Alex was back to his daily routine of roaming the Drakaryx clan Domain, but there was a major, major change. Now he could die, no longer receiving the help from his hidden benefactors; instead, he would suffer and get revived like any other normal otherworlder.
He was given an enormous quantity of law tokens by Odesues, exactly ten thousand and eighty in total, which he needed to use in eleven weeks.
No doubt, the law tokens were a massive deal, because one had to understand that in two and a half years, Alex had spent within the Ancestral realm, he had earned only around two hundred law tokens, and it wouldn’t be a lie to say that he was one of the top earners.
For Odesues to hand Alex 10,080 law tokens, so he could burn through them, was sothing beyond genius and sothing only soone like him could do.
Sure, law tokens held no worth to him or any realm inhabitant, but they were the most precious resource to the Adventurers, so just collecting them would have cost not only a great deal of trouble but resources as well.
The number of law tokens, 10,080, was also very specific because each law token was capable of pushing an Adventurer into a state of enlightennt of their chosen elent for eleven minutes.
If one were to do the math, then 10,080 was the exact number of tokens needed to repeat the cycle for 77 straight days.
And that was assuming, one did not rest for even a second.
So, in truth, Alex was given way more tokens than he needed to stay in the state of enlightennt at all tis, as he revisited the eleven domains, repeating the sa routine he had gone through the last eleven weeks.
But, things were not so simple, because now Alex could die, each death costing him a single law token.
Alex understood his skills very well and knew that at the end of the first eleven weeks, he could survive anywhere from a few hours in the beginning and on average thirty minutes toward the end of the day without needing to be saved.
However, this ti the threat level would be different, because with each death Alex would be revived a new, returned to a perfect state, and if the past eleven weeks had taught him anything, it was to always expect the absolute worst.
Seconds had passed, and Alex was silently evaluating his new situation, when the ocean of molten rock around him trembled, the ash-choked air quivered, as a beastial roar tore through the fiery domain, sending ripples across the very fabric of reality.
Alex looked up, darkness already welling thick clouds around him, only to die down a mont later. ’Ignovar?’ he realized, as a massive dragon descended into the molten ocean, the lava hissing and surging beneath its weight.
The creature rose with terrible majesty. Its head was crowned by sweeping horns that curved back like jagged blades, and its eyes burned as twin orbs of molten fury, brighter than any forge.
His body cloaked beneath blackened red scales, his chest a stretch of fractured obsidian with veins of fire running between the cracks.
Ignovar was unlike anything Alex had seen; he was wrath made flesh, the unrelenting image of fury and destruction.
"Seven days," the deep voice rumbled, each word thick with disdain. "That’s how long I have to tolerate you. But this ti... I can do as I please."
The words had barely settled in Alex’s mind before a crimson blur cut through his vision. Instinct took over, his arms shot up, and darkness surged to form a triangular wall before him.
It shattered like smoke.
The ground vanished beneath his feet, as agony ripped through him, both arms snapped, ribs caved in, his organs scread in protest, so rupturing, others barely holding together.
Alex stopped midair, black wings unfurling wide, vast and jagged, like those of a dragon, to tear away his montum.
Every muscle quivered under the strain; his left arm hung limp, shoulder wrenched loose by the savage blow. His chest rose and fell in slow controlled breaths, mouth heavy with the sting of iron.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze, and a grim realization settling across his face.
"Looks like I used a bit too much force," Ignovar spoke slowly, though his tone carried no remorse. A jagged smirk split his muzzle, fangs gleaming like molten blades. "Good thing you can keep reviving."
"So, let’s et again," Those were the final words, before Alex felt his veins turn fiery hot, every nerve set afla in seconds.
This was the change to his routine; Alex would no longer get tested by the domains themselves. Now he would stand against their rulers.
A few of the most powerful, respected, and feared individuals in the Ascestrel realm.
But the very first minute of the first day made it clear that these mighty individuals were not going to teach him; they were going to challenge him, push him again and again, do everything to break him.
Yes, the domains had been rciless, but he could not die there, no matter the tornt, no matter how many tis his body broke, he was always dragged back into the fight.
Now, that safety was gone. Alex was given Law Tokens, ten thousand and eighty of them, each one capable of pulling him back from death or granting him eleven minutes of clarity, a state where the laws themselves unfolded before his eyes.
Each token represented an opportunity to take a step towards greater growth, and in theory, the number of tokens Alex had was more than he needed, but in practice, that was not true.
Because now that Alex was no longer immortal, each death cost him a law token, and using a token to receive its second benefit also did not promise its complete use, since death would cut short its use.
Therefore, using a token and dying ca at a cost of two tokens, and that’s why even if Alex died every ten minutes, he did not even have enough tokens to last him for forty days.
A death was no longer just pain; it was wasting two tokens, a loss that bled into every future cycle. His haul was trendous, but dwindling with every failure, each token like a grain of sand slipping through an hourglass he could never refill.
The true trial was no longer just surviving and learning from his nightmarish experience; now, Alex had to balance on the razor’s edge, not only deal with the rciless condition but also do so by not wasting the priceless opportunity he was given.
Where before he had only endured, now every breath, every choice, every mistake cost him sothing he could not get back. The tornt was the sa, but the consequences were imasurably greater and so was the reward.
-----------------
In an unknown tavern of modest size, everything was crafted from wood: walls, beams, floor, and furniture, giving the room a rustic unity, as though it had been carved from a single living tree.
Twelve tables were neatly arranged, six on either side with a generous path down the middle.
At the forefront stretched a long counter, polished smooth by years of use. Behind it, an open kitchen revealed a wall lined with simple utensils. Knives, ladles, pots, and pans hanging in orderly rows, each glinting in the warm light.
The place was bathed in a golden glow, lamps set into the walls and hanging low from rafters, soft flas flickering behind glass. Shadows moved lazily across the wood, giving the tavern the quiet warmth of a place that should have been ordinary.
The figure behind the counter, however, was anything but ordinary. He worked with steady hands, preparing dishes with a precision that spoke of endless practice.
His fra was humanoid, but his face was alien, bone white, jaw jutting forward, his nose sharp but flat, the hollow cavity of a mouth carved like a mask rather than made of flesh.
He wore simple black garnts that cloaked most of his form, neither the flamboyance of a chef’s attire nor the raggedness of a common cook, sothing in between, practical yet strangely formal.
Four others occupied the room, each seated at a separate table.
The first was a young man in his early twenties. His skin was pale as chalk, and his eyes glimred with a steady, starry blue. He wore finely tailored garnts, deep azure cloth trimd with silver filigree, layered sleeves, and a high collar fastened with a gem, garb that evoked the bearing of old nobility without needing a crown.
Across from him lood a towering figure, a man shaped like a shark, his head long and pointed like a great white’s, though the weight of his presence made him seem more like a galodon dressed in flesh.
Broad shoulders strained the simple vest he wore, and when he breathed, his gills flared like faint scars across his neck.
The third was a figure that did not belong to the living. A skeleton draped in a tattered black robe sat upright, golden bracers gleaming against his bare forearms, and a necklace of runic beads hung heavy around his chest.
His eyes burned with two pinpoints of red light, twin orbs like irises without the rest of the eye to hold them.
The last was a woman, a beauty of early thirty winters. She was elegance given shape, nobility given flesh, with flowing hair white as untouched snow and a gown of gold trimd with white fur at the shoulders.
Her eyes were misted with pale fog, unreadable yet calm, and a soft smile rested on her lips, completing the image of a noble untouched by ti or turmoil.
To any outsider, the scene might have looked almost ordinary, a handful of strange guests in a quiet tavern.
But anyone familiar with history, with the figures who shaped the realm itself, would know the truth. Gathered here in this small wooden room sat five of the eleven Seats of Power, the highest authorities of the Drakaryx clan.
Thalyss, the skeletal figure, leaned back in his chair, the runic beads around his neck clinking faintly.
His voice rasped like wind through a crypt, yet carried amusent. "Odeseus has found himself a little monster."
"Monster? "Zephyros, the pale young man, chuckled, his tone light, but sharp "He is more than that. The boy drinks knowledge like a sponge. I almost thought that old man was playing a trick, disguising himself as a child just to have fun."
Seryndel gave a deep, guttural growl, his shark-like maw curling as he set his massive hand on the table, claws biting into the wood. His voice rumbled like waves smashing cliffs.
"That cheeky bastard’s got talent, sure, but he is also a nasty little bugger, too. Can you believe he taunted into sparing him for an entire day?"
His gills flared wide, and he slamd the table once. "I’m still pissed about that."
The noble woman with white hair and misted eyes finally spoke, her tone soft, almost lodic. "He is a precious soul, and I am just sad that I can’t take him as my student."
Tharos, still behind the counter, did not look up from his cooking. "I wonder if he will be marrying our young lady." His voice was calm, almost flat, but it carried the weight of soone who rarely wasted words.
"I hope that’s not true," a carefree voice chid, "But what I can tell you is that I am working to set him up with my precious daughter."
The tavern doors swung wide, and a figure clad in immaculate white stepped inside, his presence both casual and commanding. His smile lingered as he waved a hand dismissively.
"It’s not going anywhere, though." He chuckled, shaking his head. "For all his sharpness, the boy’s got a skull thicker than dragonbone."
His words drew a scatter of reactions across the tavern: Thalyss’s skeletal jaw clicked in irritation, Aeryndel rumbled deep in his throat, and even Zephyros rolled his eyes. Only Lyssandra let out a soft, lodic laugh, the sound like silver chis breaking the tension.
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