The evaluation chambers lay beneath the barracks—a long, torch-lit corridor that reeked faintly of old sweat, scorched stone, and dried blood. Shen followed Kaela down the steps, boots tapping rhythmically, each sound echoing like a drumbeat.
He could feel it again.
The Crimson Pulse.
It throbbed faintly in the back of his mind like a second heartbeat, always present, always patient. He had grown used to it, though he wasn't certain that was a good thing. It reminded him that no matter how calm he seemed on the surface, something primal slumbered just beneath his skin.
Kaela stopped at a large door of blackened iron. A sigil glowed faintly on its surface—three concentric circles crossing a stylized sword. She knocked once, her knuckles sharp against the metal.
The door creaked open.
Inside, a square chamber awaited. Dimly lit, with tiered balconies above where a few bored-looking officers leaned over the rails, watching. The air was tense with anticipation. In the center, an old man in heavy robes stood, arms clasped behind his back. Despite his age, his stance held weight.
"Kaela," he said without looking. "Is this the anomaly you mentioned?"
"He prefers the term 'irregular,'" Kaela said dryly.
Shen stepped into the circle without being told. The floor beneath him was carved with runes that shimmered with dull silver light.
"What's the test?" Shen asked, eyes flicking around the room.
The old man finally looked at him. His eyes were sharp, too sharp for someone who looked so brittle. "You stand in the circle, and we tell you what you are."
Shen didn't like the sound of that. But he stayed.
The runes lit brighter. Energy crawled up his legs, prickling across his skin, probing, measuring. It felt invasive, like icy fingers pressing into his very soul.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the light turned deep red.
One of the officers on the balcony stood up. "What the—?"
The old man frowned. "That's not in the usual spectrum."
Kaela crossed her arms. "Told you."
The glow shifted—pulsing now, like veins throbbing with blood. The walls themselves seemed to react, the runes humming a low, ominous tone. A faint tremble passed through the floor, as though the room recognized something it shouldn't.
The old man muttered a word and flared a secondary glyph—green. It passed over Shen's body like mist.
Then it shattered.
Cracks spread across the runes beneath him. The room fell quiet.
Shen's expression didn't change. "I'm guessing that's not normal," he said.
"Your guess would be correct," the old man replied slowly. "You're not just outside the standard measurement. You broke it."
Shen stepped out of the circle, still calm. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're either a walking miracle... or a timebomb."
Kaela stepped between them. "He's not unstable. Just… different."
The old man sighed. "You said he was Veinkindled. I'd place his energy closer to early Bloodmarked, but twisted. And infused with… something else."
"Crimson World influence," Kaela said.
The old man didn't even blink. "Then he's a danger."
"I'm right here," Shen said flatly.
"You want honesty or flattery?"
"I want usefulness."
That made the old man pause. Then he gestured toward a weapons rack at the side of the chamber.
"If you want a formal rank among us, take a weapon. Face what we give you. No tricks. No blood rituals. Fight with skill. Prove you're more than a reaction."
Shen's hand closed around a dull iron blade.
"Good," the old man said. "Release the thrall."
A hidden gate clanked open. From the darkness beyond came a low growl and scraping claws. A monster stepped out—a massive creature with distorted limbs and a mouth too wide, too eager.
"Category: Thrall," Kaela whispered. "Barely sentient. But strong."
Shen's eyes narrowed. The pulse in his chest responded, slow and steady. Unlike the others, he didn't feed on calm or rage—he fed on pressure. Anticipation. Combat was his catalyst.
The monster charged.
He waited.
Just before it struck, Shen moved—not away, but forward. The iron blade rose, his feet pivoted, and the creature's arm flew off with a wet snap. The movement was simple. Clean. Efficient.
The crowd went still.
A second later, the creature collapsed. Blood pooled beneath it.
Shen stood above it, breathing slow. The iron blade dripped. His expression didn't change.
For a moment, silence.
Then the old man looked down at him from the balcony. "Rank him: Conditional Bloodmarked."
Shen didn't argue.
He didn't need their labels.
He was already carving his own.
Kaela approached as the chamber emptied, her gaze lingering on the dead monster.
"You didn't use blood qi," she said.
"I didn't need to," he replied.
She paused. "Why not?"
Shen looked toward the faint rune-cracks still glowing beneath his feet.
"Because that wasn't a fight. It was a measurement."
She smirked. "Well, now we know. You're dangerous."
Shen sheathed the sword.
"No," he said. "I'm focused."
Kaela gave a nod, her voice quiet. "Let's hope that focus lasts. We're going to need it."