The next day in the lab, the air was thick with purpose.
The playful, teasing uncle was gone—replaced by the stern, focused mentor.
Salvador presented Russell with his gear.
"This is chain-mail armor," he said, holding up a vest that shimmered under the lights. It was woven from thousands of tiny, interlocking iron chains, treated with a dull, non-reflective coating. "Protective, light, and flexible. It won't stop a Juggernaut's charge, but it'll turn a Grunt's claws. Better than nothing."
Next, he offered a sword. A katana in a simple black scabbard.
"This is Emma," Salvador said. "A reliable blade. Balanced, sharp, and easier to wield for a beginner than a broadsword. It has seen you through your first trial. Now it must see you through your first hunt."
Russell took the sword, feeling its weight settle into his hand.
It felt right—not a tool for exams, but for survival.
"Now," Salvador said, lowering his voice, "the most important decision you will make today. It's time to choose the branch of your skill tree you will focus on first. Your path will be 'Transmutation' or 'Molecular.' Tell me, so I can prepare you."
"What's the difference?" Russell asked, his grip tightening around Emma's hilt.
"Transmutation is the path of the shapeshifter," Salvador explained, pulling up holographic diagrams. "It focuses on the Alchemy of the self. You will master the art of absorbing Devil Souls to temporarily transform, gaining the physical attributes and abilities of the Hollows you slay. Intuitive, powerful, versatile—
but dangerous. Lose focus, and the Hollow's instincts can overwhelm your own."
The hologram shifted.
"Molecular is the path of the armorer. It focuses on the Alchemy of external matter. You will master the manifestation of weapons and armor, reinforcing your gear to incredible levels of sharpness and durability. Eventually, you can create temporary constructs—shields, blades of pure energy, even simple traps. It is disciplined, controlled. Less versatile in form, but unmatched in raw defensive and offensive power within your arsenal."
Russell considered it.
Transforming into a monster was tempting… but the risk was too high.
Control.
He needed control first.
"Molecular," he said firmly. "I choose Molecular."
Salvador nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "A wise choice. Control before power. I'll begin compiling data on molecular reinforcement techniques. Now go. Your compass is synced. Find The Crucible."
For the second time, Russell stepped into the teleportation booth.
This time, fear did not swallow him—it walked beside him.
The world shattered into white.
---
And reformed into the freezing, orange hell of Titan.
He activated his specialized compass. A holographic arrow pointed toward a range of jagged, ice-covered mountains.
The Crucible was that way.
He trekked for an hour, armor already feeling too thin against the biting cold, when the ground trembled.
A low, guttural roar rolled through the methane canyons.
From behind a massive ice spire, it emerged—
A Juggernaut-class Hollow.
A mountain of muscle and bone plates, taller than two men. One arm ended in a wrecking-ball mass of ossified tissue. It lowered its head, its single massive horn pointing directly at him—
And charged.
Russell's blood turned to ice.
He raised Emma, knowing it was useless.
This was how he died.
On his first real day.
But before the Juggernaut closed even half the distance—
A blur of pure white shot from the high rocks above.
It streaked across the orange sky like living lightning.
A fox.
A fox with nine magnificent, flowing tails.
It landed between Russell and the charging beast.
One tail lashed the ground—
The frozen earth erupted in a geyser of blue energy, staggering the monster.
The fox moved again.
A dance of lethal, precise destruction.
Tails wrapped around limbs with bone-crushing force.
A flash of light—its horn severed.
Another flash—its legs carved out beneath it.
In less than ten seconds, the colossal Hollow lay dead, dissolving into black mist.
The white fox glowed softly.
It shrank, rising onto two legs.
The light faded—
Revealing a girl.
She wore form-fitting white and silver armor that seemed woven from light itself.
Her hair was as white as the fox's fur, her eyes cold and ancient.
She didn't even look at Russell.
She simply knelt by the dissipating corpse.
A swirling, blood-red orb—the Juggernaut's Devil Soul—coalesced in her palm.
She stored it in a pouch and stood.
Without a word, without a glance, she turned and walked away—
as if Russell were no more significant than a snowflake.
Stunned, relieved, and increasingly irritated, Russell finally found his voice.
"Hey! Wait!"
She didn't stop.
"Thank you!" he called, sarcasm creeping in. "You know, a 'you're welcome' would be nice! Or maybe just point me toward the Hunter HQ?"
She paused for half a step—
just enough to show she'd heard him.
But she didn't turn around.
She continued walking and vanished behind an ice ridge.
Russell stared after her, mouth hanging open.
"What an egoistic girl!" he muttered into the freezing wind, shoving Emma back into her scabbard. "She didn't even tell me the way."