Sienna and Tiara turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Harold was walking toward them in full battle armor. Heavy plate that would have made an ordinary warrior stiff and noisy seemed to weigh nothing on him. Every step landed steady and light, as though the forged steel simply did not exist. The calm confidence he carried made it hard to believe he was wearing several layers of armor at all.
The Spatial Farm had already pushed Harold to the peak of the eighth rank. He stood one step from the ninth—the rank that separated ordinary experts from the true pillars of the continent. Once he crossed that barrier, he would join the handful of supreme experts whose presence alone could shake kingdoms. Every great noble house needed such a figure. A clan without one was like a giant tree without deep roots: impressive in calm weather, easily uprooted when the storm arrived.
