Letter From Jenna!

Bang! Bang!

Deep within Harry's body, his heart beat with an almost deafening rhythm, resonating with a newfound vitality. The surge of life energy coursing through him was unlike anything he had experienced before, and it ignited a profound transformation. The 'seed of life' within him pulsed furiously, teetering on the edge of something extraordinary.

The sensation was intoxicating. His body felt alive in ways that defied reason, power bubbling up from the depths of his core. It was a force so primal, so overwhelming, that Harry felt an almost animalistic urge to roar into the heavens, to declare his awakening to the world.

But he resisted.

His eyes remained closed, his breathing steady. He chose instead to focus inward, to observe every nuance of his body's metamorphosis. This wasn't just growth, it was evolution.

---

As the ceremony drew on, the old man's body on the ritual table began to wither. His flesh shriveled, shrinking as the last remnants of his vitality drained away. His once-powerful form became gaunt, his skin clinging to his bones before they too began to crack and crumble.

Moments later, there was nothing left but dust and shards of bone. The transformation had claimed all it could from the old man.

And then, suddenly, the energy within Harry stilled. The flow stopped. The overwhelming sensation of change ebbed, leaving his body poised on the edge of something greater, but not yet crossing the threshold.

Harry opened his eyes. His expression was calm, but the faintest trace of frustration flickered behind his gaze. He flexed his hands, testing the new strength coursing through him. Though the ritual had worked in part, it had not achieved the leap he had hoped for.

"Of course, it wouldn't be that easy," he muttered, his voice measured yet edged with a touch of resignation.

He glanced down at the remains of the old man, now reduced to nothing but a pile of brittle fragments. For all his cunning, for all his power, the Elder had been insufficient to push Harry to the level of a great knight.

---

Harry sighed, stepping away from the table.

The sacrifice had been a rare find, a fighter near the peak of the knight level. Yet even with that, it had only been enough to stir the seed of life within him, not fully transform it. Still, he reminded himself, this wasn't failure.

'The hardest part is over,' he thought, his lips curving into a faint smile. 'The seed has begun to change. The door is open.'

In many ways, Harry understood the world as a series of barriers. Breaking through wasn't always about raw strength, but persistence and knowing where to apply pressure. Now, for the first time, he could see the next barrier clearly. The path to greatness was no longer shrouded in uncertainty; it lay ahead, waiting for him to carve his way forward.

But that didn't solve his immediate problem.

Harry's expression darkened slightly as his mind shifted to the next challenge: where to find his next sacrifice.

The previous ritual had only succeeded because of the exceptional quality of the offerings: a gym master-level fighter and an Elder of the Black Council. Such powerful targets were increasingly rare, and after the chaos he had caused, capturing more would be infinitely harder.

---

Harry folded his arms, pacing the room.

Should he continue hunting under the guise of the Black Council? Unlikely. Between his actions and those of the real Black Council, Malian City's fighters had been pushed into hiding. The weak had already been captured; the rest were either well-protected or long gone.

Targeting the Black Council itself also seemed implausible. After losing one of their Elders, they would be on high alert, their defenses fortified. Harry doubted he would get another opportunity like the one he'd seized last night.

His mind churned through possibilities, but every scenario felt like a dead end. For the first time in a long while, Harry found himself without a clear target. The lack of direction gnawed at him, a quiet frustration he couldn't shake.

'Is this what stagnation feels like?' he thought bitterly. 'To push forward but find no path ahead?'

---

As Harry stood lost in thought, a sudden sound broke the silence. Footsteps echoed outside his door, sharp and deliberate. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Come in," he said, his tone even but commanding.

The door creaked open, revealing a young student from the Red Bird Martial Arts Dojo. The boy stepped inside, carrying a small object in his hands. His posture was respectful, his eyes downcast as he approached.

"Master Zack," the student said, using Harry's alias within the Dojo. "A letter for you."

He placed the envelope on the table and bowed slightly before retreating.

Harry picked up the letter, his brow furrowing as he examined the seal. His mind sharpened, his earlier frustration dissipating as curiosity took hold.

"Who's trying to reach me now?" he murmured, breaking the seal with a flick of his fingers.

The faintest smile played across his lips as he unfolded the letter, anticipation building in his chest. Perhaps the next step in his journey had just arrived.

Harry took the letter casually, unfolding it with a flick of his fingers. His expression shifted subtly as his eyes scanned the words, each line pulling his focus deeper into its message. By the time he finished reading, a faint crease had formed on his brow.

The sender was Jenna.

Her tone, even in writing, carried urgency, a warning laced with concern. The letter outlined a chilling possibility and came with a plea for caution.

---

"'The Black Council's purpose in capturing fighters seems to be tied to a ritual,'" the letter began. "'They may be attempting to awaken their so-called gods or activate something far worse.'"

Harry's eyes narrowed. The notion wasn't new to him; he'd suspected as much, but seeing it spelled out added weight to his suspicions.

"'Mr. Zack,'" Jenna's letter continued, "'please leave Malian City if you can. There are terrible dangers on the horizon, and even someone as capable as you may encounter something unexpected.'"

Harry smirked faintly at that. 'Something unexpected? That's half the fun,' he thought.

The letter didn't stop there. Jenna had also written about a key, imploring him to safeguard it.

"'According to our investigation, this key might play a crucial role in their ritual. Ancient records handed down through my family suggest it could even serve as a countermeasure should things go wrong.'"

At the close of the letter, she mentioned that she, along with Wendy and the rest of their people, had fled to safety. Harry could almost hear her tone, pragmatic but tinged with worry, as she urged him to take precautions.

---

Setting the letter down, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the object in question. The 'key.'

It was a golden artifact, intricate and enigmatic. Its surface was engraved with densely packed runes, their patterns radiating an ancient, arcane energy. Harry turned it over in his hands, scrutinizing the unfamiliar symbols. They shared similarities with the ritualistic runes he'd seen before, yet their meaning eluded him.

Since he'd inherited the key from its original resting place, it had remained inert. Harry had kept it close, driven by a vague intuition that it was important. He'd planned to study its inscriptions further when time allowed, hoping to unravel its secrets. But Jenna's letter suggested there was more to it than he'd initially thought.

"Could it really be tied to another ritual?" Harry murmured, his mind racing.

The Black Council's recent activities seemed to confirm the theory. Their systematic capture of fighters wasn't random; it mirrored Harry's own methods, albeit on a much larger scale. He suspected they were preparing for something massive, a culmination of their efforts. Jenna's mention of "awakening gods" or "activating something" only added to the growing puzzle.

For a moment, Harry's fingers tightened around the key. Its weight felt different now, heavier with possibility. If it truly held the potential to disrupt the Black Council's plans, or serve as a failsafe; it could prove invaluable.

But fleeing Malian City? That was out of the question.

---

A grin spread across Harry's face, sharp and self-assured. "Leave? Not a chance," he muttered, setting the key down on the table.

The chaos the Black Council was brewing wasn't a deterrent, it was an opportunity. The more havoc they created, the more space there would be for Harry to operate. He could grow stronger in the shadows of their schemes, accumulating energy as they unknowingly paved the way for his ascension.

His thoughts flicked to the "world energy" within him, a resource he'd been carefully cultivating. The Black Council's activities had caused his energy to surge in recent weeks, accelerating his progress. Already, he had more than two hundred units of simulation energy stored. If the chaos continued, he could see that number doubling before this ordeal reached its climax.

"Four, maybe five hundred simulation energies by the time this is over," he mused aloud, his tone brimming with ambition. "How could I walk away from that?"

Harry leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the window. The night stretched out before him, full of potential and danger. But for him, danger was a catalyst, a crucible in which power was forged.

"To leave now," he murmured, "would be to waste everything I've built."

His thoughts turned briefly to the Dawn World. If he were to return without sufficient energy, all the strength he had amassed here would dissipate. It would mean starting over, a prospect Harry found utterly unacceptable. He wasn't here to scrape by or survive. He was here to conquer, to take everything this world could offer and bring it back with him.

His grin widened as he stood, the letter still in his hand. The faint glow of the key caught his eye once more, and his mind buzzed with possibilities. The Black Council might think they were orchestrating the grand design, but Harry had his own plans. He would let them stir the pot, let them summon whatever gods or monsters they wished; because in the end, he'd be the one to seize the spoils.

"Let the storm come," Harry said, his voice low and resolute. "I'll be waiting."

With that, he pocketed the key and strode toward the door, his thoughts already turning to the next move in this deadly game.