Rowan Mercer waved it off with an easy smile.
"I just happened to be nearby," he said. "You're giving me too much credit."
Compared to what he'd already taken from Tobias Jinmont's memories, this really was a small favor.
The Grand Master hesitated, then spoke carefully. "I examined Tobias earlier. His injuries were… extensive. Decades old. Are you certain there's still a chance?"
"There is," Rowan replied. "If you're willing to trust me, I can try."
That was enough.
Hope flared across the Grand Master's face. He'd traveled half the world over the years, searching for a way to restore his junior's shattered body. Even the most advanced medical magic he'd encountered overseas had its limits. Regeneration like this simply didn't exist. At least, not publicly.
Yet Rowan Mercer had never fit into neat categories.
"If you can do this," the Grand Master said solemnly, "I will owe you a debt."
Rowan didn't answer. He stepped forward, placed one hand on Tobias Jinmont's shoulder, and let the power flow.
Green light spread beneath Rowan's palm, dense and vibrant. It sank into Tobias's body, threading through damaged nerves and long-dead tissue. Rowan layered precise restorative techniques over raw vitality, guiding the process instead of forcing it.
Tobias gasped.
It started as an itch. Then pressure. Then something deeper. Bone reformed. Muscle knitted itself together. Sensation returned where there had been nothing for decades.
Ten minutes later, Tobias stood up from his chair.
He took one step. Then another.
Apart from stiffness and disbelief, there was no pain.
Tobias turned to Rowan and bowed deeply, hands shaking. "Thank you. I never thought I'd stand again."
From behind the Grand Master, Evan Clarke watched in silence.
This wasn't speculation anymore. This wasn't rumor.
Rowan Mercer had just restored limbs that had been gone for decades, as casually as fixing a broken watch.
If Rowan's earlier words were true, then the trade he'd proposed might actually be fair. Evan didn't decide anything yet, but the balance had shifted.
More people arrived soon after. Alex Ward. Fiona Barlow. Marcus Hale. The room filled with voices and tension. From their conversation, Rowan learned something useful.
One of the defenders, a young specialist named Harrison Shaw, had been critically injured during the fighting. His arm had been severed. Even if he survived, his future was effectively over.
Rowan's eyes flicked sideways.
Interesting.
After a brief word with the Grand Master, Rowan left the compound and headed downhill toward the temporary medical facility that had been set up near the base of the mountain.
Harrison Shaw sat alone on a hospital bed, staring at the wall. A doctor had already explained the situation. The arm was gone. Worse, the injury had disrupted his internal flow. Even his signature technique might never function again.
For his family, that art was everything.
Harrison slammed his fist into the mattress, tears blurring his vision. "Living like this… what's the point?"
A calm voice answered him.
"I can restore your arm."
Harrison looked up sharply. Rowan Mercer stood near the door, hands in his pockets.
"You're saying that like it's easy," Harrison said hoarsely. "Why should I believe you?"
"Because this isn't the moment to lie," Rowan replied. "In return, I want access to your family's technique. That's the deal."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Harrison laughed weakly. "If I stay like this, it dies with me anyway. Fine. If you can really fix me, it's yours."
Rowan stepped forward and placed a hand on Harrison's shoulder.
The same green light bloomed.
By dawn, Harrison was asleep, his missing arm fully restored. Rowan left without ceremony.
The next morning, Rowan declined offers of escort to the airport. He strapped the Codex into a basket on the front of a small electric bike he'd bought on the roadside and set off alone, humming quietly as he took back roads toward the city.
He made no attempt to hide the Codex.
That was the point.
"If you're going to come," Rowan thought, smiling, "come properly."
He rode slowly, deliberately choosing quiet paths. Anyone watching would understand the message immediately.
The temptation was enormous.
And sure enough, hidden observers stared in disbelief.
Was he insane? Carrying the Codex openly? On a bike?
It wasn't courage.
It was confidence.
Rowan wanted them to act.
Those who resisted the bait could be negotiated with later. Those who couldn't… well. If they attacked him, he wouldn't feel the slightest guilt taking everything they had.
That was the line he'd drawn for himself.
The hook was set.
Now all that remained was to see who bit.