When he made his way over to Eileen's group—well, the few that remained anyway—several of them looked up. Dishevelled, wounded, and clearly needing a rest, two men stepped forward and bowed.

"Senior, it's an honour to be in your presence," one man said, straightening up. He had a short-cut beard with a thin streak of white running through it.

A quick scan told Hector that he was Gravity Forging-Three, not a very lucky cultivator if he was only so high. While Hector himself wasn't any stronger, he still had youth on his side. That didn't mean he couldn't understand the man. He was worse than Hector before he'd received the seed.

The man next to his bearded colleague spoke up. "We appreciate the help you have given us. We dare not exceed our position, Senior, but we must ask, how did you get in?"

Hector frowned and turned to Jodie. The girl shook her head and shrugged.

The bearded man turned to Hector, confusion colouring his features. "Weren't you stopped when you tried to enter the door? We'd seen several seniors attempt to come into the trial realm, but all got rebounded. Stronger Core Formation cultivators couldn't even get close."

So that was why Hector had seen no Core Formation cultivators in the trial realm. It was simply that they couldn't enter. The doors prevented it. But why? Surely, if the old man wanted to raise up a place he thought belonged to backwoods tribes, he would just let anyone enter.

At Hector's silence, the bearded man spoke up again. "Well, no matter, we appreciate everything you've done."

"Yes," said the boy, clutching at his side and walking over—the same one who'd thrown them the box. "I had thought you would run, kind of hoped it, but I'm glad to see I was mistaken."

"Joseph, put some more respect in your tone when you speak to an elder."

The boy glanced at the bearded man, then winced in pain as he clutched his side. "I'm sorry," he said, turning back to Hector, but before he continued, Eileen's voice broke the conversation.

"They aren't Core Formation cultivators. You fools can stop acting so scared."

The girl walked over with a tight expression, her strides firm. Behind her, the traitor she'd been fighting lay unconscious on the floor. Dead or not, Hector couldn't quite make out from here.

"If they're not Core Formation cultivators, what are they?" the bearded man said, turning to her. "I mean, you saw what they did. Raised fire, that lightning which surrounded him. The man summoned blades for crying out loud."

"I saw," Eileen said, resting her hand on her hip and letting out a heavy sigh. "To be honest, I would have made the same mistake myself if I'd been anyone else, but I know a blessed blood when I see one."

Hector's brow tightened. Blessed blood? Was she referring to his Talents? Was that their actual name?

Eileen held his gaze as if trying to figure him out somehow. Then, a moment later, she nodded. "Yes, definitely blessed bloods. Besides, from the way they speak, I don't think they're much older than me or Stamps," she said, jerking her head to the boy clutching at his side.

The bearded man shook his head. "No matter their age, Core Formation would just mean they're highly talented."

Eileen conceded that point, but shrugged. "They still aren't Core Formation cultivators. I mean, from what little we can see of their hair, it seems pretty normal to me."

The man turned back to him, his gaze flickering from Hector to Jodie to Lincoln, and then to Marcus, who'd made his way over. "So assuming right, Mistress," Eileen cringed a little at the title. But the bearded man continued, unaware of what little he'd let slip. "So, blessed bloods. What are they exactly?"

"I'm not really too sure myself. I've only heard some talk of it," Eileen said, voice growing a little quieter. There was something there. She clearly had more interaction with the topic than she wanted to let on.

Or she was just someone with very low confidence. The latter seemed ridiculous.

"But from what I know, blessed bloods have various abilities, ranging from the Frostkeeps, who, well, they have their unmatched talent with ice, to the Flamelights and the Glademoors themselves. You could say that's really what sets the Great Families apart."

She sighed and shook her head. "They have several members with blessed blood, each with varying levels of potency, but..." Her gaze narrowed as she scrutinised Hector. "But I've seen nothing like this before. The variety of abilities, the strength of them. Surely, you don't belong to any Great Family, but you wouldn't be free agents, either. Who are you exactly?" Eileen asked.

Hector slumped the nobleman he'd been carrying to the ground and dusted off his hands. "No one special," he said, gesturing to the man.

"So what do you want to do with him?" Hector asked, hoping to change the topic. He could sense that moving down this line would raise too many questions.

It was one thing to deal with people who didn't know what Talents were; another thing entirely to learn that there was indeed a name for them, and that others not only had them, but had extensive knowledge on how they worked.

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At his prompting, Eileen blinked, staring at the Zulin noble for a moment as if she didn't recognise him. Then something slammed home, and her face changed.

"Ah, yes. Blythe," she said, raising her hand and gesturing towards the bearded man. "You take him."

The man nodded. Stepping forward, Hector stepped back, making sure he didn't disturb him. But even as the man walked over, his eyes flicked to Hector with some nervousness.

While Hector wasn't scary, the man probably suspected he was from some noble family, and thus held some weight. Though from Eileen's attitude, she had no respect for the nobles.

But whether that was because she herself was one, or just a general disdain, wasn't quite clear. She definitely wasn't a slum dweller, though, that was for sure.

Hector's gaze moved to her. "I have another request," he said, shifting his weight onto his other foot. His cloak flapped in the light breeze. The quiet muttering of wounded mercenaries bounced around the hallway.

"Yes?" Eileen asked.

"It's about the inheritance. As you said, we are also here looking for it. What I want to ask is," Hector said, taking a gulp.

It would be a gamble whether she accepted. But if he could secure at least a head start for Marcus, that would be more than enough. "We would like to enter that room first. I would have you and your man," he said, his gaze moving to a boy currently slumped on the red carpet a few paces behind, being tended to by another of Eileen's group. "If you could wait out here," Hector said, "at least for a moment."

"A head start," Eileen chuckled, then winced, grabbing at her wounds. "I believe that's more than fine," she said finally, after a breath. "As a matter of fact, I don't know if we'll be continuing here. After all, we really only came for him," she said, gesturing to the noble as the bearded man carried him away. "But your man seemed pretty focused on getting the inheritance."

She shrugged. "It's just one inheritance. There are others."

Hector nodded. That was true. While he hadn't specifically heard any tales of one recently, the others had. And he planned to make sure everyone in his group had an inheritance before they left the trial realm.

"Well, if there's nothing else," Hector said, "we'll be off."

Eileen's gaze lingered on him. And after a moment, she spoke. "I would also like to add that if you ever need anything, Clear Sky Mercenary," she said, as if tasting the name in her mouth, "be sure to contact us. The Flower Banks will be there to assist you if you need anything."

Hector nodded and then turned. "I appreciate it."

The four of them then walked down the hallway, making their way to the large obsidian door. Marcus stepped away for a moment, moving to one of the side doors that the noble had come out of. He pulled against it, but the structure didn't budge. Fixed. Which, unlike the other entrances, spoke to how special that one had been.

Marcus sagged as if he'd just lost a prized possession.

"A healing potion," he said, turning to Hector and gesturing to Eileen's group further down the hall. "That noble had a healing recipe on him. Do you know how valuable that could be?"

"I saw it in action myself," Jodie said. "Amazing thing. It healed that man's wounds in an instant."

Hector glanced over at the sprawled-out forms of the mercenaries who'd accompanied the noble. "Which one?" he said.

"That man," Jodie said, jabbing towards a man unconscious on the floor. There was nothing special about him, not anything Hector could see, anyway. No wounds. Hector wasn't sure if he was alive or dead, though he doubted Jodie would have killed him. What she'd done to the girl was an accident.

"So what, you want us to go over and ask for it?" Lincoln said, stepping over to a wall and resting his back against it.

Marcus turned to Hector, his eyes practically pleading. But Hector didn't want to agree. A notable mercenary group just offered him a favour. They had strength, even if the noble had almost wiped them out.

To go over now and take a healing recipe for that favour seemed wasteful. Especially when that same recipe could be in the full inheritance that Marcus would receive.

It was another gamble, yes, but one Hector would take. Besides, if he didn't get a healing recipe, there would always be a Talent that could probably match or even exceed the capabilities of such potions.

"Let's just do your trial first," Hector said to the boy.

Marcus's face fell, and for a moment, Hector wanted to go over to console him. But it was his call, and he needed to show some backbone when giving an order.

Jodie glanced at him. She was questioning him again, but in the end, she said nothing.

Marcus stepped away and moved towards the larger door. "I guess it should be fine. Just a little less silver in my pocket."

Had Marcus just grumbled over coin? Hector had half a mind to go over there and throttle Marcus. How could his priority of money supersede the fact that he was about to gain a literal inheritance? Something that would change the life of any mana cultivator who received it.

—- —- —- —-

Stepping into the room behind Hector, Marcus let out a breath. The place was enormous. Large sconces sat along the walls, their blazing yellow fires illuminating the enormous room. Their footsteps tapping on the white stone echoed around the space. It was surreal.

"Crazy," Lincoln said, his eyes marvelling as he turned around the area.

But that was putting it lightly.

Marcus wouldn't consider himself well-travelled. The slums and perhaps the outskirts of central Middle-Eck had been most of where he'd spent his time. And this was something else. This trial realm so far had broadened his horizons, to say the least. When he got home, he was going to tell as much of it to his father as he could.

Though his father was a talisman maker, he had a sense for experiencing the world. After all, it was only through experience that you could go out and find new glyphs to place on a talisman and make your own.

His dad didn't sell only talismans, after all. He had quite the education in making them, a self-taught genius amongst those in the slums, which wasn't very hard.

"I take it that's where you go to do the trial," Hector said, gesturing towards the front of the room where the red carpet melted onto a small stage with several chairs on it.

Marcus frowned. Was this some sort of exam room?

Hector then turned back to him, and Marcus's chest tightened. While he looked up to Hector—the boy had seen him through many tough times, after all—he had become a lot stricter lately, though that felt almost harsh to say.

Hector wasn't his mother or father, after all. Even so, something had changed. He'd become more serious, less easy-going. Though that made sense. He was shouldering a lot more responsibility now with his sister. Not made any easier by the loss of his father.

"You ready, Marcus?" he asked.

Marcus nodded rapidly. Hopefully, the amount of fear he was feeling didn't show. The mask, thankfully, kept most of that hidden. He wasn't very good at hiding his emotions.

Stepping past his friends, Marcus made his way across the red carpet while the others fanned out behind him. Many of the rooms they'd entered so far, while not appearing dangerous at first, often had places that, once triggered, would become quite dangerous. And it was unlikely this theme would stop now.

Marcus stepped up the stairs and onto the large platform, then stopped at one of the small wooden chairs. Should he sit? If he did, did that mean his friends had to as well?

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