Keter couldn’t stand it when things went too smoothly, and right now was exactly one of those moments.0

He had just finished examining Ryze, the youngest son of Eslow, the Lord of the South, and was on his way back to reunite with the others. Walking through the palace corridors with Forty-Seven, Keter found himself utterly bored.0

If I go back like this, Anis and Taragon will definitely ask me to train with them for the tournament. I’ll refuse because I’d rather explore the palace. Then this guy next to me will stick to me like glue, insisting on being my guide, which means I’ll have to walk at his unbearably slow pace. And everywhere I go, he will introduce me to people, saying that I’m an honored guest from Sefira. And then the response will always be the same: ‘Ah, I see. I am so-and-so from such-and-such. A pleasure to meet you.’0

It would be an uneventful palace tour and endless introductions. None of this was bad. Expanding and cultivating connections was an essential part of being a noble. 0

But to Keter, this was gut-wrenching torture. The slow pace, the constant supervision, the restrictions on his actions—just imagining it was enough to make Keter shudder.0

So, he acted on it: Forty-Seven, who was guiding him through the hall, suddenly collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. When they were passing through the hall, where massive stone statues were holding up the ceiling, Keter had pressed a pressure point between his arm and shoulder right at the blind spot of the guards.0

It was acupuncture. This technique, which Keter often used...0