The noble world smelled of lavender and lies.

  High atop the white stone towers of Sul’Eden, while peasants lived among dirt and smoke, the halls of the aristocracy glowed with enchanted crystals and spilled wine. But that night, something corrupted the usual aroma of the Palace of the Seven Judgments’ grand hall: blood.

  A message had arrived. A scroll sealed with the black wax of House Destroven, torn open in haste. Inside, just a single sentence, written with the urgency of someone who was bleeding:

  “The Baron is dead.”

  For a moment, the hall fell silent. Then the whispers burst like rats fleeing from light. Nobles turned to each other. Some laughed, others frowned. But none looked truly shocked.

  Only one man stood.

  His shoulders were like twin walls wrapped in dark leather. His broad chest barely fit into the ceremonial armor, and the scars on his arms stood out like warnings. He had short brown hair, a trimmed beard, and eyes like burning iron. But the most striking thing was the seal hovering above him, visible to everyone in the hall:

  Life Value: 92

  The highest present.

  His name was Thorne Varkas. He belonged to no noble house, yet walked among them by earned right. A champion of the Central Arena, a monster hunter, an enforcer in service of the System.

  He stared at the scroll. The words seemed to pulse. Then he spoke, his voice like stone breaking:

  — Who saw it?

  One of the messengers, still panting from the journey, knelt before him.

  — We... we found the bodies on the road to Sul’Eden. The convoy was torn apart. Guards dead. Carriages burned. The Baron... beheaded. And there was a mark on the ground. A name.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  — What name?

  The man hesitated. Then answered:

  — Our magic revealed her name is Lysa.

  Some nobles laughed, dismissing the matter. With a name like that, she clearly wasn’t highborn.

  Thorne did not smile.

  — I want the full reports. And a map of the route she followed. Now.

  — But sir, she’s headed for the forbidden lands. The ruins of Aemorr...

  Thorne silenced the noble with a single gesture.

  — Then that’s where she dies.

  Lysa felt the weight of new numbers in her skin.

  The Life Value of 23 burned beneath her flesh like a brand. She walked forgotten paths under a soft rain, her eyes alert to every sound of the forest. She knew she was being hunted now. The System did not tolerate corruption. But she also knew that with each kill, she became more than human.

  Her skills were evolving. She could now smell intent. Sense if a mind turned against her. It was like a sixth sense, a blood-born instinct.

  And something more...

  The Code.

  Deep in her consciousness, like a second voice, the Primordial Code whispered possibilities. Lines of command. Open gates. Windows in the fabric of reality. But it was still fragile. She couldn’t abuse it.

  She found shelter in a cave to rest. And dreamed.

  Dreamed of chains.

  Of a man with iron eyes.

  And a fist crushing her heart.

  Thorne rode like a storm. He needed no maps. His senses were trained to follow impossible trails. He had hunted witches hiding in the wind. Now, he followed the trail of a girl who dared tamper with the structure of the world.

  In the saddle, he reviewed what he knew:

  Lysa. Initial Value: 0.

  Status: Hacked.

  Capable of stealing abilities through death.

  A growing threat. A cancer.

  He would find her.

  And cut her from reality.

  At dawn, Lysa felt something.

  The wind turned heavy.

  The System flickered inside her.

  Threat detected: Higher-Value Entity approaching.

  She rose, grabbed the sword stolen from the Baron, and turned east.