I thank the messenger with a short nod and tuck the paper into my pocket without even opening it.

This isn’t the time or the place.

We drew too much attention at the arena today, and the last thing I need is to find a fresh problem before my head touches the pillow.

First I need to let the dust settle and tie up loose ends so our plan doesn’t collapse before it’s even born. A solid foundation holds up even the tallest building.

We walk back to the academy together, avoiding empty streets and narrow alleys. Not because I believe Rahul Sharma will send someone after us right away—men at his level don’t usually act on impulse. The problem is the subordinates trying to prove their usefulness or angle for a favor.

After what happened at the Oathring, I have no doubt half the district is talking about me right now.

When we reach the academy’s main gate, Oliver starts to drift away naturally, but I call him over first.

"See that building, big guy?"

He turns toward where I’m pointing. Across the street stands a three-story inn, lit by simple OXI runes on its sign.

"What about it, boss?"

"You’re staying there. It’s run by the Bear Hide guild. Good security, low curiosity, and they’re used to armed mercenaries coming and going all hours. If you need anything, ping me on the comm."

Oliver breaks into a crooked smile and throws an exaggeratedly formal Earth-style salute, palm flat against his temple. The whole thing is so cartoonish that I can almost hear a voice saying, "Yes, sir, Commander."

I shake my head, holding back a smile as he walks off.

Then I head into the campus with Veric and Rhayne.

The academy is quiet at this hour. A few students still circulate through the outer corridors, but the movement is minimal compared to the chaos we left behind at the arena. The contrast is strange—a few hours ago I was lying on the floor of the Oathring with a hole through my belly, bleeding onto the stone while Rahul Sharma decided whether I’d live or die.

Now everything feels absurdly calm and normal.

When we reach the dorms, I leave Veric and Rhayne together again. There are things I need to handle alone.

First, the letter.

Second... figuring out how to talk to a certain individual.

I say goodbye with just a nod. I don’t need to explain anything. Our rooms are practically next to each other; if something happens, they’ll notice fast.

I enter my dorm and close the door behind me.

The silence settles in immediately.

I pull the golden paper from my pocket and stare at it for a few seconds, seriously weighing whether to open it now or just ignore it until tomorrow.

Today was a good day, like Oliver said. No one died, and everything worked as planned. It had been a while since I’d had a genuinely good day in Thirstfall, and I wanted at least a few hours of peace before another high-ranking figure decided to turn my life into a political problem.

Because these cursed papers with gold lettering always mean the same thing.

A summons.

Just like Rae did with me before, some high-tier player wants to see me. And honestly? I have no curiosity about finding out who.

I set the letter down on the desk without opening it and walk over to the OXI conservator installed in the corner of the room—basically a refrigerator adapted to Thirstfall.

Electricity exists here, but it’s far too rare for everyday use. Most technology runs on OXI, mana, or similar energy derivatives. It isn’t a matter of technical incapacity; humanity simply found more efficient ways to adapt machines and systems to the new world. Ancient tech blueprints for engines, thermal devices, and full refrigeration systems running on OXI have been circulating in the market for decades.

Electricity is just too expensive to bother with.

That’s exactly why cleaning OXI ducts is going to detonate this world economically in the future. Energy efficiency in Thirstfall isn’t a luxury; it’s survival. Whoever dominates that will walk on top of empires.

And I intend to be the first.

I take a long sip of cold water. The metallic taste typical of Thirstfall is still there, but the cold sensation running down my throat is almost therapeutic after a hellish good day.

[OXI: 2,278 / 2,500]

My OXI keeps dropping faster than normal. The internal injuries are still draining my body’s resources at an unconventional pace.

I pull a healing acceleration potion from my inventory, mix part of it into the water, and drink again. Diluting it softens the impact of forced regeneration; otherwise, it feels like someone is trying to stitch your organs together with red-hot thread.

The liquid burns going down.

Soon I feel the effect kick in. A warm sensation spreads through my ribs and abdomen, like muscles being slowly tugged back into their proper places. It still hurts, but now it’s a bearable hurt.

I sit down in the chair and finally turn my mind toward the real problem.

Duvilin.

I stare at the empty room for a few seconds before making the dumbest possible first attempt.

"Rise."

Nothing.

The silence afterward is so awkward I almost laugh at myself.

’I’m not a necromancer.’

I try again.

"Duvilin. Appear."

One second.

Two.

Five.

Nothing.

I frown, irritated.

"How the hell do I summon you...?"

I activate [Consume].

Nothing happens.

"Hope... appear... come... surge..."

The only word I can think of for myself is ’failure.’

Every attempt fails.

The only time he appeared after the contract was at the Oathring, when I used [Memory of Lightwaves].

"Why not?" I whisper.

I activate the ability again. My eyes burn an intense gold, reflecting off the window glass of the dorm. My aura detonates, and I try to contain it, but someone is probably going to notice the fluctuation.

As fast as I can, I try several words and invocations. Nothing works. I deactivate the ability in irritation.

[OXI: 2,051 / 2,500]

I chew on a few Scales while I think.

[Scales: 51,000 → 50,982]

[OXI: 2,500 / 2,500]

I stare at my own hands in silence.

Ever since I returned to Thirstfall, everything seems to point at something I still can’t fully understand. At first I thought my class was just a natural consequence of being a returner, but that hasn’t made sense for a long time.

The System doesn’t distribute classes at random. It reads the Diver, dives into deep parts of the mind, and returns something shaped to the essence of that person in that specific moment.

It isn’t a rule, but it’s the norm.

’Could I be an exception? Then what exactly am I? What inside me connects to Eventide? What’s my link with the Codex Hope? With those ghosts?’

I run back through everything I’ve lived since the Battle Royale, Lost Ark, all the way to the Oathring. The final strike against Cassio. The voices. The absurd sensation of alignment when the memories of the dead and the lights came to meet me. And then, almost like a small spark forming in the dark, an idea crosses my mind.

I slowly raise my eyes.

"Drifter Duvilin."

The entire room detonates in wind in the same instant.