The next morning, Zane woke up feeling refreshed. All the soreness and fatigue that had wrecked his body were gone.
But as he tried to sit up—
Nothing moved.
His eyes widened.
His fingers didn't twitch. His legs didn't shift. Even lifting his head was impossible.
"What the…?"
Then it hit him—he was still wearing all 104 Arcane Rings, and while he was peacefully sleeping and digesting, the weight kept increasing. Every fifteen minutes, another kilogram had been added.
A familiar voice chuckled nearby.
"Look at you, huh. I knew this would happen."
Shelby stood by the window, arms crossed, clearly amused.
"I can't move!" Zane growled. "What can I even do like this?"
Shelby strolled over, his grin widening. "You're gaining nearly a tonne a day. You thought there wouldn't be a catch?"
He picked Zane up with one hand like he was nothing more than a sack of pillows.
"Alright, to the gym. From today, your real training begins," he said, striding out.
Zane's eyes blinked. "Real training?"
Shelby didn't look back. "From here on, I'll teach you how to hold all that weight within—to internalize it, compress it, make it part of your own gravity. Not a single ounce leaking out."
He paused at the door.
"But get ready, kid. You'll climb jagged mountains, swim through merciless seas, and train like no one ever has. What you're about to do… no normal human could endure."
And so began the hardest, most hellish training in existence.
Zane swam across endless stretches of ocean. He sprinted across cliff faces carrying the weight of a small fortress. He dragged his own body through fire and tide, sweat and blood, until day blurred into night and his limbs moved only by will.
Yet he endured.
Day after day.
Hour after grueling hour.
Meanwhile, elsewhere…
The broadcast of Zane's interview—the one where he had shocked the entire academy with his bold retort—had been replayed across all circles.
Some admired his confidence.
But others? Others saw it as arrogance.
His name lit up social feeds and academy forums. The question on everyone's mind:
"Who is this Zane?"
Attempts to dig into his background led to strange dead ends. His father's name? Redacted.
His lineage? Unknown.
It was as if someone—or something—had scrubbed his origin from every official record.
Speculation exploded.
Some claimed he was the secret son of a disgraced superhero. Others insisted he was the lost heir of a superfamily, hidden for his own safety.
Then the leak dropped—a blurry, partial file suggesting that Zane's father was once a renowned superhero who had turned traitor and defected.
His name was censored, but that was all it took.
The academy erupted.
Social media feeds were flooded.
H-books and forums flared with hashtags:
#EvilSpawnMustBeBanned
#ZaneTheTraitorBlood
#BanTheBastard
A group by the name "Evil Spawn Must Be Banned" skyrocketed in popularity overnight. It gained thousands of subscribers, each comment dripping with venom, hatred, and demonization.
And all this happened while Zane remained oblivious—buried deep in the crucible of his own training.
One afternoon, after another brutal day spent swimming across treacherous waves while carrying almost two tonnes, Shelby called him to the gym.
Still panting from the water's resistance, Zane arrived, dripping with seawater, hair matted to his forehead.
But the sight that greeted him made his eyes narrow.
Shelby wasn't alone.
Two silhouettes stood at the center of the gym, dressed in pitch-black robes, their entire bodies cloaked in mystery. Their presence sent a subtle chill through the air.
Zane stiffened.
Even without seeing their faces, he knew who they were.
"Agents of the Temple of Assassins."
His fingers instinctively curled. Every muscle tensed.
"Ah, you're here," Shelby said, beaming with the same carefree grin. "We've been called. These are our seniors from the Temple. Come on, let's greet them."
One of the hooded figures stepped forward. A voice, cold and mechanical, rasped from beneath the cowl.
"No need."
Without warning, the other agent raised a blackened blade and slashed the air.
CRACK.
A spatial fissure ripped open—two glowing slits in midair, long and shimmering.
"Follow us."
The three assassins leapt into the tear—no hesitation, no explanation.
Zane flinched.
He didn't like the way they moved. No respect. No acknowledgment. Just... orders.
Shelby glanced at him.
"Don't worry, lad. If they're up to anything shady, I'll take care of them." His voice was calm, but there was steel behind it. "Let's go."
With that, Shelby leapt into the spatial rift.
Zane stood there a moment longer, his instincts screaming caution. These weren't just any agents. These were Temple Elites. Their body language alone reeked of menace.
But Shelby's words echoed in his head.
"I'll take care of them."
He clenched his fists, drew a deep breath, and jumped in.
The spatial rift zipped shut behind him.
And with it, the world he knew faded into the unknown.
Darkness swallowed everything.
For a moment, Zane could neither hear nor feel a thing. His mind drifted in that cold void—silent, weightless—until, suddenly, his feet slammed onto solid ground.
The jarring impact knocked the wind out of him.
As his eyes adjusted, he looked up and saw shapes emerge from the murky darkness. Ruins. Crumbling concrete and twisted steel. Skyscrapers—long dead—leaned at impossible angles, draped in rust and vines. The entire terrain was blanketed with debris, broken glass, and the choking stench of decay.
He was standing in the heart of a forgotten city, long since lost to time.
A ghost town.
He quickly located Shelby, who stood nearby, arms folded casually. The three cloaked agents hovered just ahead, still silent.
Zane approached and asked, "Where are we?"
No one answered. They didn't even acknowledge his voice.
He turned slowly in place, scanning every direction. The air was heavy with dread. Something in the silence whispered danger.
Finally, one of the agents spoke—his voice flat and devoid of warmth.
"We don't know how you two became agents of the Temple. Many higher-ups are... dissatisfied that your names were added to our ranks."
A second agent continued coldly, "However, one of our leaders supported your inclusion. She proposed this trial herself."
The third agent snapped, "Your mission is simple. Defeat the Celestial Black Wolf King. Bring its beast core back here. That's it."
Zane's brow furrowed. "The Celestial... what?"
Before he could ask more, the third agent barked, "Why are you still here? MOVE!"
Shelby raised a hand, chuckling lightly. "Can we get a little information at least? A picture? A location?"
The irritable agent snarled, "That's yours to figure out. Fail to comply, and you're disqualified."
Shelby held up both hands playfully. "Alright, alright. No need to get your cloak in a twist. We're leaving."
He glanced at Zane, who nodded silently.
Together, they turned and began walking east, toward the collapsing skyline. The crumbling buildings cast long shadows beneath the dim, overcast sky, and a soft wind howled through the ruins like a warning.
Only when the two disappeared into the horizon did something shift.
One of the agents raised a hand—and her cloak shimmered before vanishing entirely. Beneath it stood a stunning woman with long golden hair and piercing blue eyes.
Elizabeth McGraw.
Even frowning, her beauty could stop a war.
"Weren't you a bit harsh, Kassam?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Beside her, the second agent, Kassam, pulled back his hood with a sneer. His red eyes glinted with disdain. "Why shouldn't I be? One of them is the spawn of a traitor."
Barun, the third agent, sighed and removed his own mask. His eyes were calm, analytical. "Must we keep bickering? Look."
He pointed down.
The other two followed his finger—and what they saw made their expressions shift.
Footprints.
Dozens of deep, indented bootprints pressed into the hard asphalt road. The three flickered forward and crouched beside them.
Barun placed his palm just above the groove. "They're fresh," he muttered.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, enhancing her vision with mana. The imprint's depth was unnatural—far too heavy for someone of Zane's size.
"These belong to Zane," she murmured. "Which means…"
Kassam scoffed. "What? That he's got some kind of passive weight ability?"
"Not quite," Barun said. "More likely, he's wearing the weight. A ton, maybe more."
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "He's lean. No signs of bloating or overweight strain. If he's carrying that kind of load and still walking, much less running… then he's got extraordinary control over his body. It's no wonder the Temple gave him a chance."
Barun smirked. "Now I get why your teacher approved this trial, Elizabeth. The kid's more than meets the eye. He might actually survive this."
Kassam said nothing, but his scowl deepened.
"And Shelby?" Barun asked, now serious.
Elizabeth's expression hardened. "That man… I couldn't read him."
Barun nodded. "Same here. Watching him was like staring into a storm you can't see the center of. He's nowhere near your teacher's level yet… but the pressure he gives off is similar."
Even Kassam fell silent.
Shelby Thor's reputation had long echoed through the academy halls. This was the first time any of them had met him in person—and it left a mark.
One thing was certain. Shelby was not to be taken lightly.