He pulled a book free and began to read.
Lyn's expression stiffened slightly.
It was basically empty.
"Rifts are a mysterious phenomenon that can't be explained, and the effects vary," he read in dissatisfaction.
are they serious? Why even make the book in the first place?
He gritted his teeth in annoyance
"Fifteen contribution tokens... this doesn't pay off. At the very least, I should see something about Mortal Fragments, how to form them, or how to use them properly," he muttered, expression calm, patience thinning beneath it.
He kept searching.
Lyn passed section after section when his eyes suddenly brightened.
"Mortal Fragments and Combat Theory?"
He paused.
At the moment, he had no fighting techniques. No structured knowledge. Nothing reliable to fall back on. Without these, he would be useless to himself and others.
I hadn't had any opportunity to research this… until now.
It had been about three months since the incident. A collapsing ore chunk struck his head. When he woke, everything from before was gone. Only instincts and fragments remained.
He opened the book and sat down on the floor, legs crossed, posture relaxed.
"Mortal Fragments are basic techniques built around fragments of law. Instead of using a single shard in a simple way, a Mortal Fragment is a structured pattern that combines Heavenly Shards, Truth Carvings, and the Vessel Sea into a repeatable method," he murmured while reading.
He scratched his head, eyes calm, thinking.
The book rested on his lap.
So… repetition in a strict order. Knowing how to use shards and when to use them.
He stopped and corrected himself mentally.
It is structured. Chains of actions, perhaps. Steps between steps. If someone understands shards and law well enough, they can create their own fragment techniques.
He continued reading.
As expected… the more complex the fragment, the harder it is to execute. More steps, higher risk, but also greater strength. The same technique can behave differently in different hands. Truth Carvings matter. Mind matters.
His fingers tightened slightly on the page.
One needs to think fast to align each chain. That is why notion-type shards are valuable.
Just as he was about to read further, the words vanished.
Lyn frowned.
One hour already?
He stood, dusted off his clothes, and made his way back toward the three doors. The formation released its grip on his vision as he exited.
He nodded politely to the disciple at the front desk and stepped outside.
The cold air felt clearer than when he entered. He then slowly made his way back to his house.
I have no tokens now. This is not good at all. And I cannot go to the mine because it is temporarily closed after what happened.
He frowned slightly, but his expression soon returned to calm.
He reached his house, opened the door, and closed it behind him.
I should organize my thoughts and decide what I should do...
Men required goals. Without a purpose in life, a dream to grasp, they were doomed from the start. These lost souls were cast aside, left to battle for someone else's vision. A free man was no man without a goal—destined to perish in the void.
He walked to the sink and washed his face. Every house in the village had a simple formation built into it.
By focusing on an intent such as water, the formation would draw and deliver it through linked space formations. Unused water was teleported away, thus no drainage was needed.
The sink existed only because the formation restricted summoning to one fixed point inside the house. Toilets and other utilities followed the same principle.
Cold water slid down his face.
I need a new job.
He paused, then corrected himself.
No… If I want to climb in this World, I should probably be training instead of thinking about work. But then… what about tokens?
Mindless people only thought about food and drink. But how could one live in this World like that? It was nearly impossible. Danger lurked everywhere. Even your own eyes could turn against you.
Silence settled inside the small room.
He dried his face slowly.
He leaned against the wall for a moment and let the quiet settle.
He was not panicking, but the emptiness in his pockets, the sealed mine, the quiet uncertainty… they pressed faintly against his chest like a dull weight.
He exhaled and sat at the small table.
I need to move. Sitting here and waiting will only stack problems.
For a short moment, he gazed inward, mentally entering his Vessel Realm.
The golden star hovered in the endless sky quietly in the distance. Silent. Watching, offering nothing, and demanding nothing. It simply existed.
He rested his elbows on the table and tapped his fingers lightly.
Income… training… information… survival.
He lined the priorities in his mind like pieces on a board.
He had no job.
He could not go back to mining.
Contribution tokens were not infinite.
And now he knew more about Mortal Fragments. They required patience, shards, stability, and time.
He closed his eyes briefly.
I need something stable enough, so I do not starve… and flexible enough to study, train, and observe this World.
His jaw tightened for a heartbeat, then loosened again.
He stood, dried his hands properly, and straightened his clothes.
There were options, but none were comfortable
Then suddenly, a thought clicked.
What if I… resell information?
He sat down on his bed, fingers tapping lightly against his knee as his thoughts continued shaping themselves.
Yes… yes. Resell cheap information to clueless outer disciples and wandering Dao Chosen. This would work
All he needed to do was buy low-tier information shards from the market. Cheap, common things anyone could access if they bothered to think.
Then, change the presentation. Add weight. Add mystery. Dressing simple knowledge in dangerous clothing, and people would pay to feel like they were touching something forbidden.
Outer disciples feared ignorance more than death. It was no different than poor people believing they could become rich overnight or become powerful while doing nothing.
He had one information shard already. He could start. The hard part was finding the right people.
Or perhaps… not that hard.
He needed distance.
Hazelrun was too familiar. Too many people remembered his face. If attention ever started gathering around the ashrain event and the golden symbols disaster, staying here would be stupidity.
He rubbed his temples.
No job, no tokens, no stability
Hazelrun was too poor.
Blackburg was too structured.
Argindale had eyes.
Tortileburn was far.
Emberbar however…
A trade town near the border of the territory. People passing through. Temporary workers. Fear of rifts. Loose tokens. Weak oversight.
Gullible people and more. Enough movement that if he caused trouble, he could disappear into another face the next day.
He splashed water on his face once more.
The cold helped.
His chest felt tight for just a moment, like something deep inside him had sighed.
Good enough
He packed light.
Bread. Dried strips of meat. A coarse cloak. A spare shirt and his notebook.
The shards floated quietly in his Vessel Realm when he checked them.
He paused at the doorway
Hazelrun was tolerable, quiet, and predictable. A place where breathing did not feel like competing with someone else.
He closed the door.
Three hundred villagers[1] lived behind him.
They would not remember him for long either way.
He stood at the edge of Hazelrun's main path longer than he intended.
The road to Emberbar was no village stroll. With the mine closed and the sect tightening its grip, traveling alone would be stupid.
Beasts were one thing; he could possibly outsmart them and hide or run away. People, however, were an entirely different matter altogether. Hungry people, Silent Hands, and bored Dao Chosen looking for excuses.
He clicked his tongue softly.
Walking alone would take nearly a month or more.
Emberbar was the closest town.
He most definitely did not feel like walking for a month or more; he needed a caravan.
He turned back toward the old rest square near the trade route. Even if Hazelrun was small, caravans still passed occasionally. Now that the mine was silent, they were fewer.
But not gone.
Lyn waited.
A group finally appeared near sunset.
Six wagons. Two ancient[2] rank beasts pulling each. Massive, red-scaled creatures resembling crocodiles.
A small sect escort walked alongside. Light Path mostly, with a few Earth Path Dao Chosen to stabilize terrain when needed. Outer disciples, Rank Two and Rank Three at most.
He approached the caravan master, a thick-armed man with a shaved head and a face that trusted money more than kindness.
"I want to head to Emberbar," Lyn said calmly.
The man looked him over.
The youth seemed no older than nineteen, slim rather than broad, yet there was nothing fragile about him.
Pale skin spoke of long roads beneath tired skies, and long dark hair framed a face that rarely offered warmth. Thick eyebrows gave his expression a constant gravity, as if his thoughts never rested.
Then the man reached his eyes and paused.
Dark ancient green. They carried patience that did not belong to someone his age, an old weight that steadied them in a way most grown men did not possess.
For the briefest moment, something tightened in the caravan master's chest, as if the air itself had grown heavy.
He looked away first.
"Emberbar," he muttered. "Contribution?"
Lyn handed over what he could spare.
Not much.
The man frowned.
"That does not even pay for travel. You will be dead weight."
The tone was flat. But it was still a lie. The amount was just enough.
He wanted to see how the boy reacted. People revealed themselves when pressed. Panic showed weakness. Anger showed pride. Begging showed fragility.
He watched.
No reaction.
Calm to the point of indifference, the unease returned, quieter this time, but sharper.
"I can scout. Light Path."
Light Path meant sight. Sight meant reduced risk. Reduced risk meant lives and tokens saved. He weighed it, as he always did—risk, cost, gain.
The caravan master studied him longer than he normally would. Lyn did not look away he did not plead.
Eventually, the man exhaled.
"Second wagon column. If something happens, you move when I say."
Lyn nodded once.
"If something happens, I will not be foolish."
The caravan master held his gaze for another heartbeat.
Then he turned away.
"Now go and report to the rear quartermaster. Get in line."
Such professionalism usually reassured him. This time, it merely kept the unease steady instead of letting it grow.
Lyn had seen that too: in this World, one always had to observe others, even the closest of family; survival was never guaranteed, and mere promises never worked in this World.
[1] some died tho
[2] this on itself is one of the ranks for beasts