The Primordial Asura

The next day as the sun slowly rise brightening up the place.

Alex stirred.

His silver-white eyes blinked open, adjusting to the warm light. For a moment, he simply lay there, taking in the subtle sounds of the forest. The distant rush of a river, the whisper of wind brushing through the canopy above, and the soft breathing of those nearby.

He sat up, stretching his arms with a faint groan. "Morning already?" he murmured to himself, glancing around.

Outside, he could hear voices—laughter, metal clinking, and the hum of conversation.

He stepped outside the tent into the crisp forest morning. Kiera stood near the campfire, her chestnut hair tied back, chewing thoughtfully on a strip of dried meat. Across from her, the stocky man, jaro with a massive axe strapped to his back gestured animatedly, retelling some embellished tale.

Kiera caught Alex's eye and nodded. "You're up early, suicidal boy."

"It's isn't suicide when I basically won and still aluve," Alex muttered with a faint grin.

"If not for us you would have still died"She tossed him a small piece of bread wrapped in cloth. "Eat. We're breaking camp in twenty."

He caught it and sat down on a nearby stump, biting into the still-warm loaf. For a brief moment, the warmth of the food and the sounds of morning lulled him into an illusion of peace.

A tall girl—Lara, if he remembered correctly—approached, arms crossed. "You sure you're good to travel? You almost died yesterday."

"I'm better now," he said, though he didn't elaborate.

Kiera chuckled. "He's stubborn."

Alex looked up. "So where are we headed?"

Your went to a hunting trip and don't even know were this is, wait do you even know the name of the city closest?"

"I have bad sense of direction and location" Alex answered with a shrug.

Lara fell silent at the answer clearly not believing shit.

"A city?" Alex shifted his gaze and asked

"Yeah. You need proper treatment. And… we currently can't do that ." Jone said

Alex paused, but nodded. "Right."

Alex stood, He glanced at each of them then he inhaled deeply. The crisp scent of dew and pine filled his lungs.

"Alright," he said, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. "Let's move."

And so, the group set off — seven adventurers with an injured kid.

The journey to Dawnbreeze Town took three grueling days through dense forest, with Alex's wounds slowing his pace but not his vigilance.

The group moved cautiously, Jone's leadership keeping them disciplined, while Kiera occasionally checked on Alex, her curiosity barely masked by casual banter. Jaro's grumbling about "carrying dead weight" didn't let up, but Alex ignored it, his senses sharp for any sign of the unease that still gnawed at him.

The feeling of unease lingered, though he said nothing.By the time they reached Dawnbreeze Town, the sun hung low, casting long shadows from the mountains over the bustling city.

Alex paused his step as he took in the sight before him but jaro numbed into,stumbling forward.

"Keep walking bumbkin we don't have time for your sight seeing" jaro said with distain

Glaring fiercely at him, he said nothing and continue walking.

Wooden palisades surrounded the town, with watchtowers manned by archers scanning the horizon. Merchants hawked wares in the streets—pelts, herbs, and gleaming beast cores—while adventurers and mercenaries swaggered through the crowds, their weapons clinking. The air smelled of roasted meat, dust, and the faint tang of mana from nearby alchemical stalls

Jone led the group to a modest inn, the Drunken Drake, where they secured rooms and a table in the corner. Alex kept his hood up, his black contact lenses masking his eyes as he scanned the room. The group's arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. A table of rough-looking mercenaries, their armor scarred and patched, kept glancing their way, their conversation dropping to whispers."Popular, aren't we?" Alex muttered, sipping watered-down ale.

"Don't mind them, instead let's have a feast"

Kiera said.

Alex waited until their food arrived—thick stew with crusty bread, surprisingly decent for an inn this far from any major trade route. The others dug in with the casual ease of familiarity, but Alex let the silence stretch for a while, staring down at the steam rising from his bowl.

Then, quietly, he spoke.

"Thanks," he said, his voice steady but softer than usual.

Kiera paused mid-bite, brow arched. "For what? Not letting you bleed out in the woods?"

Alex offered a faint smirk. "That, yeah. And for not dumping me halfway here."

Jone leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You're still a reckless idiot."

"Yeah," Jaro grunted, not even looking up. "And an ungrateful one."

But Lara, sitting beside him, simply said, "You're welcome."

The table fell into a quiet lull after that, save for the clink of spoons and mugs. The warmth of the inn and the low murmur of voices.

That night, Alex lay in the small, creaky bed of his rented room, staring at the dark ceiling. The bandages on his side itched, and though his body ached with pain it's better than before.

The Next Morning

Alex woke before sunrise.

He dressed quickly and quietly, slinging the small pack of supplies Jone had given him over one shoulder. The black contact lenses slid in smoothly, hiding the silver-white glow of his eyes.

He didn't say goodbye.

By the time the others stirred from their rooms, he was already outside in making his way through the city, his figure fading into the streets. Only Kiera, standing by the window of the inn, caught the distant blur of his movement—just a shadow slipping and disappearing into the crowd.

"Stubborn to the end," she muttered, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

The cobbled streets of Dawnbreeze Town were already stirring as the sun's first rays bathed the rooftops in golden light. Vendors rolled open carts, the smell of fresh bread mingling with smoke from cooking fires. A pair of adventurers in worn leathers passed by, deep in conversation about some recent beast sighting to the west.

Alex walked quietly among them, hood drawn low, eyes constantly scanning.

Now what...?

He didn't have a map, a plan, or a destination beyond vague ideas of survival and strength. His side still ached faintly beneath the bandages, but his steps were steady. The town pulsed with energy—mercenaries prepping for expeditions, hunters bartering fang for coin, mages arguing over crystal prices near the alchemy stalls.

So this is life outside the cradle, he mused. Messy. Loud. Real.

And yet… familiar.

He paused near a crossroads as a trio of city guards marched past. Their armor uniform,mostly leather, with matched greaves and blades of same quality. Although central authority is here.but that's Just illusion of order, Alex thought, smirking faintly.

His eyes drifted toward a wooden sign swaying gently above a squat stone building tucked beside a row of weapon stalls. The crude engraving read: "Braxxon's Forge – We Mend Steel and Spirits."

A rhythmic hammering echoed from within.

A smith.

In this world, weapons weren't just judged by how sharp they looked or how heavy they swung. Like everything touched by mana, they were graded—refined, ranked, and categorized with meticulous precision.

At the bottom were Common-Grade weapons—iron-forged, mana-less, mass-produced. Cheap, breakable. The kind sold in back-alley stalls to frightened farmers and overconfident rookies.

Next came the Refined-Grade, like Alex's own blade. Forged with better materials and a hint of mana infusion—enough to handle beasts and low-tier spells, but they cracked under true pressure. They were tools of journeymen and fresh adventurers, reliable only to a point.

Above that were the Mystic-Grade weapons. These weren't just forged—they were crafted. Infused during creation with attuned mana, sometimes even bound to elemental cores or beast remnants. They pulsed with purpose and responded to those who wielded them. And above them well it's the legendary legendary grade weapon but that's beyond his reach now.

Apart from the graded weapons there's a special type of weapon called growth weapons, there ungraded weapons that absorb mana and evolve with the user. An example is Alex weapon core.

Guess this is my first stop.

He pushed the door open.

A wave of heat hit him immediately, followed by the sharp tang of molten metal and burning coal. The blacksmith's interior was cluttered but organized. Racks of swords, axes, and knives hung against the walls, some pristine, others clearly refurbished. Sparks flew at the far end of the room where a burly man with arms like tree trunks pounded a glowing blade on an anvil.

The smith didn't look up. "If you're here for a knife, you're late place an order. If it's a repair, drop it on the counter and don't lie about how it broke."

Alex approached, then slowly unwrapped the broken sword piece he'd been carrying since the forest.

The blade was cracked clean across the middle, the edge dulled and warped.

Braxxon finally looked up. His thick eyebrows rose. "You fight a bear with this or were you trying to get it snapped?"

Alex shrugged. "Won the fight. Sword didn't."

"Hmph." The smith picked it up, eyes narrowing as he examined it. "Good steel… a mid refined grade sword but this ain't mass-forged. Custom job?"

"I don't know," Alex replied honestly. "Found it on me."

That earned a glance. "You one of those memory-loss adventurers? Got a dozen of you weirdos every month."

Alex didn't respond. He didn't need to lie—truth sounded like nonsense anyway.

Braxxon grunted and turned toward the back, sword in hand. "I can reforge it. Might not be perfect, but it'll hold. Come back in three days. Gonna cost you thirty silvers."

Alex counted out the coins Jone had given him. Exactly thirty.

He dropped them onto the counter without flinching. "I'll be back."

As he stepped outside, the wind shifted slightly, and a faint scent carried on it—damp stone, iron, and something else…

Something... off.

Alex paused, eyes narrowing.

That feeling again.

It had crept in and out since the forest—an almost imperceptible pressure, like being watched by something not entirely present.

But it's now more pronounced in the city.

He scanned the rooftops, the alleyways. Nothing.

Not paranoia. Instinct. His fingers twitched, wishing the broken sword was still at his side.

"Am being watched"