I was running beside a cart drawn by four burdrasses. The Paraceratherium-looking beasts had a surprisingly fast gait, forcing me to sprint rather than jog. Kan was running next to me, barely breaking a sweat even though we had been maintaining this brisk pace while burdened by our new mail armor for at least an hour. Shingo lay sprawled on the back of the cart, taking up half the space; the poor giant boy’s extra bulk and plate armor proved too much for endurance running. Honestly, I was impressed he kept up for thirty minutes.

  It was Raik’s idea that the kindred people in the group should catch up on their physical training while we traveled. He actually meant Kan and Shingo, but I decided to join in too, partly because I suspected that, back on Earth, Kindred adaptation characteristics might have been what Charles Darwin observed in his theory, in the same way I suspected that Dreamer magic might have inspired Carl Jung’s theory of the collective unconscious.

  I had concrete proof that I possessed Dreamer magic thanks to Nina. But that didn’t mean I was compatible with all seven realms of magic. Despite Ja’a calling me a “perfect mutt,” that wasn’t exactly scientific. My teleportation definitely felt Mythic with the wish aspect, or maybe Elemental Bloodline with its star aspect resonance that came with it. I doubted I could tell if I had Soul magic; I knew nothing about how Souldealers got theirs in the first place. And Telepaths went extinct two thousand years ago, so no luck there either. That left Kindred adaptation.

  Now, if only proving that I had Kindred magic wasn’t so labor-intensive.

  I hoped there was a bathhouse in the village we were heading toward.

  Eventually, I had to climb back onto the cart once exhaustion caught up with me. The cart was the kind the city used for bulk freight: wide benches on both sides, three people facing three, plus space up front for the driver and two passengers.

  I kept wanting to say, “Hey, you’re finally awake,” but I didn’t want to be the fool who laughed at her own joke.

  Kan was somehow still running. Now Raik had joined her, leaving Katar to drive the cart alone. I suspected Raik mostly wanted to have some alone time with his girlfriend. The two of them were whispering and laughing quietly, and it was sort of adorable. The fire-blooded boy might not have been Kindred, but he was in shape; he could probably match her pace for at least an hour.

  Next to me, Shingo’s stomach rumbled loud enough to draw attention. The giant boy shifted in his seat and rummaged through his pack. His movements made the already-shaking cart bounce even harder. He finally produced a brown burrito-looking roll and began munching on it.

  Calr noticed him eating and immediately did the same, retrieving the same kind of wrap from his own pack. Ja’a, ever curious about everything, scooted closer to Calr.

  “What are you eating? Can I have a bite?” Ja’a asked.

  Calr shrugged and handed her the wrap.

  Ja’a took a bite, her face turned green, and she spat the food over the side of the road. “What in the hell is that foul thing?”

  “We called it the Agames’ Grace in the slums,” smirked Calr.

  Raik ran closer to the cart when he heard his family name.

  “It should be called the Agame Grease,” Ja’a gagged. “That was foul.”

  “What’s that?” asked Raik, joining the conversation.

  I picked up the brown flatbread wrap from Ja’a and opened it slightly. Inside was a white, creamy substance. I scooped some with a finger, sniffed, then tasted.

  “This is some sort of cottage cheese cooked with lard,” I said, frowning.

  Calr nodded.

  “Lard?” Ja’a gasped, then lightly smacked Calr on the back of the head. “You let me eat lard?!”

  “Why do you call it the Agames’ Grace?” Raik asked.

  “It was your older brother’s initiative,” explained Vena. “He ordered the top merchants to provide cheap food to the people to stop the starvation hitting the slums.”

  “A starvation happening despite the abundance of grain and milk in Hano,” scowled Kan.

  “After that, those wraps started appearing on the streets,” added Calr. “You can get one for a few copper, even though the ingredients should cost more.”

  “They helped support the soup kitchens that the Temple of the Holy organizes,” Vena nodded.

  “They are rather filling,” Kan admitted. “I sometimes consume them, even if they taste terrible.”

  I looked at Shingo and frowned. “You’ve been mostly eating these, haven’t you?”

  The mute boy nodded once.

  I stared at his 2.5-meter-tall physique, most of it soft.

  “Of course, your Kindred strength has stagnated. You’re lacking protein.”

  “What’s protein?” asked Calr.

  “It’s the stuff that makes muscles. You find it in meats, beans, and eggs.”

  “That makes sense,” said Katar from the driver’s seat. “Eating fat makes more fat, and eating muscle makes more muscle. I grew up in a Damada-worship household, and that shit was common knowledge.”

  “It’s not just Damada adherents who know that,” Vena added. “Everyone in the Mythic Realm knows it.”

  “It’s more complex than that,” I said, “but yes. Even if you feel full, eating only carbs and fat will cause muscle atrophy. Someone your size should be eating at least two chickens per day, or the meat equivalent in weight.”

  I did the calculation in my head, based on his height, weight, and the longer day cycle compared to Earth.

  “What about me?” Kan asked. “Do I also need to increase my meat consumption?”

  “You should be fine. Your eating habits are far more balanced than his, and with your body weight, you’d need a quarter of the protein he does.”

  We spent the rest of the ride talking about dietary needs for active people. I explained how calories work and how to estimate them approximately. I wasn’t sure if it was a one-to-one comparison with Earth, but at least everyone had a better idea of what they should be eating. Raik also promised to talk with his brother so he would make the merchants add some baked beans to the food-wraps aid program.

  We arrived at the first village on our route. It felt less like an independent settlement and more like a farming appendix grafted onto Hano’s economy. The road leading in was flanked by open pastureland, the kind of sprawling grazing territory that looked like a medieval European farmer’s wet dream. The air smelled faintly of fresh grass, manure, and the earthy warmth of trampled soil under summer heat.

  The livestock here were elephant-sized cattle. Watching them up close was surreal; they plodded slowly, tails flicking at fist-sized flies, and chewed cud with bored, docile patience. My rational brain catalogued them as harmless herbivores. My hindbrain, however, insisted that any animal with the mass of a truck was one wrong mood swing away from flattening me. Vena whispered a quiet prayer, thanking the Holy for the bounty of life, as one leaned down to investigate us with wide, wet nostrils. Kan just boop'ed it nose away impassively, as if elbow-sized nostrils were a normal Tuesday. I noticed that only cows were roaming free, and thank God for that. I didn’t want to imagine the size of the bulls.

  The village was home to around a thousand people. Fewer than fifty clustered houses made up the “village proper.” The rest of the population lived out on their farms, a pattern I recognized from Earth’s early agrarian states: labor dispersed on the land, with a small village for storage, governance, and community. Except here, the centralized aspect had an extra purpose: Soulbooks.

  The only notable building had a large painted sign depicting elegant calligraphy: The Green Hand Guild. Whoever designed it had a flair for branding.

  “What’s that?” I asked as we pulled into the stable beside the building. Raik passed a bronze coin to a stable boy, who sprinted off happily with the generous tip. The stable smelled of hay and animal sweat.

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  “That building belongs to people with the Growth Soulbook,” Raik said. “Their job is to speed-grow food using mana, water, and fertilizer.”

  “I thought farmers got the Soulbooks,” I frowned, reassessing my assumptions.

  “Not every farmer can afford five silver yearly for one,” Calr said. “And even if they could, not everyone has the mana or soul strength to cover their whole fields.”

  Right, in a way, magical agriculture didn’t democratize food production; it stratified it. On Earth, industrial agriculture concentrated power through machinery and capital; here, it concentrated through soul strength, mana capacity, and licensing fees. Magic power may be accessible here for a price, but with the soul strength talent caps inherited, getting a Soulbook may be more of a burden than a help if all it does for you is add a five-silver tax on top of the rest of your costs.

  An older man in his fifties with cyan hair and green robes exited the guild building. Ja’a followed him with her eyes as he went about his business.

  “He’s strong for a civilian. Twenty-five SB. His soul’s bigger than yours, Raik.”

  Katar scoffed. “He walks like a weakling.”

  “He’s probably a Souldealer who buys soul jars in bulk instead of hunting for his own monster kills,” Ja’a laughed. “My father does that too. He’s never killed anything in his life.”

  “Don’t be harsh,” Raik said. “Being a Soulit instead of an elemental bloodline, he probably chose this quiet life instead of being born into it. You have to respect that.”

  Aside from the handful of Green Mages, everyone else looked like agricultural laborers: sun-browned skin, corded arms, and practical clothes that smelled of hay and sweat. Ja’a estimated their soul strength between three and seven SB. At that level, the elemental talents of the bloodline people were barely stronger than party tricks. One woman flicked sparks from her fingertips to light the outside post lamps, and a younger boy condensed a marble of water to rinse his dirty hands.

  Kindred people were also present here. A few had bovine traits like Mama Hana from the orphanage: small horns, cow ears, the women had chests larger than average, and the men were fairly muscled. Still, they may be stronger than average, but they were one or two evolutions away from breaking stones with their hands, and that’s what differentiated civilians from freelancers or soldiers, because breaking one’s lot in life happened only in life-and-death situations. And if you were not willing to risk your life, a Kindred civilian would never be as strong as Yon, especially if he was the child of a civilian. The same thing was applicable to bloodline people who could only dream of reaching Raik’s fire powers.

  We entered the village inn and rented a dormitory-style room meant for eight. That counted as “private” here in this establishment; the two other rooms held beds for twenty people each. This wasn’t a tourist’s paradise; it was a worker’s hub. No lute players or cute barmaids flirting for tips. No, this was just a rest stop, not a tavern.

  Dinner was served cafeteria-style: hearty stew ladled from a giant pot. Meat, roots, and grains simmered into something surprisingly delicious. Kan and I inhaled ours in seconds, having exercised the most. Shingo went back for thirds. Vena prayed before eating, so she finished last despite starting at the same time. Ja’a poked hers suspiciously until she risked a taste, only to be surprised at how well it tasted. Raik, Calr, and Katar were the only ones who ate like normal people.

  After I finished eating, I asked one of the staff if they had a bathhouse, and she pointed toward the river. Just… the river. I knew the weather here was always mild, with no fluctuation between summer and winter, but did people really bathe in the open? Now that I looked around more deliberately, the local level of hygiene was noticeably lower than in Hano, or at least the places I frequented in hano. It was mostly dirt rather than grime; dusty farm sweat rather than city stink… but still. I had grown used to Hano bathhouses at every corner, and with bathing being mostly free for freelancers, one tends to form expectations.

  I stood up and glanced at Shingo.

  “Would you be a dear and help me remedy the bathing situation?” I asked, giving him my most weaponized smile.

  Shingo blinked once and pointed at himself, confused.

  “Yes, you,” I nodded. “I need you to carry something.”

  He tilted his head, then rose from the bench without further objection. The boy was always eager to be helpful.

  We headed to the nearest supply shop… well, the only supply shop. The place sold farming equipment, cart wheels, axles, barrels, and what I was looking for… tubs, though these were clearly meant for collecting rainwater, not for bathing, and soaking in perfumed water. Unfortunately, beggars cannot be choosers when chasing hygiene.

  The shopkeeper was halfway through closing for the night and looked deeply offended by my intrusion. The man radiated the universal “I clocked out five minutes ago” energy I recognized from Earth.

  “Sorry, I won’t take long,” I assured him. “How much for that?” I pointed at a circular copper tub large enough to drown a sheep.

  “One silver,” he said, expecting me to balk at the outrageous price.

  Instead, I tossed him the coin without haggling.

  His face did an expression I had seen a few times, mostly among locals, when tourists started overpaying abroad.

  I asked Shingo to help me carry it and, of course, immediately had him drop it into my bag of holding.

  He gave me a look as if asking why I needed him if I had the bag.

  “I can’t put it in the bag; it’s too heavy,” I argued. I know the mute boy said nothing, but his face was uncannily expressive.

  Back at the inn, I gathered the group and had them follow me outside. They wore identical expressions of amusement; equal parts curiosity and the mild fondness one reserves for the friendly neighborhood lunatic they had elected to keep around.

  We marched toward the river. It was only once we arrived that I realized the flaw in my impulsive purchase: the tub was so comically oversized that only Shingo could extract it from my bag of holding, or possibly Raik and Katar if they worked together.

  I set Shingo and Calr to work hauling river water scoop by scoop. Meanwhile, I erected a privacy screen using my tent poles and canvas.

  By the time the makeshift bath fortress was complete, the boys had filled the tub to my arbitrary definition of “acceptable.”

  “Raik,” I said, gesturing at the water. “Heat powers. Please.”

  He obliged, placing his hands over the rim and heating the water with controlled precision until steam curled skyward.

  “Girls first,” Ja’a declared imperiously. “You boys can bathe after we’re done.”

  To my surprise, no one argued. The tub was enormous, big enough for all four of us girls to squeeze in, knees pressed against knees. Vena’s weird nudity-censorship light didn’t appear, meaning no one was peeping at her with impure eyes. That made me considerably more comfortable bathing under the open sky.

  Calr, Raik, and Katar went in next, leaving Shingo to go last. The boy was too big to fit in with them.

  The cleanup was easy; we dunked the water back into the river, especially since we hadn’t used soap and had just washed off travel dirt and sweat.

  We put everything back in my bag of holding and were finally able to go to sleep.

  The next morning, we woke at dawn, a rooster call serving as our alarm clock.

  Katar’s bed was untouched. As we left the inn, we found him in the courtyard, bare-chested, doing sword katas with slow, precise movements.

  “You didn’t sleep?” Raik asked.

  Katar shrugged. “Tested my Sleepless Night Soulbook and Second Wind. Both work. I can probably skip sleep every other day.”

  Ja’a whistled. “Show-off.”

  We headed to the guardhouse, more of an outpost than a proper station, with barely ten city guards posted here. The sergeant told us our target was a bog drake spotted near the westernmost farm, close to the marshes. The farm had lost two cattle to it already.

  “It’s not rampaging,” the sergeant added. “It’s just hunting in the wrong territory.”

  So a beast, not a monster, just an apex predator that drew the short straw by claiming farmland.

  We traveled on foot so we wouldn’t risk the burdrasses. The walk took around thirty minutes.

  As soon as we reached the marshy area, the air turned humid and thick. Wet grass slapped against our legs, mud sucked at our boots. And the buzzing of insects was almost deafening.

  Ja’a started flying to get a vantage point. Five minutes in, she suddenly stopped.

  “Large soul signature,” she called. “Relatively strong. About fourteen SB; around the same soul level as Alice.”

  Raik nodded thoughtfully. “Then Alice, Vena, Shingo, and Calr will handle it. If it gets hairy, Katar, Kan, and I will step in. You four need the experience.”

  I swallowed but nodded. That was fair.

  The drake emerged from the reeds shortly after we approached its resting place, an oversized Komodo dragon built like a bull on steroids. Thick, overlapping scales shimmered like wet stone. It hissed, revealing jagged teeth meant for tearing, not chewing.

  Shingo went up front, hammer in one hand, tower shield in the other, drawing its attention with a heavy swing that cracked against the drake’s snout. Vena rushed in beside him, her new claymore cutting a clean line across the creature’s flank before she pivoted back behind Shingo’s guard.

  Calr fired a bolt from his crossbow, but it lodged shallowly through one of the scales.

  “Too tough!” he yelled.

  I activated my Perception Soulbook, Stormshark’s Whisper. The world warped into lightning, highlighting the electromagnetic field. The drake’s nervous system lit up like neon wiring. Aiming at the most connected convergence point somewhere in its spine, somewhere on its back, I snapped a lightning bolt using my spear to channel it, stunning the creature for a couple of seconds.

  Vena and Shingo capitalized on the opening by hitting it several times.

  “Again!” I called.

  This time, Calr timed his shot with the shock. The bolt punched straight into the drake’s eye. It shrieked and thrashed, blinded on one side.

  The drake’s animalistic instinct told it to change tactics or die. It turned away from Shingo and lunged toward Vena, jaws wide.

  “Bad choice,” I muttered.

  Shingo took the opening, hammer slamming down full-force. There was a crunch like breaking timber. The drake collapsed, spine caved.

  The beast twitched for a few seconds before being put down by Vena.

  One of Vena’s legs was bitten, but both her chainmail and her new defensive Soulbook had held well, and still, it probably bruised. She healed herself with practiced ease, a small prayer to the Lady on her lips.

  Ja’a clapped, still floating in the air to get a better view of the fight. “Well executed.”

  Raik nodded. “Shingo you forgot to use your soulbooks, but other than that it was textbook performance.”

  Katar pointed at Vena. “You dropped your defensive stance before that last attack. Spar with me later, and we’ll fix it.”

  Vena nodded, always humble and never above receiving criticism.

  We had killed a drake cleanly, maybe even easily. For the less experienced members of the team, it was a confidence boost better than any pep talk.

  And just like that, the first hunt of the challenge was over.

  How to Magic. See you soon!