Ned stirred awake, the coolness of dawn brushing against his dry and rough skin. The desert air was crisp, carrying a faint bite that would vanish the moment the sun fully rose on the horizon, replaced by a heat more fierce than any torch.

  He sat up slowly. His face still stung from the relentless slapping meditation of the day before, a dull, lingering burn. His muscles ached from sleeping atop the clay dome, but he preferred its vast, open expanse to the suffocating walls of the rooms below.

  How fast things can change.

  Less than two weeks ago, he had been sleeping in a bed of silk, surrounded by the luxuries befitting the undefeated champion of The Cage—The Ogre of Adovoria.

  Most assumed he was stupid. After all, he used his fists to earn money and had a face that made children cry. Add in his temper while in the ring—enhanced for showmanship—and people rarely thought twice about his intelligence. But he had been careful. He saved his earnings, invested wisely, and nurtured those investments until they bore great profits. While other fighters squandered their winnings in the casino or the Red Lantern district, he built a future for himself, one calculated coin at a time.

  And yet, in the end, none of it mattered.

  All the wealth and glory in the world couldn't save him from the torment Kleave had left him with. Not one of the three best doctors in Genise had a clue how to alleviate the mental shock that Ned had received, and he had hit his breaking point.

  The scent of flowers haunted him, creeping into every corner of Genise. No matter where he went, it was there—clinging to fabrics, wafting from street vendors, drifting on the evening breeze. A ghost of a smell that no one else noticed.

  It drove him mad.

  So he left. His home, his friends, his fortune, everything.

  Because no amount of money could buy peace from the horrors in his own mind.

  His claustrophobia was the second unfortunate side effect that lingered after his fight against Kleave the Kid—being trapped in the cage with that pink-haired monster had done a number on him. Thus, ever since arriving at the abode of these curious monks, he had only ever slept outside.

  It wasn't all that bad, though. It reminded him of his younger days.

  From his vantage point, the Desolate Expanse Desert stretched endlessly before him, painted in a spectrum of shifting colors. It was glorious in a truly breathtaking way.

  Half the sky remained deep navy, the last remnants of night clinging stubbornly to the west. The east glowed in bands of violet and gold, growing ever more brilliant as the sun prepared to rise.

  The dunes, once a uniform shade of lifeless beige, now shimmered in hues of rose and amber. Their rippling forms caught the light, making them appear almost fluid.

  Scattered rock and clay formations jutted out like the bones of an ancient beast. Their jagged silhouettes cast long shadows over the desert floor.

  He drew in a deep breath.

  Nothing.

  Absolutely nothing.

  A large smile grew across Ned's disfigured face.

  It was a void where scent should have been, an absence so complete it was almost unnatural. No dust. No sweat. No lingering traces of past campfires or desert blooms. It was as if the world had been scrubbed clean of all fragrance.

  For a brief moment, he savored it.

  The miraculous, scentless air filled his lungs, clear and weightless.

  No sudden splitting headache.

  No poisonously vivid colors closing in on him.

  No phantom stench that sent his stomach twisting into knots.

  He had left his friends and comfortable home, but in the desert, he had found a place where he could forget the mental damage he'd received and the pink-haired shrimp who had broken him.

  Briefly, at least.

  Ned Inga's beady eyes followed the weak-looking young man who had arrived in the common dining area for breakfast.

  It's that other shrimp again.

  Not that Ned would ever make the mistake of underestimating someone just because they looked weak. Not after Kleave.

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  Kleave was short and scrawny, and yet of the hundreds—no, perhaps thousands—of fighters Ned had faced in The Cage, that pink-haired shrimp was the biggest monster that Ned had ever come across.

  And Luca Frey was undoubtedly a monster in his own right.

  The monks practically worshiped the black serpent coiled around one of Luca's shoulders and the golden phoenix perched on the other. A young man literally draped in myth and power.

  Yet, he looked so frail that Ned worried he might crush him like an ant if he wasn't careful.

  Luca was constantly out of breath from a bit of walking and struggled with most rudimentary stretching.

  Is he here because he has a terminal illness?

  That had been Ned's first thought when he saw him on his first day.

  However, the monks couldn't cure physical ailments. They could only train one's mind against the horrors of the world. Thus, Ned ultimately concluded that the young man must have been suffering from a similar, if not more severe, mental ailment, one that had evidently taken a toll on his body.

  And clearly, all the wealth in the world couldn't save him either.

  Ned was aware that two individuals had made quite the killing betting against him in the fight with Kleave. One was Kleave's girlfriend. The other was Luca Frey, younger brother to the fiancé of Princess Elizabeth and new heir to the Frey Merchant Guild. He lacked neither funds nor connections.

  Yet, here he was. In the Desolate Expanse Desert.

  Ned gazed down at his porridge.

  A scattering of purple desert petals lay atop it. He lifted the bowl to his nose, but as expected—nothing. No scent. The strange desert air made everything blank and empty.

  For now, it was a much-needed relief. But Ned had no intention of spending the rest of his days out here. He could have gone to Ibitian Rouge, a proper city in the Dayalan Dynasty, where desert life was still harsh but far more comfortable.

  But Genise was his home. Adovoria was his home. He took pride in his roots, in his kingdom.

  So, he would train his mind under the guidance of the monks, endure, and return.

  Hopefully, sooner than the decade they claimed it might take.

  "Luca, you're leaving already? We've only just begun working on your mind."

  Ned perked up at the voice. Luca's monk instructor stood beside him.

  There was an unspoken rule here—mind your own business. But Ned was only human. And Luca Frey was wrapped in peculiarity, layered like an onion.

  For one, he had bet on Kleave but hadn't even watched the fight. Betting was only a fraction of what made The Cage thrilling. The real draw was the spectacle. And yet, Luca had skipped it. Even his guard, who placed the bet on his behalf, hadn't stuck around.

  As a showman fighter, Ned found it somewhat insulting.

  And peculiar.

  "Yes, I'm afraid I must return home. Please take good care of Leona while I'm away," Luca replied.

  Leona was the phoenix that was always around Luca.

  Is he leaving that mythical creature behind? Has he cured his mind?

  Ned frowned.

  Or has his mind gone entirely sideways if he's leaving behind a creature thought to be extinct and a thing of myths and legends?

  Ned flinched as Luca's gaze turned to him. Or rather, his eyes were looking at something above Ned's head.

  A smile appeared on Luca's lips.

  Ned rubbed his scalp instinctively, a strange feeling creeping over him, like an invisible ghost hovering just out of reach.

  He had seen Luca stare at him like this every morning. Sometimes he smiled. Sometimes he frowned.

  But he never spoke to him. Never actually interacted.

  However, what is this?

  Ned frowned, watching Luca make his way over to him.

  "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Luca Frey," he said, extending a hand.

  Ned clasped it carefully, mindful not to crush it. "Ned Inga, better known as The Ogre."

  Why now? Why introduce himself just as he was leaving?

  "What did you want?" Ned inquired, suspicious.

  Luca smiled. "What I want… Well, if you're asking, I'd like to recruit you into The Order."

  Ned raised his brows.

  What is this crazy shrimp spewing?

  "The Order?" Ned scoffed, laughing. "Now, why would I waste my time doing boring work?"

  He had enjoyed his old life at the casino—fighting, the thrill of the crowd, the spectacle. But The Order? That was out of the question. All they did was beat up petty criminals in East Genise and clear out bandits from the roads.

  "There's no glory in it."

  Once, maybe. Long ago, The Order had shined, its name carried into battle alongside Adovoria's finest. But that glimmer had long rusted over, leaving behind a dull, toothless relic.

  And, of course, there was another problem.

  But there is no need to even mention that.

  "Why is there no glory?" Luca asked, his expression genuinely perplexed.

  Ned frowned. "It's a joke. The Order used to fight wars. Battles. Now? It's just scuffling with street thugs. And not even the big ones. They don't have the guts to take on the syndicates in East Genise or the corrupt nobles in the West."

  "Ah." Luca nodded as if considering something.

  Then he smiled—brightly as if he had just found a piece of a puzzle that fit.

  "Ned Inga, say Adovoria was attacked and went to war. Would you find glory in fighting for your kingdom?"

  Ned narrowed his gaze.

  Was this a trick question? Just what is this crazy shrimp scheming?

  But his answer came easily. Without hesitation. "Of course."

  He was a proud Adovorian. Always had been. And there was no greater glory than fighting for one's homeland.

  Luca's smile deepened.

  "Wonderful," Luca replied. "As fate would have it, Adovoria will be going to war in a few years—this is obviously confidential information. I will recommend that Princess Elizabeth add you to The Order, forgoing the usual formalities."

  Ned was quiet as he examined Luca's expression. He was serious.

  But that doesn't mean his head is on straight. Not that mine is, either.

  Ned exhaled. "If that's true, and Adovoria will be going to war… It's not like I can participate." He tapped his temple. "I don't know what you've heard about me, but I'm here for a reason. My mind isn't right after my last fight. Until I fix it, I'm staying here—likely for a decade."

  Luca's expression brightened like he had been waiting for those exact words.

  "If I can take care of your ailment, would you join The Order and fight in the war?" he asked.

  Ned smirked. "Of course."

  It was all hypothetical, anyway.

  But the phoenix and the strange snake on Luca's shoulders made him pause. It made him wonder.

  Perhaps this shrimp knows something.

  Luca extended his hand. "It's a promise, then."

  Ned clasped it—firm, though he wasn't entirely sold yet.

  Then Luca said something truly ridiculous.

  "I'll have the cure for your ailment in a month's time."

  Ned froze.

  Then he laughed—a short, rough bark of disbelief. "You really are crazy."

  But Luca just smiled.

  "One month."

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