After some argument, Jon exited the sheriff's office behind Tamer, muttering irritably.
"I know he'll be annoyed by this, but it's the only way I'll ensure peace," Kalu sighed, closing the door gently behind him and returning to his seat at the desk.
The air in the room suddenly felt much calmer.
Kalu exhaled deeply and placed his palms on the wooden table.
"Sheriff… there's one more matter."
Lima raised an eyebrow, her green eyes studying him attentively.
"I assume it concerns the Kora Stones you brought with you?"
"Exactly," Kalu nodded. "You know how much they attract various beasts. We can't keep carrying them with us all the way to Entdeckt. The road is still long, and the forest isn't over yet."
He continued quietly: "I want to sell them here in Rose Village—so we profit without losses."
Lima contemplated for a moment, her fingers tracing the edge of the metal badge on her desk.
"I understand. And I agree. Kora Stones are a valuable resource—they'll help me later when I resell them, and we have secure storage here."
Anton, who had remained silent until now, spoke in his calm voice:
"Sister, remember we have underground vaults beneath the village. They were specifically designed to store hazardous materials."
"Correct," Lima smiled faintly with pride. "Yes, they're old—but excellent. The walls are reinforced with layers of encrypted Kona, hidden beneath rock flooring. Even if monsters tried to sense the Kora, they wouldn't find it."
Kalu felt a wave of relief.
"That's… perfect. So… how much will you pay?"
His tone shifted instantly—the seasoned merchant within him took over.
Lima leaned back in her chair, meeting the merchant's gaze with her own.
"I'll buy them at half the market price in Viaco Province: three small silver coins for low-grade, one medium silver coin for mid-grade, and three medium silver coins for high-grade."
It was a low price—but a genuine favor. She could have exploited them further.
Yet Kalu, the veteran trader, didn't surrender easily. His blue eyes narrowed slightly.
"Sheriff… with all due respect, that price is about 75% lower than the capital's rate. We've borne the risks of transporting them through the forest, and our losses…"
Lima wasn't annoyed.
"Mr. Kalu, you know as well as I do that the capital's pricing doesn't apply here. We're in a remote village. The logistical costs of shipping the stones to Entdeckt would eat most of your profit. My offer is fair."
A brief silence filled the room. Kalu glanced at Anton, who gave a quiet nod. He knew she was right. The circumstances weren't in their favor.
The dwarf merchant sighed again—this time with bitter acceptance.
"Alright. We agree. But… there's one extra piece—a special-grade Kora Stone…"
"Fine," Lima said. "When we finalize the purchase, I'll see how much I'll pay for it."
A bell chimed from a device on her desk. She glanced at it, then back at Kalu.
"It seems they're calling for me. If you'll excuse me…"
Kalu understood the cue. He and Anton stood.
"Thank you, Sheriff," Kalu bowed slightly, his hand on his chest.
"You've saved us from a burden that could have destroyed us all."
Lima smiled—but her eyes remained serious.
"On the contrary, Mr. Kalu. You brought me the prisoners who might change this region's fate. Consider this a fair trade."
As the two men left the office, Lima stopped Anton:
"Excuse me, Mr. Kalu—could you let Anton stay with me a little longer? I truly miss spending time with my little brother."
"Of course," Kalu agreed warmly, prompting Anton to remain.
Kalu closed the door behind him, leaving Lima and Anton alone in the office, where evening light had begun to cast long shadows.
Lima looked at the stack of papers on her desk, then out the window—at the sun's rays falling on the village walls.
"Well then… I suppose work can wait. Why don't we hang out a bit, little brother?" She turned to him and smiled.
Anton looked at her and sighed wearily.
***
On the plain outside Rose Village, beneath the warm-season sun, the air was crisp—free from the dense forest's humidity.
The wagons had stopped along the roadside, and the horses were gathered in a circle.
Most wagon owners had gone into the village—to trade, buy supplies, or simply explore.
A few elderly women sat in the shade of one wagon, mending torn clothes and exchanging quiet conversation.
A small number of injured and exhausted men watched over the few children playing nearby.
At a distance, three village guards stood by.
Their mounts—green, striped creatures resembling a hybrid between horse and bull—grazed peacefully in the grass, their short horns defining their shape.
The guards were relaxed: one sat on a low rock, cleaning his sword with a cloth; the other two stood chatting.
In another corner, Ethan sat on the edge of an empty wagon.
Beside him, leaning against the wooden wheel, stood Boris—his eyes watching the children as they played.
The silence between them was the kind that needed no filling. But Ethan's curiosity found its way out.
"Boris," he said, his voice thoughtful.
"These guards… the creatures they ride. What are they? They look like horses… buffaloes with short horns? I don't know."
Boris shifted his gaze from the children to the green mounts.
"They're Veridian. Domesticated riding livestock."
"Veridian?" Ethan repeated, eyebrows raised.
Their skin was dark green, striped with yellow lines like sunlight. Muscles shifted beneath their hide with every chew of grass.
Boris continued, his voice calm:
"They're strong, fast, intelligent—and herbivorous, despite their sharp teeth."
"Wow! Have you ridden one before?" Ethan asked, suddenly excited.
"No," Boris answered firmly. "They're extremely rare outside the Entdeckt Plains. The Kingdom of Niuland is the only nation that uses them as official mounts for its knights—due to their abundance there."
Ethan fell silent for a moment, observing them.
"So… they're suitable for war?"
"For war, for guarding, for labor," Boris said, glancing at the guards. "You'll easily find herds of them once we leave the forest—in the Entdeckt Plains, as I mentioned before."
Moments later—while Ethan was still studying the Veridians—light footsteps approached from behind.
Zofia and Takashi drew near. Takashi seemed slightly tense, his hands buried in his trouser pockets.
Zofia, serene as ever, faced Boris.
"Lad. Boris," she said softly. "May we speak with you for a moment?"
Boris turned to them, a quiet smile on his lips. "Of course."
Takashi glanced at Ethan, then back at Boris—as if hesitating.
But Zofia gently placed a hand on his shoulder, stepped forward, and gave a slight nod.
"It's… a private request, concerning Lad. Takashi. We don't mind if Ethan hears it—but please, don't tell anyone else."
Ethan raised his eyebrows but simply nodded, trying to appear uninterested while his full attention locked onto what they'd say next.
Zofia continued:
"In fact… we believe Lad. Takashi has awakened a TRAITUM."
Silence fell for a beat—Ethan was utterly confused.
Boris looked at Takashi and broke the quiet:
"Congratulations. But why tell me? You know TRAITUM is considered a secret weapon."
Takashi scratched his head. "Yeah… it's just that I couldn't understand it, and I need your help."
"Help?" Boris asked, puzzled.
"Yes," Takashi said quietly. "Actually, I think my TRAITUM has to do with copying movements or something… Back in the forest, when we fought that guy…"
"I knew I couldn't beat him. But in that moment… I remembered seeing you the night before…"
His eyes locked onto Boris.
"I saw how you threw Jon to the ground. The move—the grip, the twist, the throw—suddenly, my body mimicked it exactly."
Boris already knew that Takashi—along with Leo and Zofia—had been watching him that night.
Takashi paused, swallowed, then continued:
"My body copied the move perfectly. But afterward, I felt sharp pain and bruising all over. I think Lia healed me then."
Boris thought quietly. "That's… interesting."
"But…" Takashi shook his head, frustration clear in his voice. "Later, I tried copying other moves I'd seen—Anton's, Jon's, during their training—but nothing happened. Only that move of yours, from that night… I could repeat it, and I feel I can do it again—but my body hurts whenever I try…"
"And that's the problem we need your help with," Zofia interjected in her clear, calm voice.
"His TRAITUM seems selective. It only syncs with certain moves, under certain conditions… or something like that."
Boris nodded thoughtfully.
"Many TRAITUMs have activation conditions. Maybe yours requires something specific: extreme danger, intense emotion… or perhaps the move you see must be capable of actually saving you in that moment. The possibilities are endless."
Takashi looked at him, pensive. "That's possible…"
"In TRAITUMs, anything is possible," Boris replied. "But what matters now is how we confirm it…"
"That's exactly why we came to you," Zofia said, turning her closed eyes toward Boris. "You're the only one whose move Takashi could copy. Maybe you can help him understand his ability."
Boris acknowledged their request:
"I understand. But let me warn you, Takashi—don't reveal your TRAITUM to just anyone. Exposing it could get you killed. This is common knowledge: never reveal your TRAITUM, and never ask about others'."
Takashi swallowed hard as Boris spoke—his tone sharp, sincere, cold like real advice.
Boris looked long at Takashi, then at Zofia, and finally at Ethan—who was listening so intently he'd forgotten to breathe.
"Alright…" Boris said at last, smiling faintly. "If your TRAITUM specifically chooses to copy my moves… maybe that means something."
"Meaning?" Takashi whispered.
"Perhaps it needs movements from someone you see as… a role model," Boris said carefully. "Or maybe it seeks a specific fighting style that matches your nature."
He raised his hand, pointing a finger at Takashi's chest.
"TRAITUMs can be Trained—tied to something you've done or a specific event in your life."
He lowered that finger and raised a second:
"Or Inherited—passed from your father or mother, or rarely, a mix of both."
He paced a step and raised a third finger:
"Or Acquired—granted by a weapon or an object, usually through an Obtra."
He stopped walking:
"And finally, Innate—born with you, with no clear origin. It could come from nothing… or from an Obtra… or anything, literally. It's often impossible—or very hard—to trace its source."
He raised a fourth finger calmly as he finished explaining.
A short silence followed—broken by Ethan, who could no longer contain his curiosity.
"Wait—I don't understand!" he blurted. "What is TRAITUM exactly? Is it a superpower? A talent?"
Boris paused, then looked at Ethan with that patient, contemplative gaze.
"TRAITUM… the best way to describe it is a 'unique attribute.' It's not derived from Kora, Kona, or Koshin. It's… part of your identity."
He added after a beat:
"Though some researchers mention a faint possible link to Koshin—but that's not confirmed yet."
Ethan already knew these energy names—even if he'd never understood them. He nodded slowly now, trying to absorb this new information.
"So… like a supernatural talent?"
"Not necessarily supernatural," Zofia gently interjected. "Some are simple. And their awakening is gradual—some carriers don't even notice theirs. Sometimes, it stays dormant for years before appearing."
Boris turned back to Takashi.
"What matters now is your TRAITUM. If it lets you copy others' techniques… that's an excellent ability—but also dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Takashi whispered.
"Yes," Boris confirmed. "The ability to copy others' techniques means you might learn styles that would normally take years to master. But you could also copy something dangerous without understanding the consequences."
He pointed to Takashi's body.
"You said your body wasn't trained—you felt pain. Imagine copying a move that requires flexibility or strength you don't have. You could break bones, tear muscles, rupture tendons."
Takashi's face visibly paled.
"For now, I'll help you—but promise me you won't use this ability unless you're seriously and consistently training your body to be ready."
There was real concern and seriousness in Boris's tone.
Takashi looked at his fist for a moment, then met Boris's eyes with determination.
"I promise!"
A brief silence followed Takashi's vow—then Boris smiled, that familiar quiet smile of his.
He bowed slightly, his silver eyes locking with Takashi's resolute gaze.
"We'll start the test now. I'll try to attack you. Do you understand?"
Takashi nodded quickly, shoulders tense, feet shifting into a clumsy defensive stance.
Even Zofia—despite her closed eyes—seemed to focus all her senses on the scene.
Ethan held his breath, eyes fixed on the two.
Boris didn't move immediately.
He stood there, calm as a leaf on a windless day…
Then—
A swift motion…
—but Boris deliberately slowed it so Takashi's untrained eyes could track it.
It was just a whisper—then Takashi nearly vomited from a precise punch to his liver.
*This is impossible!* Takashi screamed internally, feeling Boris's iron grip in his gut.
The attack stopped there. Boris watched as Takashi panted, his mismatched eyes wide with shock.
"Now… we'll try a second time," Boris said, signaling Takashi to ready himself.
Takashi focused, brow sweating.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with sharp concentration.
Boris moved again—
this time slower, more considerate. His motion was strange: small, overlapping steps, his body undulating like a snake.
Then he lunged forward—his open palm aimed at Takashi's chest in a simple-looking push that carried devastating force.
Takashi saw the move. His hair stood on end.
He tried to focus, to mimic, to copy—but wasn't sure if anything happened.
Boris's light strike landed on Takashi's chest, pushing him back two steps—but without harm this time.
"Now try performing it on me," Boris commanded.
"Okay…" Takashi stood, attempting to obey…
But nothing worked.
"It's alright," Boris said gently. "Alright… let's try another way."
He stepped back two paces and assumed a new stance.
This time, he began performing a slow, clear sequence of movements in the air—like warm-up drills, but executed with precision, not directed at Takashi.
A straight punch, followed by a side kick, then a backflip, ending with a circular elbow strike.
Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next—like a silent combat dance.
"Just watch," Boris said quietly. "Don't try copying now. Just imprint the image in your mind."
Takashi stood stunned, eyes tracking every turn, every transition.
Even Ethan, from his spot, found himself mentally mimicking the moves in his vivid imagination.
The sequence ended.
Boris stood still, then looked at Takashi. "Now… try."
Takashi closed his eyes for a moment—seeing the movements replay in his mind.
He opened his eyes and attempted…
Straight punch—weak, shaky.
Side kick—he nearly lost balance.
Backflip—he wobbled and fell on his backside…
He sat on the ground, breathing heavily, staring at his hands as if they'd betrayed him.
"Nothing… the feeling never came back. Maybe I was just imagining it?" Takashi was utterly discouraged.
"Don't despair," Zofia said gently from where she stood. "We can try more."
"In the forest… I moved on my own, unconsciously. Now… nothing," Takashi whispered, his voice thick with bitter frustration.
Boris stood and helped him up.
"TRAITUMs don't work by will alone. There are conditions."
He placed a hand on Takashi's shoulder.
"I have another idea to test."
"So… what is it?" Takashi asked, desperate.
"You'll watch a real fight right before your eyes—just like between me and Jon that night," Boris said.
He looked at Takashi, his silver eyes gleaming with contemplation.
"There's the danger hypothesis. But other possibilities… maybe your TRAITUM needs a real model. Maybe it needs to see two people fighting—not someone fighting you, or fighting the air."
Takashi stared at him, repeating the words softly:
"A real model…"
"Yes," Boris clarified, his voice calm but firm.
"In the forest, you saw me fight Jon. Maybe your TRAITUM needs that—a real combat scene between two people."
Zofia murmured thoughtfully: "So… it needs a full scene."
"Exactly," Boris nodded. "So my idea is: you'll watch a real fight right in front of you—just like that night."
But Takashi looked around, confusion clear on his face.
"And who'll fight you? I don't think any of the guards would agree—"
Before he could finish, a loud voice rang out from not far away.
On the roadside leading to the village, a familiar figure appeared—walking heavily, muttering in annoyance.
It was Jon—his face scowling, hands deep in his trouser pockets.
"…And I'm telling you, it's not fair!" he grumbled loudly enough for them to hear.
"Send me to guard the wagons?! As if I'm a babysitter! I'm Jon, the Son of Clinton!"
He stomped toward the wagons, his single eye gleaming with irritation.
He hadn't noticed the group yet—too absorbed in his angry monologue.
Boris smiled—that quiet smile that always hid a plan beneath it.
"I think I've found the person to ask."