Chapter 27:

Harvey's body still ached from the brutal contest with the crimson ostrich. The memory of that absurd yet perilous fight—of dodging wild, perverse attacks and delivering the final, decisive blow—remained vivid as he followed Duncan through the narrow, lamp-lit corridors of the military outpost. Though the soldiers offered crude jests and rough applause over his victory, there was no time to dwell on fleeting glory. Duncan's voice, steady and unyielding, had already pulled him away.

"Come on," Duncan said gruffly, "no time for celebrating. We've got a longer road ahead."

They left the training grounds and wound through the outpost until the rugged stone gave way to the winding streets of Abadon. The further they traveled, the more the structures changed—from well-kept barracks to weathered, cracked walls of dilapidated buildings, and finally to narrow, dimly lit alleyways where the underbelly of the city revealed itself.

At a discreet, unassuming door tucked behind a faded sign, Duncan knocked twice in a deliberate rhythm. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, revealing a narrow, descending staircase. With little more than a curt nod, Duncan ushered Harvey inside.

They emerged into an underground arena—a crude fighting ring carved into packed dirt, illuminated by flickering torches. Rough-hewn wooden benches surrounded the pit, crowded with rowdy spectators. The sound of clinking coins and murmured bets filled the air, mingling with the occasional roar or cheer from the pit.

In the center of the ring, a fight was already underway. Two combatants clashed fiercely—one a burly man whose brute force was evident in every wild swing, the other a lean, agile fighter who moved with a deceptive calm. With precise counterattacks, the agile fighter managed to exploit every opening until his opponent crumpled onto the sand, defeated. The crowd erupted, coins exchanged hands amid cheers and groans.

Harvey's eyes narrowed as he absorbed every detail of the match. This was raw, unsanctioned combat—a world apart from the regimented drills of his military training. Duncan, watching from a shadowed corner of the stands, leaned in and said, "Watch carefully. Strength without control is worthless. That young fighter lost because he relied solely on raw power. Here, it's not just about winning; it's about knowing when and how to fight."

Harvey listened intently, the lessons resonating with him. As he looked around, he noticed a separate group of individuals—a table of cloaked figures engaged in hushed conversation, exchanging coins and whispered secrets. Their presence reminded him that beneath Abadon's structured veneer lay an underworld of illegal deals, unsanctioned fights, and hidden power struggles. Duncan continued, "The underworld isn't just a den of thieves. It's a battlefield of its own, where information, resources, and muscle rule. It exists everywhere, and one day, you might need to know its ways."

The words struck Harvey. He realized that survival in Abadon wasn't only about physical strength—it was also about understanding these hidden currents, about knowing when to blend into the shadows. Still, the arena served a singular purpose tonight: a final lesson in control and resolve.

After the fight, as the crowd's roar died down and the victors were cleared from the pit, Duncan led Harvey away from the arena. The cool night air hit him, mingling with the lingering scent of sweat and blood. They walked in silence through narrow alleys until they reached a quieter part of the city.

Duncan stopped and faced Harvey. "You've seen what raw, uncontrolled power looks like in battle. You know now that it's not enough to rely on brute force. Your strength must be tempered with discipline and clear judgment."

Harvey nodded, his mind still replaying the swift, calculated moves of the agile fighter in the ring. He had learned a harsh lesson here—control was everything.

Duncan continued, "And there's more to your future than this. You're not meant to remain a soldier forever. Your training has shown promise—enough that I've arranged for you to be taken to an outer sect. There, you'll begin your path as a cultivator. They value warriors who can master their bodies and maintain a steady heart, and I believe you have that potential."

Harvey felt a complex mix of emotions—relief at the prospect of moving on, dread at the thought of leaving behind the only structure he'd known for a year, and a deep, burning need to eventually find Julia. The idea of joining an outer sect, where cultivation methods are taught and true potential is nurtured, ignited a spark of hope in him.

"Am I ready?" Harvey asked quietly.

Duncan's gaze was firm. "You're not where you want to be yet. But you're strong enough to take the next step. For now, focus on survival. Build your strength, master your body, and keep your head steady. Learn the ways of this underworld and the regulated battlefield of Abadon. In time, you'll discover how to truly harness the power inside you without letting it consume you."

Harvey's fists tightened at his sides, his resolve hardening. The underworld—its secrets, its dangers—was a realm he would need to understand if he was to navigate the treacherous paths ahead. Tonight, in the bloodied sands of that underground arena, he had learned that raw strength was not enough. He had to be smart, controlled, and ready for any battle, whether in the open or in the shadows.

As Duncan guided him back toward their temporary lodgings, Harvey's mind buzzed with the lessons of the night. The transition from the wild, absurd battle with the ostrich to witnessing disciplined combat in the arena, and finally to understanding the murky depths of the underworld, marked a turning point in his journey. It was time to leave behind the confines of military training and step toward the broader, more dangerous world of cultivation.

In that moment, Harvey resolved that his future would be defined not by the chaos that once gnawed at his strength, but by the steady, deliberate control he was learning to exert. With survival as his immediate goal, he would strive to master his body, navigate the underworld's hidden currents, and prepare for the next phase of his journey—a journey that would eventually lead him to an outer sect where his true potential might finally be unlocked.

The streets of Abadon were a stark contrast to the hard-packed dirt roads Harvey had known. Here, stone-paved streets gleamed under the midday sun, and towering buildings loomed overhead, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and banners displaying the sigils of noble families and prominent sects. Merchants called out from beneath colorful awnings, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of commerce.

Harvey's eyes darted between the opulent structures and the beggars crouched in alleyways, their thin hands outstretched toward passersby who ignored them. The wealth and power on display only highlighted the struggles of the weak.

"Keep your eyes ahead," Duncan muttered beside him. "Gawking too much makes you a target."

Harvey snapped his gaze forward. It was a reminder that even here, in the heart of civilization, there were predators lurking in plain sight.

They made their way through the bustling city streets until they arrived at a grand building with a dark wood exterior and gold-plated lettering above the entrance: Abadon Sect Recruitment Office. Unlike the other buildings, there was no excessive ornamentation—just a simple, imposing presence. A handful of hopefuls lingered outside, some pacing anxiously, others standing stiff with anticipation.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and ink. Behind a large desk sat a woman who appeared completely unimpressed with the world around her. She was lean, dressed in official robes, and had sharp eyes that carried the weight of someone who had seen far too many hopefuls come and go.

Duncan stepped forward. "This one's here for the outer sect recruitment assessment."

The woman didn't look up. "Name?"

"Harvey."

She flipped through a ledger, her fingers moving with practiced ease. "Age?"

"Fifteen."

At that, she finally glanced at him, her expression flat. "Late for a standard recruitment, but let's see if you have even a drop of potential. Come."

She gestured toward a circular rune array carved into the stone floor. Unlike the intricate arrays Harvey had seen before, this one was simple, with a single core inscription at its center.

"Step inside," she instructed. "Your task is to either absorb the energy of the array or disturb it. Either result is acceptable. Failure means you'll be walking back out that door."

Harvey stepped into the array, heart steady but mind uncertain. He didn't know what to expect, but as soon as he was fully inside, he felt it—a soft pull, like invisible tendrils trying to seep into his body.

His instincts kicked in. He concentrated, holding firm against the force, resisting the pull with the same control he had honed during his training. His body, now tempered through Duncan's rigorous lessons, instinctively locked down on the energy's intrusion.

The runes flickered, wavering as if confused, before the entire array destabilized and shattered in a ripple of energy.

Silence filled the room.

The woman blinked, then let out a slow, unimpressed sigh. "Congratulations," she said dryly. "That was unexpected."

Duncan crossed his arms, smirking. "Told you he wasn't useless."

The woman ignored him and instead scribbled something onto a parchment. "You pass. Your transport to the outer sect leaves at sundown. Say your goodbyes and don't be late. We don't wait for stragglers."

Harvey stepped away from the array, his mind still processing what had happened. Duncan clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

"See?" Duncan said. "Told you that discipline and training would pay off."

Harvey nodded. It had, but he couldn't help but wonder: What exactly had I done? And why did she act like it wasn't supposed to happen?

But there was no time for questions now. His path was set, and the next stage of his journey was about to begin.