tigers fooled twice.

  Mikael choked on his ale. “You turned Jackal’s entire squad into child-molester rumours? In one afternoon?”

  Nerion beamed. “I was very convincing.”

  Lucca nodded solemnly. “I helped. I said they were going to sell us to slavers.”

  Silvestre added, deadpan, “I grabbed my crotch and screamed about never having children. The crowd loved it.”

  Mikael stared at the ceiling as if praying for patience.

  Elisha rubbed his temples. “The real question: what was in that package that made Jackal risk open war in the streets?”

  Nerion’s eyes gleamed. “Something expensive enough to make a Legate’s lieutenant stupid. Something from Mount Karol? A Vein Shard?”

  Silence. Even Mikael’s cup stopped halfway to his lips.

  Elisha exhaled slowly. “Whatever it is, Sagat wants it badly. Which means we just painted a target on our backs.”

  He looked at the three younger children, still flushed with victory, and decided they’d earned at least one truth tonight.

  “Listen carefully,” he said, his voice low, his fingers tracing a line in the spilt ale on the table. “You’ve seen Qi serpents, felt Praetorian pressure. But you need to understand the ladder you’re climbing.”

  “At the bottom, you have the low-tier warriors,” Elisha began, nodding to his mentor. “Master (Levels 10 to 19) is where most commoners start after years of training. Fatty, you’re already a Master, but don’t get cocky. Then comes Grandmaster (20 to 29). And finally, Praetorian (30 to 39)—that’s me, Level 33.”

  “These ranks are a wall of strength—each step is roughly twice the power of the one before,” Mikael cut in, his voice taking on the rough edge of a former Dragon General. “But you are right, rank is not everything. With proper tactics, you can still defeat a man stronger than you, but the risk is immense.”

  Elisha continued, his expression hardening. “Then you hit the mid tiers. Above Praetorian is Centurion (40 to 49). Major Serena is likely a high-level Centurion, and even big sister Myra is one. Don’t mess with Myra unless you want to know what a true spanking is. After Centurion is Legate (50 to 59)—like Lykos from the Corina Family—and then Monarch (60 to 69).”

  “Why are they called mid-tier warriors?” Lucca asked the question in all the children’s minds.

  Mikael smiled without humour. “Because past Praetorian, raw Qi isn’t enough. You need Will—the ability to impose your intent on the world. A Centurion doesn’t just hit harder; they can make the air itself kneel. A Legate can crush a battalion just by deciding they lose. That’s why ranks matter more than raw power.”

  As Mikael finished, the air around them grew impossibly thick, cold, and silent. The low sounds of the inn vanished, the room sealed off. All the children, Elisha included, suddenly felt a cold, true terror being born in the midst of their souls. They had never seen Mikael look so horrifying, because he had never shown his Will against them in the past. They could feel a monstrous figure’s eyes looking right into the core of their being. Lucca gasped, about to faint, and Silvestre almost pissed himself from fright, when the crushing feeling suddenly vanished.

  The children looked at each other, breathing heavily, their faces pale with dread.

  “That’s why you don’t go looking for trouble with mid-tier warriors,” Mikael said, fixing his gaze on Nerion. Nerion understood in that moment just how foolish he’d been to try and fight Kael and what danger he put Julieta through. Had Kael not been heavily injured, his Will manifestation broken, they would have been dead meat. He also finally grasped that he lived not only because he managed to unleash his Revolution of Qi, but because Rhys had never taken him seriously; the attack unleashed was just a throwaway punch. The phantom pain from his previously broken arms, now feeling ten times worse.

  “And this brings us to the most crucial lesson for your future, especially you, Elisha”, Mikael continued, his voice returning to a low, powerful whisper, his eyes talking about something sacred.

  “TAO is the Path… Your Path — the reason you fight, the core of who you are. Find it, and your Will starts rewriting reality itself. A Centurion and Legate can half-manifest it, but that’s a promise of power, not the fulfilment. A Monarch? One hundred percent, a second body of pure intent fighting beside them. This manifestation is the physical embodiment of the warrior's destiny, fighting beside them, immune to conventional harm, and wielding the concentrated power of their unwavering Will. It is, quite literally, their soul given form.”

  He left the words hang… Then, the air shimmered.

  In this cramped room smelling of ale and stale bread, the head of a huge dog appeared. A regal-looking golden mastiff, its eyes looking mockingly at the children, its breath like distant thunder drowning them, and then vanishing as if it had been a dream.

  This time… There was no dread in the children’s hearts. For their souls seemed to have left them. They started laughing nervously and foolishly among themselves.

  Mikael smiled and finished: “Remember: No Path, no power. The deeper you know yourself, the deadlier you become. Every introspection, every sacrifice, and every moment of brutal self-reckoning is a sharpening of the ultimate weapon — your own unwavering Will”.

  Lucca whistled, rubbing his arms. “So Major Serena could’ve turned Jackal inside out without drawing her sword?”

  “If she wanted to lose her commission,” Elisha said, his voice tight. “Will has rules… and politics has more.”

  Mikael finally spoke, his voice a mix of gravel and old grief. “And some walls even Will can’t break. Remember that.”

  Once the lesson was ingrained in their souls, Mikael finished: “Above Monarch are the high tiers—Emperor (70 to 79) and Saint (80 to 89)… each step is a wall of blood and bone. And then, at Level 90, TAO users become Legends. The limit is 95. That is AEON’s decree. Legends don’t just have a rank; they earn a title—a nickname that is engraved forever in the mind of Aeonia itself, like The Lion King.”

  The children were buzzing with excitement. If not for Mikael, they, nothing more than orphans and poor sods, would have no idea about the truth behind the power ladder.

  Nerion couldn’t help but ask, “And TIMBER?”

  “I don’t know much about Mana and Magic,” Mikael admitted with a shrug. “Even if my house was noble in the past, I was never too fond of studying. For that, you’d do better to read the book little Manke gave you. In the future, you’ll be able to learn more about it if you have the chance to go to Ansem.”

  All of Mikael’s children were thoughtful. This was a lot to take in, but it was important, really important for their future. Even Elisha felt the push to train harder. The diluted drop of Millennial Stone Milk had saved him months of training, but the gap between him and a true Centurion like Serena and Myra felt vast.

  Meanwhile, Nerion looked at the ale-line ladder, then at the pouch of one hundred gold crowns on the table.

  “I think,” he said cheerfully, a grin wide across his face, “we just bought ourselves a head start.”

  Everyone laughed and nodded until Silvestre looked out the window.

  Twenty metres down the street, the curly-haired, freckled boy strolled past, whistling a merry tune.

  Silvestre’s chair crashed backwards.

  “THE THIEF!”