Survivor: Rise of the Almighty

Chapter 24: Mission 3 Unlocked

The carriage slowed to a stop just as the sun bled into the horizon, staining the sky with streaks of fire-red and bruise-purple. It was the kind of sight that could inspire poets—or, in my case, serve as a reminder of how much I hated being stuck in the middle of nowhere with these spoiled brats.

Neralia and Lashley climbed out first, with all the grace of nobles who thought the world owed them a favor. Behind them, Driver—their perpetually silent beastkin servant—hopped off the front of the carriage, their gray-furred ears twitching as they began unhitching the horses.

"Well," I said, hopping down after them, "this looks cozy. Just your average murder-in-the-middle-of-nowhere campsite."

Neralia shot me one of her trademark glares, her emerald cloak catching the fading sunlight. "Do you always have to be so insufferable, Kaizen?"

"Only when I'm awake," I said, flashing her a grin.

Driver, bless their quiet soul, had already started setting up the fire pit. I would've offered to help, but honestly, watching someone who wasn't a walking gold bar do actual work was kind of refreshing. Meanwhile, the twins busied themselves unpacking their absurdly fancy camping gear, which included cushions and blankets that looked too expensive to even sneeze on.

As the fire crackled to life, I dropped onto one of the makeshift seats, stretching my legs toward the flames. "Alright," I said, my voice cutting through the crackling wood, "what's the plan for Fort Defal? Or are we just winging it and hoping for the best? Because if that's the case, I'm not dying for your fancy little asses."

Neralia rolled her eyes as she pulled out an ancient piece of parchment, the edges frayed and yellowed. "We're not 'winging it,'" she said, smoothing the map over her lap. "This is a detailed map of the fort grounds. My father, Lord Lucian, acquired it years ago."

I leaned forward, squinting at the faded lines and markings. "Looks detailed, alright. Detailed enough to get us killed if it's out of date."

Her jaw tightened, but she ignored me. "It'll guide us past the outer walls and into the central courtyard. From there, we'll head to the city lord's manor. That's where the artifact is—if it hasn't been looted or destroyed."

I raised an eyebrow. "Still not telling me what this artifact is, huh? You know, if you just said what the fuck it looks like, I might actually be able to help you find it."

"We don't need your help finding it," Lashley snapped, his voice sharp. "We need your help dealing with the other things—undead, magic beasts, curses. Take your pick."

"Ah, so I'm the expendable muscle," I said, smirking. "Could've just said that upfront."

Neralia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's not like that, Kaizen. We can fight, but our expertise is in elemental magic, not martial combat."

This caught my attention. "Elemental magic, huh? So, what, fireballs and earth walls? No sword-swinging or headbutts?"

"Exactly," she said, her tone clipped. "We manipulate natural elements—fire, water, air, and earth. It's powerful but not ideal for close-quarters combat."

Let me break it down for you: magic in this world comes in three flavors. First, there's Elemental Magic—your standard flashy shit like fireballs and tornadoes. Then there's Martial Magic, which is basically steroids for your body—makes you faster, stronger, and tougher. And finally, there's Null Magic. That one's the weird cousin nobody talks about because it's rare as hell and can't be taught. You're either born with it, or you unlock it through sheer dumb luck.

I learned all this during breaks in my intense training sessions. Fun fact: I don't have mana, which means no magic for me. But I've got Ki, and let me tell you, blasting shit with pure energy is way more satisfying than waving a stick around.

"Anyway," I said, leaning back, "if your magic's so great, why do you need me?"

"Because," Lashley said through gritted teeth, "there are things out there that magic alone can't handle. Like the Black Lion that attacked Duchess Helena."

Ah, yes. The Black Lion. That oversized magical monstrosity had been the size of a house and pitch-black from gorging itself on wild mana. It had gone straight for the Duchess's party, tearing through her guards like they were tissue paper. If I hadn't shown up when I did, there wouldn't have been enough of them left to bury. Though looking back at it now. I'm pretty sure Alaric could have easily taken care of the beast.

"Yeah, I remember that thing," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Huge, black, and pissed off. Kind of like a demon cat on steroids. You're welcome, by the way."

"That's exactly why we need you," Neralia said, ignoring my tone. "There could be more creatures like that near the ruins—beasts corrupted by wild mana or something worse."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Great. So I'm fighting the magical equivalent of rabid house pets. What else is new?"

Before anyone could answer, a familiar ping echoed in my head.

***---***

Mission 3 Unlocked: The Philosopher's Stone

Primary Objective: Unknown

Rewards: Unknown

Condition for Success: Unknown

***---***

I groaned internally. Another vague mission from the system. No details, no instructions—just a cryptic title and a whole lot of headaches waiting for me. And the kicker? I couldn't ditch it. The system had a nasty little clause about desertion: instant death.

"Fucking system," I muttered under my breath, glaring at the invisible notification.

Meanwhile, the twins were deep in their own discussion, debating the safest route to the manor. I half-listened, my thoughts drifting back to what I'd learned since arriving in this world.

The kingdom we were in, Rostalio, was tiny—landlocked and barely three centuries old. It sat on the southeastern edge of Artaros, one of three massive continents. Each continent was about the size of Eurasia back on Earth, separated by oceans that made the Atlantic look like a puddle. Crossing them wasn't just dangerous—it was suicidal. Between the monstrous waves, hurricane-like storms, and actual monsters the size of mountains, it was a wonder anyone survived the journey at all.

But that was a problem for future me. Right now, my focus was on surviving Fort Defal—and whatever fresh hell it had in store for us.

"Alright," I said, cutting through the twins' argument. "Let's make one thing clear: I'm not dying for your artifact. If shit hits the fan, I'm out."

Lashley smirked. "You wouldn't make it ten steps without us."

"Maybe," I said, leaning back with a grin. "But at least I wouldn't have to listen to you two bicker the whole time."

The fire crackled as silence fell over the campsite. Tomorrow, we'd reach the ruins. And something told me things were about to get a whole lot worse.

As I leaned back against the log I'd claimed as my seat, the words Philosopher's Stone echoed in my head like a bad joke on repeat. It was too on the nose, wasn't it? Anyone who's spent even a day reading fantasy—or, hell, just breathing—knew about the Philosopher's Stone. It was practically a cultural icon, thanks to Harry Potter and about a hundred other stories that used it as a plot device.

Still, the fact that my system decided to name my mission after it wasn't exactly reassuring.

The Philosopher's Stone was always portrayed differently depending on who told the story. Sometimes it turned lead into gold. Other times, it granted immortality or infinite mana. You name it, and some version of the Stone probably did it. Which begged the question: what the hell was this one supposed to do?

I glanced at the twins across the fire. Neralia was studying her map again, her face illuminated by the flickering flames. Lashley, meanwhile, was polishing a dagger, his expression as self-satisfied as ever. They clearly thought this artifact was worth all the trouble, which made me wonder what kind of juice it actually had.

If the Empire was spooked enough to pressure Rostalio into securing it, it had to be something big. The kind of big that starts wars and gets people killed. And judging by the way these two talked about Fort Defal, it wasn't just about securing the artifact—it was about keeping it out of the wrong hands.

"Fucking fantastic," I muttered under my breath.

Thanks to the system, ditching this quest wasn't an option. The terms were simple: failing a mission meant instant death. No retries, no second chances. I couldn't even cancel the quest I'd picked up from the guild earlier without the guild stepping in and kicking my ass to the streets.

As if on cue, the smell of something rich and savory snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. Dinner was ready.

Driver—our silent beastkin servant—ladled hearty stew into wooden bowls and handed them out with mechanical efficiency. They moved like a shadow, never saying a word, their furred ears twitching slightly as they worked. I'd asked their name once, but they'd just stared at me like I'd asked them to solve a quadratic equation. After that, I decided "Driver" was good enough.

The stew was surprisingly good—thick chunks of meat and vegetables in a broth that had just the right amount of spice. I took a cautious bite, half expecting to gag, but damn, the kid could cook.

"You know," I said between mouthfuls, "for someone who doesn't talk, Driver sure knows their way around a pot."

Driver didn't react, of course. They just sat a few feet away, quietly eating their own portion. The twins, meanwhile, ignored my comment entirely.

As I finished my second bite, something odd tickled the back of my mind. A faint, almost imperceptible sensation that made my senses prickle like someone had run an electric current through my brain.

Ki.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I could sense Ki signatures.

Back when I first arrived on this world, I'd trained my ass off to master Ki manipulation, pushing my body and mind to the limit just to get a handle on the basics. But since then, Ki had been a rare and unpredictable tool—something I could use but not fully rely on. Now, though, I could feel it. Not just my own, but other signatures.

At least half a dozen of them.

I froze mid-bite, my mind racing. Nobody in this world practiced Ki—hell, most of them didn't even know it existed. Which meant these signatures weren't the carefully honed auras of martial artists. They were faint, unfocused, and almost identical to each other, like the static of a bad radio signal.

But there was no mistaking it.

There were six of them. And they were close.

The realization sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. My eyes darted around the campsite, scanning the shadows beyond the firelight. I couldn't see anything, but the Ki signatures were there, less than 200 meters away and closing in.

"What's wrong?" Lashley asked, breaking the silence. "If you don't like the stew, you can make your own damn food."

I ignored his sarcasm, my eyes narrowing as I set the bowl down. "We're surrounded."

Neralia stiffened, her hand already moving toward the staff lying beside her. Lashley's smirk vanished, replaced by a look of wary confusion.

"What do you mean, 'surrounded'?" he asked, his voice low.

I stood, brushing dirt from my pants as I reached for my weapon. "I mean, there are six signatures closing in on us. Fast."

Their confusion was obvious, but there wasn't time to explain. My gut told me whatever was out there wasn't here to chat.

And just like that, the night went still.

[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]