Fenrir didn't waste a second.
The moment he felt the heavy mana fluctuations in the air—the sign that law enforcement was locking onto the breach—he moved.
A sharp pulse of mana and he was gone, vanishing into the back alleys before the police scanners could get a trace.
His body, still new and unfamiliar, ached from the strain. His limbs were heavy, his mind sharp but weary.
'I need rest.'
He made it back to the residential district without incident.
The code to the apartment door flickered in his mind from the host body's memories.
Without hesitation, he tapped it in. The door unlocked with a soft click.
Fenrir stepped inside and immediately locked it behind him.
The space was large, luxurious by any standard. Minimalistic furniture, pristine white floors, and a panoramic view of the neon-lit city outside.
He ignored it all.
Striding toward the bedroom, he threw himself onto the massive, plush bed.
The softness engulfed him. Fenrir sank into it, his body practically sighing from the comfort.
A faint, almost wistful smirk tugged at his lips.
In my time, we slept on dirt and stone.
This world was absurdly soft in comparison.
For a moment, he simply lay there, feeling the room's quiet hum and the distant city noise beyond the windows.
But old habits refused to die.
Within minutes, his mind snapped back to focus.
First step: Resources.
Fenrir summoned the system interface he had stolen from the depths of authority.
A quick search through the host's memories led him to the banking app.
His account balance blinked up at him.
A seven-figure sum.
More importantly, he noticed scheduled deposits—monthly installments that were absurdly high.
Each installment was equivalent to what an elite S-ranker might earn from a major dungeon expedition.
Fenrir's eyebrows lifted slightly.
They really abandoned this boy with a king's ransom and no supervision.
From what he gathered, not even the parents—busy with politics or whatever power games they played—cared enough to check on him.
No guards. No servants. No handlers.
Just money and a forgotten name.
Perfect.
That meant Fenrir could fully assume the role without risking exposure.
He closed the banking app, satisfied.
Next, he moved through the apartment, quickly scanning its rooms.
It was even more luxurious than he had expected: private training chambers, meditation spaces, reinforced living quarters.
He found the training room tucked away near the back.
The walls were lined with shimmering material—mana-resistant alloys, perfect for low-level magic training.
Fenrir stepped inside, rolling his shoulders.
He closed his eyes, focusing inward.
The flow of mana inside his body was sluggish, clogged, like a river blocked by years of debris.
Not surprising.
The previous owner of this body never trained properly, never awakened his bloodline, never even tried to refine himself.
He relied solely on his money and status.
Pathetic.
But it was nothing Fenrir couldn't fix.
Correcting the mana pathways would be painful, grueling work—but Fenrir had done it countless times in lives long past.
What he needed first was simple:
Technique and a catalyst.
The technique he had. Decades of mastery in reshaping mana flows, forcing evolution through willpower and precision.
But the catalyst…
He needed a mana-rich herb, something potent enough to shock his body into reacting.
Something expensive. Rare.
Fenrir's lips curved into a small smile.
Money can solve that.
In this era, wealth could buy anything: information, power, materials, even lives.
He straightened, energy sparking faintly at his fingertips.
His first priority was to find the right herb.
Once he had it, he would rebuild this body from the ground up—and then, the real hunt would begin.
The tablet floated in front of Fenrir, glowing softly in the dim light of the apartment's training room.
He scrolled through listings, scanning herb after herb, narrowing the search down by potency and mana concentration.
Most of the high-tier herbs were absurdly overpriced, but that didn't concern him.
Money was something this body had plenty of—and more kept flowing in monthly like clockwork.
He had just tapped on a promising candidate when the doorbell chimed once.
Twice.
Then came the pounding.
The wall trembled slightly under the blows.
Fenrir's eye twitched. He felt the faint, disorganized swirl of mana on the other side—a weak presence, but aggressive.
Another thunderous bang.
'How persistent.'
His fingers twitched with the urge to crush the source.
Sighing heavily, he stood up and moved toward the entrance, each step sharp and deliberate. The lock clicked as he wrenched the door open with a single, effortless motion.
The man standing outside almost fell forward, caught mid-swing.
He was a giant of a human—thick arms, a broad chest straining against a worn leather jacket, and a brutish scowl carved into his face. He smelled of sweat and cheap mana enhancers.
Fenrir gave him a quick, disinterested glance.
'Is that a Gorilla?'
The comparison fit too well.
Without sparing another second, Fenrir grabbed the door again and moved to slam it shut.
A thick, muscular arm jammed itself between the door and the frame.
The door jolted against the barrier, refusing to close.
"Hey, you brat!"
The man barked, forcing the door wide open and stomping inside like he owned the place.
Fenrir's eyes narrowed slightly, a sliver of cold amusement flashing in them.
He didn't speak—just stepped back and observed.
"You got guts. But this ends today. You owe me!"
The man grunted, jabbing a sausage-thick finger at Fenrir's chest.
Fenrir raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know you."
He said, voice perfectly flat, perfectly calm.
He sifted quickly through the host body's memories—parties, street deals, mindless indulgence—but found nothing that linked to this thug.
The man's face darkened at Fenrir's response.
Veins bulged on his neck as rage twisted his expression.
"You think you can play dumb with me?!"
The gorilla reared his fist back, aiming a brutal swing at Fenrir's face.
For a brief moment, time seemed to stretch.
The man's body telegraphed the move so obviously that it was almost insulting.
Fenrir didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
Instead, he simply stood there, waiting.
At the last second, the man caught himself, his knuckles trembling midair.
A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face.
He couldn't explain why—but something deep inside screamed at him not to make contact.
"Tsk, are you threatening me with violence?"
Fenrir murmured under his breath.
The man gritted his teeth so hard it sounded like grinding rocks.
"You're lucky that I need your money. But I'm not walking away empty-handed. You owe three million. Pay up."
The thug spat, lowering his arm.
Fenrir tilted his head slightly, studying him like one might observe an aggressive stray dog.
He could end this pest with a flick of his wrist.
But that would attract unnecessary attention.
And he needed the quiet.
"And if I don't?"
Fenrir asked, his voice dripping with disinterest.
The man smirked, showing yellowed teeth.
"Then you'll find out how many bones you can live without. ou'll see exactly why I am such a great kid. After all, you hired me to awaken your talent."
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