Following Kieran's suggestion, Dr. Riley remained stuck and slightly overwhelmed as she stared into space, as if staring beyond Kieran.
Part of her couldn't believe that Kieran had already reached a point where he could honor his promise to her.
Yet Dr. Riley felt unsettled in spite of the emotion rising in her chest.
Though she believed in Kieran, she couldn't dispel the fear she felt toward Private Sector, Magnate Families, and Underworld. She had heard too many stories and even witnessed some atrocities.
How would they feel about a youngster trespassing in their domain, taking spoils and riches from what they deemed as conquerable challenges?
With a grimace, Dr. Riley pinched her fingers together and uneasily asked a question. "Are you sure? Are we really going to do this?"
"This?" Kieran said, his expression unperturbed with a calm smile. He took in Dr. Riley's concern before resuming his conversation. "We are, without a doubt. I can tell you're more worried than scared—don't be. Just be yourself."
With all of the hints and specks of discoveries that Kieran made, he needed someone with an insatiable hunger for knowledge to piece the fragments together and uncover what hidden truths lay beneath the surface of the secrets.
Thus far, Kieran only knew two such persons: Dr. Riley and Aspaira.
Eventually, after moments of silence, Dr. Riley exhaled, exhaling her worries along with a breath she held for an extended period of time. Rotating with her weight on her heel and two fingers from each hand hooked behind her back, Dr. Riley turned away and nodded.
"Looks like I'll have to pack and make preparations."
With her back turned to Kieran, he couldn't see the genuine smile plastered across her face, but he did notice a slight change of color in the skin by her collarbone and neck.
Even a dense person could tell she was doing her best to keep her composure.
As soon as she left the room, Kieran leaned into his hand, elbows braced on his thighs and digging into them. The deeper he contemplated, the deeper they dug.
'So many things to do. So many things to find out and too many people to find and bring together. With certain events being different from what I know… what other unknowns do I have to account for? What happens when the Leviathans and Behemoths move in full force?'
Up until this very moment, Kieran seemed supremely confident but that truly wasn't the case. Having lived in an era where Superhumans and monstrous Inhumans transcended the limitations of human weaponry, he understood what proper utilization of honed physical and mental forces could accomplish.
Lowering his head, Kieran ruffled his head. 'It's no mystery that possessing a Myth results in absurd growth potential. Even Altair is experiencing changes slightly inferior to my own. Is gathering them all possible?'
As it stood, Kieran could only recall 4 of the Myths—the Goliath, True Berserker, Shadow Dancer, and finally, the Spirit Conjurer. The other three were a haze in his mind. Scouring his memories was no help.
Either the names of these classes were a well-kept secret of the owners or information regarding those classes was manipulated.
If the latter were true, Kieran had an inkling regarding the culprits of the manipulation.
'I hope this is all speculation and not true. If they're responsible for the lack of information, that would mean those people were essentially their trump card. Still, I guess some clues could be drawn from the remaining mantles,' Kieran thought.
Fighter, Hunter, and Priest—each Myth brought their class prowess to a whole new level—meaning that each Myth should be the culmination of each class.
In theory, it sounded straightforward to estimate but that wasn't the case. The more Kieran thought about it, the more he realized that each class had innumerable tangents to adopt.
This only revealed how badly Kieran needed a large information-gathering system.
Luckily, he was heading into the heart of espionage and counterintelligence. 'Minence City. It might seem flowery on the surface, but it is far from harmless. But it's all very doable. I hope.'
Following his shower, Kieran gathered everyone downstairs to level with them and assess their progress. Lined up in what seemed to be size order, Kieran walked back and forth through the ranks of his teammates.
Surprisingly, even Aspaira was here. He would have thought she'd conduct further research alongside Dr. Riley. However, after recalling his comment to her, he nodded in approval.
Alchemy required focus, and focus needed discipline.
ραndαsnοvεl.cοm Suppose Aspaira could steel her nerves and persist through ample pain and discomfort.
In that case, she'd be able to grasp her deep focus longer, giving her more time to understand the intricacies of patience and impatience when brewing or concocting.
Varied temperance—Isadora excelled in this, and so did Sorcia. It took a master to understand when things had to be done patiently and when steps could be rushed to maximize efficacy in the shortest time possible.
After taking a few steps, Kieran stopped before Altair without making any sudden movement.
Altair's burning silver eyes squinted, readying himself for a physical attack but all of a sudden, his eyes widened, and the ground beneath his feet creaked while his jaw tensed.
Signs of visible strain appeared all over his body during that time.
Kieran stuck out a fist. It seemed deceptively slow, appearing to twist space somehow and rob Altair of all line of sight. All he saw was a fist.
It was a strange feeling because most would take a hitched breath, but in Altair's case, a dire sense of dread overwhelmed him, overstimulating his senses. When he moved, he looked around, baffled, the others doing precisely the same.
"Uh… Altair, are you good?" Nemean guffawed, standing beside him with his head cocked in uncertainty. The whole time, it seemed as if Altair was fighting a mental battle—a war of inner turmoil.
Once he could catch his breath, Altair lifted his head and caught a slight smirk at the corner of Kieran's lips.
"What was that?" Altair muttered.
"Something you'll need to learn to combat. Almost all of our enemies will be capable of wielding murderous aura in that fashion. It will seem as if your body is locked in place, and an inevitable attack is coming to reap your life. Some will be far more skilled than me and manifest it completely. At that point, it won't be a contest of mental rigidity."
In the face of Kieran's murderous aura, Altair felt helpless. Why? Because his sole advantage was robbed from him—his remarkable speed.
Taking one more step, Kieran twisted his body and stood face-to-face with Nemean, analyzing him silently. Gauging Nemean included taking into account his class.
Afterward, Kieran moved.
There was no power behind his strikes, but they were incredibly fluid and linked together without a pause to give Nemean a breather. The core of his Shield Enforcer class was a liquid mixture of offense and defense.
Unfortunately, against Kieran, he needed a window to wield his offense. Without it, he was permanently stuck on the defensive. And after tens of hits, Nemean's arms grew sore and tender.
Seconds later, black and blue bruises appeared on his upper body.
"You have to be quicker than that. You're getting better at grasping the rhythm of your opponent but you're not doing so quickly enough to give you time to alternate between striking and guarding," Kieran commented.
Roughly ten seconds later, Nemean's arms dropped powerlessly and he couldn't lift them. The weight of his muscles seemed to be utterly useless, paralyzing him.
Despite the pain and his limp arms, Nemean's eyes were set ablaze with passion. He had lasted two times longer against the same onslaught. He was making progress!
Kieran flexed his fist and, this time, stood before Bastion, drawing his hand back. His muscles retracted and tightened like rubber springs ready to explode with force.
An ensued silence occurred, followed by what could only be described as a thunderous explosion. The first couple of times Kieran struck Bastion in this way, they cracked the wall, his body landing heavily against it.
This time, however, Bastion's body tensed and relaxed like his body was breathing and he came to a sliding halt mere centimeters from slamming into the wall.
"Excellent," Kieran praised him, but he didn't seem done. "Cycle the force faster, redirect differently so that you may make use of your opponent's assault."
Kieran continued going through everyone's foundations. No one learned everything complex.
Sera, Aspaira, and Alice all showed excellent progress in the training chamber used to hone control of the body, awareness of space, and reaction speed.
Finally, hours later, Kieran emerged from the facility with his members trailing him. They walked toward a large van meant to seat at least a dozen people.
"Whoa," Nemean ogled the van outfitted with expensive refreshments and top-quality holographic monitors.
"This guy must have spent a ton on this,"
"Not a penny. Wasn't me," Kieran said.
Unlike the rest, he boarded the van without marveling and took a seat to close his eyes. The moment he did that, his mind traveled elsewhere, revisiting his battle against Adeia.
There was something to learn there.
The way she fought, the precision of her odachi strikes—they all carried one purpose—a streamlined and merciless path to death. It was a flavor that resonated with Kieran's combat palette.
'Her weapon was like an artist's paintbrush, creating a sublime tapestry of death.'
Instinctively, Kieran touched his chest, currently covered by a standard long sleeve shirt. This wasn't the first time he did so.
Kieran entered his mind and calmed his breathing, waging war there to train his killing instinct without moving his body.
A defeat against Adeia was better source material than a victory could ever be.
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