Chapter 167: Ritual of Concealment

  A few weeks had passed and Reinhart was seen fully returning to life, its streets bustling once more with workers, traders, and new arrivals.

  The destruction left in the wake of the earthquakes had been cleared, and the town's expansion had resumed with renewed vigor.

  First and Fifth Street stretched further, pushing towards the farmlands at the outskirts, while plans to connect to distant villages and settlements were well underway. The town had swelled in size, the influx of people breathing a fresh energy into its veins.

  In the backyard of the Starry Villa, Abel and Lena stood opposite each other, their breath steady in the cool morning air.

  The estate’s garden had been well-maintained, the ground beneath them compacted and firm from frequent training.

  Lena had fully embraced her new form—her towering werelion figure stood poised, golden sand-colored fur bristling under the sunlight, her sharp eyes locked onto Abel with predatory intent.

  Despite the primal nature of her transformation, the tiara atop her head gleamed faintly, anchoring her mind in clarity.

  Abel watched her closely, analyzing her stance, her breathing, and the raw power coiling in her muscles. “You’re fast,” he remarked, his grip tightening around his knife. “But speed alone won’t be enough. Control your movement—feel the energy in your limbs and direct it with purpose.”

  Lena growled lowly in response, her feline ears flicking as she suddenly lunged. Her claws slashed at him with fluid efficiency, and she struck a blur of motion.

  Abel sidestepped, barely shifting his weight, his knife parrying her swipes with minimal effort.

  She twisted mid-air, landing on all fours before springing forward again, this time using her powerful legs to drive a sweeping kick toward his head. Abel ducked, the force of her strike kicking up a gust of air behind him.

  He grinned. She was improving.

  “Good,” he said as he effortlessly maneuvered past another of her swipes. “But don’t just react—think ahead. Read my movements, anticipate.”

  Lena snarled in frustration, baring sharp teeth before planting her feet. She inhaled deeply, centering herself.

  Abel noticed a shift in her aura—she was trying something new. With a powerful exhale, she released a thunderous howl.

  The air around them trembled, a burst of concussive force rippling outward. Abel was pushed back slightly, his robe fluttering from the impact.

  His expression shifted into one of approval. “That’s more like it.”

  Lena blinked, looking at her hands, then back at Abel. “Didn’t know I could do that,” she admitted, voice still laced with excitement.

  “Your abilities are still developing,” Abel said. “Test them. Refine them. The more you push yourself, the better you’ll understand what you can really do.”

  Lena nodded, her chest still rising and falling from the exertion. The thrill of battle surged within her, but she also felt drained—maintaining this form was taxing, even with the tiara dulling the predatory instincts clawing at her mind.

  They took a moment to rest, sitting on the stone steps leading back into the estate. Abel leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “There’s something else you should consider,” he said, glancing at her. “The Institute is being built not far from here, and they’ll be looking for pseudos to join. If you sign up, you’ll earn contribution points—it could be useful in helping you grow stronger.”

  Lena tilted her head, intrigued. “The Institute? What exactly are they doing with it?”

  Abel exhaled. “They’re setting up institutions across Bask. Places where rogue Apostles, pseudos, and even regular officers can register, take on tasks, and gain rewards. It’ll give people like you a chance to climb higher, gain deeper knowledge, and establish yourself.”

  Lena crossed her arms, mulling it over. She was still adjusting to her new abilities, but she knew Abel was right—opportunities like this didn’t come often. If she wanted to get stronger, she needed to push herself beyond just training in private.

  She gave a firm nod. “Alright. If you think it’ll be worth it, I’ll check it out.”

  Abel smirked. “Good.”

  He stood, stretching slightly before heading back into the estate. “Rest up. You’ll need it.”

  Lena stayed behind, looking up at the sky, feeling the quiet hum of power coursing through her veins.

  She clenched her fists, determination settling in her heart. If she was going to stand beside Abel, if she was going to carve a future for herself in this world, she would need to embrace everything she had become.

  As Abel entered the main hall of the Starry Villa, one of his gate guards, Rian, approached with a respectful nod. The young man had a disciplined air about him, his uniform well-kept, though his expression held a hint of curiosity.

  “Sir Abel,” Rian said, standing straight. “You have a visitor. It’s Hector Murman.”

  Abel arched a brow. He hadn’t expected Hector to seek him out so soon, but he supposed the man was still adjusting to his return to society. With a casual wave of his hand, he gestured for Rian to let him in.

  A moment later, Hector stepped into the hall. His appearance was a stark contrast to the malnourished, delirious man Abel had pulled from the flower realm weeks prior.

  Now, he was clad in fine noble attire, his hair neatly combed, his posture no longer frail. He looked healthier, stronger even, though his expression carried an underlying tension.

  Abel could see it in the way Hector’s fingers twitched slightly, how his eyes subtly flicked to the windows as if expecting something to lurk there.

  Still, there was no denying the relief in his face—he was far from that hellish world of endless flowers and hunger, and he had been given a comfortable life in return.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Abel,” Hector greeted, offering a small smile. “I appreciate you seeing me.”

  Abel leaned against a nearby table, arms crossed. “I figured you’d be too busy settling into your estate to pay me a visit so soon. What’s going on?”

  Hector let out a short sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s about my household staff and my lack of funds. I’ve been having trouble hiring people to work at my home again. My father’s old staff… well, they all seemed to have disappeared.”

  Abel internally cursed, realizing he had completely forgotten that he had taken all of the Murman family’s wealth when he looted the estate.

  With no money, there was no way Hector could have hired anyone. He tapped his fingers against his arm thoughtfully before nodding.

  “I’ll lend you some gold to get things running again,” Abel said. “You’ll need workers, and having a proper estate presence will help maintain appearances.”

  Hector hesitated for a moment before speaking, his expression shifting from mild irritation to something more serious. “A letter showed up at my estate,” he said, his voice low. “A white owl flew by and dropped it quickly, I barely saw it come or go.”

  Abel’s gaze sharpened as he reached for the note, unfolding it carefully. His eyes flicked over the words, absorbing the message in silence.

  The Pale Order was issuing a warning—not to him, not to Hector, but to Ike.

  A new religious faction had surfaced in Reinhart, one that was planning to make a move soon, potentially taking control of the town. The note instructed Ike to stand aside and observe, waiting for the perfect moment to strike while both sides were distracted—to reap the rewards without ever dirtying his hands.

  Abel’s fingers curled slightly around the parchment.

  Another group?

  His mind churned, piecing together the implications. The Pale Order was already a dangerous unknown, but now there was a second force with its own agenda. The town had barely recovered from recent disasters—if two factions clashed for control, the collateral damage would be devastating.

  His jaw tightened. This wasn’t just concerning—it was a direct threat.

  Abel folded the note neatly, slipping it into his robe. “This complicates things,” he muttered. “I’ll have to warn Elliot and Burt… and maybe set a few plans in motion of my own.”

  His mind was already working ahead, considering who in the town could be involved, what this other group wanted, and most importantly—how he could turn the situation to his advantage.

  Hector’s shoulders eased, genuine gratitude flashing across his face. “That… that would be a huge help. Thank you.”

  Abel waved a hand dismissively. “Consider it part of your new responsibilities. If you’re going to be useful to me, you need to keep up appearances as the new Murman head.”

  Hector smirked slightly but then hesitated, shifting his weight uneasily. Abel caught the subtle change in demeanor and narrowed his eyes.

  “There’s something else,” Abel stated. “Out with it.”

  Hector exhaled, looking toward one of the villa’s windows, his voice dropping slightly. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

  Abel’s expression remained unreadable, but he motioned for him to continue.

  “I keep feeling like I’m being watched at night,” Hector admitted, his hands clenching slightly. “It always happens after midnight. I don’t know what it is—I can’t sense anything, can’t see anything, but the presence is there. Some nights, I hear faint noises outside the windows, like soft footsteps, like something is just… waiting.”

  Abel’s gaze sharpened.

  A pseudo with the power to remain undetected? Someone wielding an artifact capable of masking their presence? The possibilities intrigued him.

  Hector shook his head. “Since I haven’t hired any guards yet, it’s been gnawing at me. I know I’m capable of handling myself, but I’m still recovering. And if whatever is watching me is something… beyond me, I don’t know if I can take it.”

  Abel considered the information carefully. Hector was still regaining his strength, but if something truly dangerous was lurking around his estate, it needed to be addressed.

  “I’ll look into it,” Abel finally said. “If there’s a pattern, we can track it.”

  Hector nodded. “I’ve only noticed it starting past midnight. That’s when the unease begins. Every time.”

  Abel stored the detail away in his mind. “Noted.”

  With that, the two bid farewell, and Hector turned to leave, visibly relieved but still wary.

  Before he stepped out, Abel added, “I’ll send someone to deliver the gold to your estate. Keep your doors locked in the meantime.”

  Hector gave a small nod of gratitude before departing, leaving Abel standing in quiet contemplation.

  After parting ways with Hector, Abel descended into the basement, his thoughts heavy with speculation.

  The notion that someone—or something—was spying on the Murman estate unsettled him. Was it the Pale Order?

  Abel shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside for now. If there was a threat, he would deal with it in due time. For now, his mind shifted to a different matter—one that required his immediate attention.

  As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his gaze fell upon the large wooden door that sealed his underground sanctum.

  His fingers brushed against the handle, but instead of opening it, he stood there in contemplation.

  The Ritual of Concealment.

  Golden had given it to him during the Bazaar, and ever since, he had been breaking down its patterns, dissecting its meaning, and testing the intricacies of its design.

  It had taken him time, but he was beginning to understand it more and more. His drawings of the ritual symbols had become more refined, the activation sequence clearer in his mind. But most importantly, he had found a way to bypass its reliance on the “Forgotten One.”

  A being he had never heard of, nor cared to channel.

  Instead, he had discovered that he could substitute its influence with his own ability to manipulate mana, effectively activating the ritual without binding himself to some unknown force.

  He planned to use it now—on the basement door.

  With a slow, deliberate motion, he knelt and pulled out a small chalk-like material infused with his own mana. He began tracing symbols along the frame, carefully sketching the intricate patterns of the ritual.

  Each stroke of the marking resonated with the latent energy in the air, as if the basement itself was responding to the spell’s construction. The symbols pulsed faintly, intertwining with the surrounding mana as the enchantment took form.

  Once finished, he took a step back and exhaled, reaching out with his mana to activate the seal. The markings glowed for a brief moment before fading, leaving behind a door that looked entirely unchanged.

  But it wasn’t.

  To the mundane eye, the basement door no longer existed. Anyone who lacked the proper mana sensitivity would simply see a blank wall where the door once stood. The concealment was complete.

  Satisfied, Abel finally turned his attention to the buzzing sensation on his tower badge. Pulling it out, he saw a message from Sena.

  The message carried an excited tone, detailing the latest developments in his town. Sena spoke of hordes of crazed monsters attacking the outskirts, how he had fought them off, and was continuously learning more about his abilities. His words practically radiated thrill and satisfaction.

  Abel smirked slightly. That sounds like him.

  Sena also mentioned that within the next two or three months, he planned to travel to the tower to do some research and use his contribution points to access the Grand Arcane Library once more.

  The message intrigued Abel. He, too, wished to return to the tower—to continue his own studies, uncover more secrets, and further his progress. But unlike Sena, he lacked the means to do so. He had no transportation, no direct route to the tower at will.

  Not to mention, the upcoming independence gathering in four months was another factor keeping him tied to Reinhart. He knew that when the time came, Stone himself would arrive to escort him to Bask City—and, most likely, the tower afterward. That would be his best opportunity.