60th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

Alabaster listened to Newstar's teammates' story with furrowed brows. At first, she took their words at face value that a wandering saurian had snatched her ward, but there were too many holes in that story. The visibility had been much greater than the length of the rope, they would have heard something; they would have seen the saurian. Yet, they saw nothing. There was no blood, and they failed to see Newstar, despite him being a handful of feet away.

"You said it was the geyser field bordering the fourth realm zone?" She sought confirmation despite having the information.

"Yes, Lady Mageknight."

That geyser field was not on the border of the third realm zone, or more precisely, it was, but it did not end at the border; it extended beyond it, into the fourth realm zone. Either a fourth realm saurian broke through the barrier to snatch Newstar, which was impossible, or he went over himself, crossing the barrier by accident, which was improbable.

But how did he do that? She sat in silence; the youths squirming as she thought. The only one relaxed was Greenbow, as attentive and collected as ever. His body is supposedly at the fourth realm, that blessing may have become a curse in this situation. Newstar can handle anything in the outermost zone all by himself. But the fourth realm zone…

Alabaster was uncertain. Physically on par with a fourth realm meant little. After all, a fourth realm mageknight was physically weaker than most fourth realm saurians. Newstar's techniques were superior in grade, but inferior in realm, and finally, the one area in which he really excelled against beasts was intellect.

Saurians rarely have well-rounded sets of abilities, so he should have a minor advantage there as well, plus his shield is of a higher quality than anything we have for his realm. Alabaster had planned to ask Newstar to share his technique once he outgrew it, but the matter was irrelevant given the circumstances.

His mana is also very pure for his realm, empowering the rest of his abilities. He should be alive. Wait, is this why the gatemaster ordered me to send him there?

"Thank you for reporting this to me. I shall discuss this with several others and see what I can do."

Alabaster gazed out the window while waiting for the five youths to file out of her study.

Given the gatemaster's sharp mind and experience, he probably guessed something like this would happen. Is it all right for me to interrupt his meditation because of this?

Alabaster hesitated. She had never had news urgent enough to intrude upon the gatemaster's time. Eventually, she decided that if the gatemaster was in seclusion or sculpting his realm, he would have guardians, or at least attendants, much like she did.

She stood and calmly left her residence, heading towards the depths of the jungle. She had been walking for a handful of minutes when the gatemaster's voice echoed in her ear.

He is fine. I'm monitoring his progress through the valley. The odds of him perishing are slim and growing slimmer by the hour.

Alabaster bowed towards the center of the jungle and headed back home. If an exalt was keeping an eye on things, it meant the situation was under control. The order policy was to let its students risk their lives. Some fell, but the number was small enough considering the gains of those who survived carefully gauged life and death battles.

If Gatemaster thinks he's gonna be all right, Newstar's gonna be all right.

***

Newt quietly observed a saurian he had never before seen or heard of. The biped had a trihorn-like headdress, but instead of a beak, its mouth had long sharp teeth, with the lower jaw curving and some teeth sticking out like a circular saw. Its short, stubby arms ended in talons thrice the length of the arms, much like a longclaw.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

It stood about ten feet tall, turning its head left and right as it slapped the ground with its tail, obviously nervous because of the phantom opponent's approach.

What in heaven's name are you? The teeth and mouth indicated it was a carnivore; the horns adorning it hinted—they probably hinted at something, but Newt couldn't figure out what exactly. Horns so close to sharp teeth made no sense and served no purpose.

Maybe it once belonged to a common species, but its evolution went horribly wrong as it advanced its realm?

Newt explored that line of thought. His guess meant the saurian's element pushed its evolution in a strange direction. It turned a two-legged, horned herbivore into a strange carnivore, or it turned a carnivore into whatever the thing was.

Probably the former. Newt hesitated. On one hand, attacking an unknown manabeast with unknown powers seemed suicidal. On the other, he needed that level of threat to advance his skill.

Carnivores used their claws and teeth, trihorns gored their enemies with their horns, spiketails mauled them to death with their tails… There was next to no chance he could read that alien physique, and all attacks the creature made would be complete surprises to him. That also meant completely relying on his danger sense for survival. Which in turn meant risking his life more than he was comfortable with.

A fraction of Newt's being shuddered. He was afraid. Unknown qualities were the most feared. From overpowering enemies, you retreated. Your equals or lessers, you defeated. As for the unknown, well, it was unknown.

It looks like a jumble of random saurian parts. It can't be powerful. Newt considered that thought. If it's not powerful, why did the order bring it here? How did it survive in this environment?

That's a stupid line of thought. How did any of the saurians survive here? And I defeated them all, even the native ultraraptor, and it should be the apex predator in this part of the valley.

Newt slammed the butt of his glaive against the ground. He had to stop overthinking. He had decided the expedition would be a do or die, and he had no intention of dying. A half-baked saurian abomination of nature was mere prey.

The thing turned around, fixing its gaze on Newt. The exposed teeth of its lower jaw trembled, saliva running down the middle, dripping to the ground.

Disgusting

The staring contest lasted a moment, hunter locking transfixed prey with its baleful glare, then the weird saurian shot towards Newt in a blast of scalding air.

Fire? Green scales could hint at everything save for fire, but it was the last piece of bizarreness, merely added atop the alien physique.

Magmin Scales and Granite Crust, already waiting as traces, sprang to life, shielding Newt. The creature was fast, but nowhere near as fast as the shroud ultraraptor. Newt slashed with his glaive as the saurian swiped its massive claws at him.

Danger sense reported nothing; the saurian seemed content with letting the glaive strike it, and it did. Flames burst from its neck at the point of contact, a primitive version of Salamandra's Skin scorching the air, but dealing no damage to Newt's glaive. The saurian's scales were tougher than normal, but nowhere near tough enough. The weapon bit into its flesh, parted it, then severed the spine before fully decapitating the monster.

Newt stepped aside to dodge the attack right before the headless body would have smashed into him and gazed at it as it rolled on the ground.

It had something like Salamandra's Skin. That probably means it was a defensive species originally, trying to evolve into a predator. Magmin immediately came to mind. A creature trying to evolve in a direction nature had not intended. Sometimes, such gambles bore fruit, and it became a dragon. Sometimes, they resulted in conflicted creatures like the one Newt had just effortlessly slain.

It actually suffered from an evolutionary deviation. Instead of following an already existing ancestral path, it tried to blaze its own, kind of like Magmin. The difference is that this thing failed. So, what's the difference between the two attempts?

Newt considered the question. Even though he didn't know if it even existed, the matter suddenly became paramount. He was following a deviant path. Instead of manifesting concepts and symbols within his realm, he was making runic seals. Instead of harnessing mana the traditional way, he used the technique an ancient dragon, a true manabeast, once used to reach the apex of the world.

Would it change him? Would it warp him like it did the saurian abomination he had just slain without effort? Would he reach a higher realm only to find himself a weakling? Someone without a path forward, yet no way of turning back, either.

Again, Dandelion came to mind. The man had risked everything to correct his mistake, and faced with the question and a recently deceased warning, Newt understood. He would also risk everything.

What drove him was not the wish for immortality, for extra years of life. No, it was fear. An abject terror of being helpless again, of being stuck in a mine with no way out.

He looked at the deceased evolutionary failure, a mix of pity and respect in his eyes. It had a goal, a purpose, and the courage to follow it, but it turned out that its path was a dead end.

I won't be a dead end! I will grow strong enough to reunite my family, to keep my friends safe, and to honor my ancestor's decision. A decision which had ruined the clan, but benefitted me.

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