How long had passed...? Lucien can not sure.
"...Hey! Lucien! Wake up! What happened here?"
A familiar, anxious voice pierced the chaotic depths of Lucien's consciousness like a lighthouse beam cutting through thick fog.
He struggled to lift impossibly heavy eyelids. Blurred vision registered a shock of pale gold—that's Baron's close-cropped hair. As his eyes focused painfully, he saw his friend's face etched with deep concern and shock. Baron's lips moved urgently, but the sounds were muffled, fragmented, as if echoing from underwater.
His body felt pulverized and hastily reassembled. Every inch of muscle and bone was groaning in pain, especially the head, it was like being repeatedly punctured by countless red steel needles. The severe headache made him unable to think at all. A low groan escaped him as he subconsciously clutched his temples.
"Let me handle this."
A deep, strange voice cut through the haze, with unquestionable authority.
Lucien shifted his gaze. A figure taller and more imposing than Baron approached, wearing the same deep-colored Subjugation Corps uniform—but his shoulder insignia blazed vivid red. Scars etched on his face, and the whole figure radiated mountain-like power.
"Captain Pierre!" Baron snapped to attention, saluting crisply, respect and tension in his voice.
Pierre dismissed him with a casual wave. His hawk-like gaze swept the scene. Effortlessly, he vaulted over scattered Timberwolf corpses and closed the distance in powerful strides. Kneeling, he scrutinized Lucien.
Had Lucien been conscious, the horror around him would've been unmistakable. Within a hundred-meter radius lay a grim forest of massive wolf corpses—throats slashed, fur charred, bodies bristling with blades. Dark blood pooled on the stained grassland. The sickening stench of blood mingled with burnt wood and flesh—a nightmare scene that undoubtly had drawn the Corps.
Around Lucien and Pierre, Four other figures stood nearby—three men, one woman—in identical uniforms. They formed a tight defensive circle, scanning the perimeter with high alert. Their posture screamed desperate containment within this "forest of death." Even in death, the wolves' bared fangs and glowing green eyes radiated menace. The rookie squad members were pale-knuckled, sweating, discipline alone holding them steady--cause the blood's stench could lure worse horrors. They must hold their ground before rescuing the survivors and finding out the truth.
Lucien lay gasping, dried blood crusting his mouth. His body was now like a canvas of brutal injuries—crisscrossed lacerations tore through ragged clothes, exposing raw flesh. The air reeked of charred wood, vine, and copper. Scorched vine remnants littered the ground.
Pierre took it in at a glance. The wounds screamed Timberwolf struggle—their whip-like vines' signature marks. Yet, dissonance struck him. The threadbare hoodie... those startling green eyes... Lucien Virtuina? The East End slum kid the Academy recorded as "Talentless"? Could this frail youth be responsible for this slaughterhouse? Impossible! Even a C-ranked Fire awakened would struggle here. Had a passing strong awakened saved him?
Pierre pushed doubts aside. With a flick of his wrist, a vial of shimmering golden liquid appeared. He opened it, lifted Lucien's head, and poured the high-grade healing potion into his mouth.
Warm white light enveloped Lucien. Wounds knit together, torn skin smoothed. His breathing steadied, pupils refocused. Finally, long lashes fluttered open.
"Lucien! How are you?" Baron crouched beside him, voice thick with worry.
Warmth flooded Lucien and opened his mouth just wanted to say "You saved me again,"*but his gaze collided with piercing, weathered eyes—the scarred, imposing man's. Instinctively, he jerked upright, dull pain shooting through his healed body.
But seeing the insignia and uniform—Subjugation Corps—Lucien's tension eased slightly. His voice Weakly, but sincerely: "Thank you for saving me."
Pierre remained impassive, voice a low, authoritative rumble: "Lucien Virtuina. I'm Pierre, the captain of Sixth Subjugation Squad. You're safe now, but you need to cooperate with the on-site investigation, I have some questions for you, please answer truthfully." His gaze locked onto Lucien like a physical weight.
Baron reacted instantly, concern overriding protocol: "Captain Pierre, Lucien just woke up—"
"be quite!"
An icy glance. Crushing psychic pressure slammed down like a physical blow! Baron choked, protest cut off, his face quickly turned flushing as he bowed his head in submission.
Lucien felt the pressure too. He supposed that Captain's level—at least 30, and quality must higher than B, maybe approaching to A! Yet, strangely, it wasn't as overwhelming as expected. He hadn't checked his stats, but that desperate battle must've pushed his Psyche far beyond its limits.
Pierre's gaze bored into Lucien's soul: "First question: Are you Lucien Virtuina of the East End? Are you sure you possess no Awakened Talent?" The tone was glacial, demanding absolute certainty. As if Lucien's answer had the slightest loophole, his head would be screwed off at the next moment.
Lucien's heart hammered. Cold sweat slicked his back. Sanny's warning lingers in his ears! He have to Lie! There is no choice!
He met Pierre's stare, slum-born defiance flashing in his green eyes. Voice clear, steady: "Yes, sir. I am Lucien Virtuina. I... I have no Awakened Talent." This is the only thing he can and must say at the moment. His mind raced, weaving deception.
"You lie!"
Pierre's voice cracked like thunder! A tangible wave of psychic force slammed into Lucien! His eyes were as sharp as hawks and falcons, and he locked on the prey: "We found you at this carnage's epicenter! Eighteen Timberwolf corpses! All oriented toward you! Explain! How does a 'Talentless' survive—and kill—so many?!"
Eighteen? Lucien's mind reeled. Only seventeen before blacking out! Did someone kill another... then leave? Who? Why?
Confusion and pressure threatened to crush him. Retreat impossible. Under Pierre's suffocating presence, Lucien amplified wounded innocence, voice cracking with raw hurt:
"Sir! I swear I have no Talent!" he took a deep breath, as if trying to calm down his excitement. "I was... scavenging the plains. Hoping for monster scraps... something to scrape by." he pulled his mouth bitterly, gestured weakly at his rags, expression bleak. "You know how I was... survival."
His voice dropped, trembling with genuine pain-memory: "I... don't even have a system panel! and I don't know what's happening here, let alone there are so many dead wolves! I just... I'm attracted by those corpses! Thinking... Maybe I can pick up some wolf claws and fur... As a result... As soon as I got close, a damn vine came out from under my feet! Hang me upside down! Whip me like a whip! I... I'm so painful that I fainted, and I don't know anything!" he covered his head, as if recalling the terrible torture, "wake up again... you showed up. Sir, *please*! Find who saved me! I owe them my life! Without them... I'd be..." Unspoken horror hung heavy.
Pierre's hawk-gaze remained locked. Seconds stretched. Air thickened. Lucien heard his frantic heartbeat, felt sweat soak his tunic. Baron stood rigid, breath held, knuckles white.
Just as Lucien braced for exposure—
The razor-intensity in Pierre's eyes faded, and the heavy psychic pressure retreated like a tide. Pierre's Voice still stern but lost its edge: "...Only an A-ranked Psychic could lie under my scrutiny undetected. Anyone else..." Unspoken consequence chilled. "Monster activity's abnormal recently, there has been a sharp increase in incidents of looting by outlaws. Thus we squads running non-stop, for not missing any clues..."he paused and continued, as if to justify his harness. "Apologies for treating you like a suspect." He extended a hand—with awkward, unfamiliar reassurance. "Get up, lad."
Pressure released. Lucien and Baron exhaled silent relief. Baron knew the Captain's iron discipline; they'd balanced on a knife's edge.
Pierre pulled Lucien up, straightened to full height. Commanding boom cut through blood-stench: "Sixth Subjugation Squad—Fall in!"
"Yes, Sir!"
The four squad members snapped back into action, forming a crisp line behind Baron.
Pierre's gaze swept weary faces, giving the Final command: "Execute final patrol objective: Escort this citizen safely to Cocoon City!"
"Yes, Sir!" Relief echoed. Everyone secretly congratulated the captain's reasonable today. At least they could rest early tonight.
They formed a protective cordon around Lucien, pace slowed for the "Talentless" civilian. Baron walked at his right. Eyes burned with questions, but discipline held him silent.
Finally free, Lucien focused his mind. Silently, he summoned his personal system interface:
Congratulations: Level Up!
-Name: Lucien-
-Level: 16-
-Skill: Omni-Psychic-
-Quality: D → C-
-HP: 20 → 28-
-Psyche: 20 → 30-
-Intelligence: 29 → 31-
-Attack: 16 → 21-
-Agility: 11 → 16-
-Defense: 11 → 16-
-Acquired Skills: Telekinesis | Psychic Inducement | Psychic Barrier-
-Items: Timberwolf Claw x5 | Timberwolf Hide x3-
Quality rose! Psyche surpassed HP for the first time! Triumph warmed him. he can confirm one thing now: life-or-death pressure pushes psychic growth! Maybe Elemental Affinity training methods could hone his power.
However, as expected, the speed of upgrading from level 10 has slowed down. Crossing ten-level thresholds meant qualitative leaps. In Cocoon City:
- Most Awakened: Levels 10-20.
- Key positions: 20-30 (~20%).
- Rare power: 30-40 (~5%).
- Level 40+: Legends. Near-mythical.
Level 16... journey barely begun.
As Lucien veiled his action of viewing system panel with his psychic energy, the rear squad member—a blonde woman with a practical ponytail—spoke, confusion in her voice:
"Strange... why so many Slimes?" Green light flared at her fingertip. A wooden spike shot forward, impaling a green Slime leaping from the undergrowth. They'd dispatched Fire Hares and Razorwing Pigeons, but Slime numbers were abnormal.
Oh, shit! Lucien's triumph shattered. Almost forgot that damn Slime Slayer title! Keeping a wary eye on Pierre's back, he reactivated his psychic shroud, cloaking his "aggro radius."
Pierre didn't turn, voice calm, instructional: "Monster populations surge abnormally sector-wide. This is your 'new normal.' Stay sharp!"
"Yes, Sir!" Firm chorus.
Seizing the moment to stretch, Lucien checked his Daily Quest:
-Daily Quest: Eliminate 30 Timberwolves-
-Progress: 17/30-
-Deadline: 23:59-
Seventeen! Only seventeen confirmed kills! Who was that helper? Why leave me? Questions swirled. Lucien does not intend to continue to think, there are too many driving forces for human beings to make a certain behavior. Now there are too much mysteries have not been solved yet.
System time: 5:48 PM.
Time's tight. But trapped in this escort.....it was impossible to act alone.. Lucien sighed.
At this moment, a line of cold red small characters floated below the task panel without any signal:
WARNING: Failure = UNKNOWN PENALTY.
Penalty? Lucien's stomach plummeted. What kind? He asked mentally at the system.
"You lack permissions to access penalty details"replied the cold, mechanical female voice.
Disaster! His heart clenched. Father's "gift" is poisoned! Nothing came without price. Lethal penalty?
Crushing vulnerability returned. Struggling alone against mysteries and system demands making Lucien felt overwhelming. Sanny's warning echoed in his skull, but immediate danger loomed larger. I need help! I need trusted allies!
Baron and Viola's faces flashed, they are the only people he can unconditionally entrust his life to in this cold world! They are also the only reliable source for him to get more information about the world and talent! Telling them wasn't just sharing burden, it was the fastest path to growth and secrets!
Desperate need for trust outweighed caution.
He took a deep breath. Pierre's attention was elsewhere. Lucien flicked a quick, complex glance at Baron—fear, resolve, urgency: Need to talk. Critical.
Baron received the signal instantly. Years of shared hardship forged their unspoken language. An imperceptible nod. Eyes met. Message conveyed:
After we're back. After dismissal. The usual spot.