Although wary, Frank stepped out of Orn's building without sparing a glance behind him. His eyes fixed on the road ahead, his thoughts drifting back to the soul beings and their curious modes of transportation that had once fascinated him. A faint, discontented smile crossed his face as he watched them now. The figures no longer held the same wonder they once did; they were simply passersby—workers hurrying to their posts, scholars heading to libraries for training, or those clutching coveted passes granting access to higher‑grade tomes. What had once seemed extraordinary now appeared routine, stripped of mystery, almost painfully ordinary in its repetition.
Yet Frank's gaze carried another layer of scrutiny. He wondered which of these soul beings belonged to the five great families. He had recently learned that almost every soul being was tied to one of them: the first being the Grims who were no different from commoners, the wealthy Zaleskas, the arrogant Qanans, the majestic Ritvegda, and the formidable Strix—the family no one dared cross. In truth, none of the five could be challenged; their influence stretched across all of New Darkovia. Their members were superior in nearly every aspect, not because they were born into the families—soul beings could not give birth—but because they were initiated, chosen like disciples in a cult. The Ritvegda, for instance, favored apprentices soul vampires and soul vampires as their leaders, those gifted with speed or mastery of the wind, and then they trained their servants- the next generation to follow the same path until they too could join the household.
As Frank reflected on these revelations, a chill of realization struck him. The task before him was far more daring than he had imagined. Each step toward the Zaleskas building deepened his fear, his resolve quaking as he questioned whether he truly had the strength to carry out his plan once he arrived. The looming structure seemed to breathe menace, its shadow stretching across the street like a warning, and Frank's heart pounded with the weight of destiny pressing against his chest.
Yet, despite his pounding heart, Frank approached the structure where the member of the Zaleska family he was about to rob lived. The building was not unlike the castle of Maru—Frank's first master—yet despite their similarities, stark differences stood out.
Both were levitating fortresses, but their themes diverged sharply. Maru's castle gleamed in gold and silver, symbols of prestige and power in New Darkovia. The Zaleska stronghold, however, was painted in black, purple, green, and red, the colors shimmering ominously where Maru's gold once shone. To Frank, the Zaleska castle seemed larger, heavier, and far more intimidating, its aura pressing down like a storm cloud.
Traces of memory stirred within him: the walkway to Maru's throne room, the event center where he had fought desperately in the Talent Bout, the servant's quarters where he had gone through an abrupt training and followed by an apparent humiliation due to being defeated by the "Weakest Soul Being". He remembered losing easily to Berry, remembered the suffocating weight of servitude, and remembered the day he finally escaped.
Now, staring at the massive structure before him, he wondered how many rooms its inner sanctum concealed—rooms both seen and unseen—and whether he would have enough time to scour them before finding the vault where the life energy was stored. His instincts whispered that this castle would not yield its secrets easily and that not unlike Maru's hidden servant quarters, the Zaleskas were also cunning; they could plant decoy vaults to mislead intruders, or perhaps four chambers arranged in a circle, designed to mislead intruders until they reached the true vault at the center.
But before Frank could even think of the vault, he had to reach the front door. Fortunately, this was where his plan began. He had racked his mind for ways to avoid suspicion, ensuring that when the life energy vanished, no one would link the theft to him. If he could snatch the energy unseen, it would be a triumph of stealth. Thus, he resolved to enter through a lesser‑used passage, one overlooked by most, a shadowed entrance that promised secrecy and the faint hope of success.
However, Frank would soon come to find out that getting into the castle via a shadowed entrance that promised secrecy and a faint hope of success would not be nearly as easy as he had imagined. He scanned every possible doorway, searching for a discreet way to slip inside unnoticed. Yet at each entrance he spotted hundreds—sometimes thousands—of soul beings filing into the castle in perfect order. If the line had been even slightly chaotic, he might have stirred confusion, roughing the crowd just enough to vanish into it. But the Zaleskas seemed to have anticipated such tricks. Security officials patrolled relentlessly: some kept the lines orderly, others directed visitors to the correct personnel, and still more collected personal information with unnerving precision.
And that was only the beginning. The front of the castle bristled with technology designed to terrify intruders. CCTV cameras glared from every angle, sensors scanned for bioweapons, cyberweapons, or even medieval blades, while alarms and diagnostic robots prowled the gates, analyzing motives and intent. Beyond these, countless other devices hummed with unseen power, their functions hidden from Frank's limited knowledge of New Darkovia. If he were still human, sweat would have poured down his forehead at the sheer scale of the defenses. It felt less like approaching a noble's residence and more like attempting to infiltrate this world's version of a government fortress—he had a feeling akin to when a terrorist tried breaking into the NSA.
Frank wondered why the Zaleskas demanded such overwhelming security. The answer seemed obvious: they controlled all technology in New Darkovia, selling it across the realm, and this fortress was both a demonstration and advertisement of their supremacy. Technology, they proclaimed, was the strongest power in the universe.
Seeing the massive defenses, Frank faltered. He turned back toward Orn, his resolve crumbling. He could not do it. The thought of his dying body weighed heavily, yet the possibility of suffering something far worse than death if caught was unbearable. He resolved to live out his remaining days in peace, free of regret. But as he walked away, weighing his options, he whispered the word "status."
A glowing window appeared before him, listing his skills, attributes, occupation, health, and name. He scanned the list, hoping for something—anything—that could grant invisibility or erase the minds of onlookers. None appeared. His skills stared back at him, plain and unremarkable. Yet among them was one he trusted and hoped would provide a way in this unfortunate situation he found himself, the skill was: Meditation.