Chapter 22
The Scarlet Faction—an S-Rank colossus that towered above most other factions—was not just an organization. It was a civilization, a fortress of power and mystery. Jayden couldn't help but gape at its sheer size. The faction grounds stretched farther than his eyes could see, sprawling like a miniature empire encased within crimson walls that shimmered faintly with protective runes.
It wasn't just a place for cultivation—it was a city in itself.
There were merchant districts bustling with rare treasures, artifact shops guarded by warriors, inns and taverns filled with members of all kinds, and even spiritual gardens that seemed to bloom in slow motion. The air was thick with potent essence—raw energy that danced with every breath—and the very ground hummed beneath his feet like it was alive, whispering secrets of the ancient cultivators who once walked here.
No one beneath the Pink Plane was allowed to even set foot beyond the outer gates. Even the Blue Plane was considered a mere starting point here.
> "Okay, rest up," Mephina said nonchalantly, brushing back her black hair as they passed through a glowing archway of crimson steel. "You'll take the trial tomorrow."
Jayden blinked.
"Trial, okay…"
A pause. His brain clicked.
"Wait. Trial?!"
His voice echoed like a slap in the silence. A few cultivators turned and stared, unimpressed.
Mephina just smiled—an annoyingly serene expression.
Jayden's heart skipped. If the "trial" in this world was anything like what anime characters went through—surviving monstrous beasts, running through death traps, solving ancient riddles, or worse—then he was in serious soup. Like boiling soup. With dynamite.
He took in a long, calming breath and glanced sideways at Mephina again, hoping she was joking. She wasn't. She looked like someone preparing popcorn before watching chaos unfold.
> "Don't worry," she said sweetly. "They won't give you anything beyond your capability."
Then she leaned in just slightly.
> "Just… impress me, okay?"
Jayden gave her a deadpan stare so cold it could freeze magma.
Impress her? That was like telling a toddler to impress a dragon.
He sighed and walked away, muttering,
"This night doesn't feel like a good night anymore…"
Back in his room, he collapsed on the bed and opened his interface. The dim blue glow of the system screen blinked to life.
---
> System Interface
Fullmetal Alchemist System: Active
Next Switch Time: 3h 40m
---
Even with the Naruto system available, he'd chosen to stick with the Fullmetal Alchemist one—for now. Flame Alchemy was powerful, but more importantly, it would consumed less energy if he could control his use of alchemy and he would love to not feel powerless no matter the system he has at his disposal.
As his mind settled, a familiar thought surfaced—Lolly.
The little girl he now thought of as his sister. Not by blood, but by something stronger—bond. Her laugh. Her tiny hands. Her unwavering belief in him. Jayden tightened his fists slightly, his expression softening just for a moment.
> "I'll grow stronger, Lolly... stronger than anyone ever imagined. And I'll come back to you. I promise."
That night, for the first time in a while, he fell asleep not as the cold, emotionless wanderer he was—but as a brother who had something to return to.
---
Next Morning
"Jayden! Wake up! You don't want to be late!"
Rictor's voice boomed through the room like a war horn.
Jayden grunted, rolled off the bed, and hit the floor with a dull thud. Groaning, he dragged himself to the bath.
Minutes later, fresh and dressed in his black combat gear, he flicked open his system once more and reactivated the Fullmetal alchemist system.
He met up with Mephina and her hulking bodyguard, Toph, who stood with arms crossed, silently analyzing every move Jayden made like a seasoned general reading an enemy's strategy.
Together, they approached the Faction Gate—a massive archway carved from obsidian rock and lined with red crystal veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. Beyond it, the inner sanctum of the Scarlet Faction awaited.
Jayden's gaze swept across the marble streets and towering structures. Members strolled past them, but not a single one gave him a second glance.
And he understood why.
Each of these people radiated power—real power. He could feel it in the air, like static before lightning. Most of them were in the late stages of the Blue Plane, some even in the late stages of Purple Plane. Warriors of this level could easily establish their own factions elsewhere. And yet—they were here, choosing to remain under the Scarlet banner.
> "This is insane…" Jayden muttered.
Rictor whistled beside him, equally impressed.
The courtyard Mephina led them to was massive—polished white marble floors stretched across acres, a silent canvas for the blood that had no doubt once been shed here. Statues of past faction legends towered on all sides, carved with such realism it was like they could step off their pedestals and breathe.
Jayden exhaled, deep and slow.
He didn't want to be bound to anyone, not truly. But even he couldn't deny it: the resources here could fast-track his strength tenfold.
> "If I can earn enough SP… I'll surpass even the Scarlet Faction. I just need time."
He thought.
Just then –
SLAP!
A crisp, brutal sound echoed across the marble courtyard like a whip crack in a cathedral, silencing every murmur, every breath. Jayden's eyes snapped up, drawn from his wandering thoughts just in time to see a boy—barely ten years old—sprawled on the ground, a vivid line of blood streaking from the corner of his mouth to his chin. His small frame trembled as he tried to sit up, his wide eyes filled not with tears, but quiet defiance.
Standing above him, hand still raised, was a lean young man with a cruel smirk and a twisted sense of pride. His dark robes shimmered slightly with traces of refined essence—a clear sign of cultivation. His name was Kael Vorin, and behind him stood his younger brother, a boy with striking ocean-blue hair and a smug grin. Clearly the one who'd been "avenged."
"You trash," Kael spat, shaking his hand like it was tainted. "Dare to think you're on the same level as my brother?"
The courtyard that once held an air of sacred discipline now felt suffocating, heavy with tension and silent spectators. No one moved. No one interfered.
Jayden watched, eyes narrowing. His gaze fell on the injured boy—Eren, he heard someone whisper. The name floated around in hushed tones, laced with disdain.
Eren. A rare existence… born without a spiritual core.
In a world where even the lowest-tier warrior could channel basic essence, Eren was cursed. Powerless. An orphan taken in by the Scarlet Faction as a servant boy. And yet, instead of quietly living in the shadows, he dared to train—dared to dream. Every morning, before dawn, he swung wooden swords and sprinted through courtyards. Not because he could cultivate, but because he refused to give up.
Shameless bastard, Jayden thought looking at Kael, his gaze cold. He despised people like that—those who stepped on others to feel taller, hiding their weakness behind arrogance. A part of him wanted to act, to put the blue-haired fool in his place right then and there. But logic held him back. This was his first day in the Scarlet Faction—his first appearance. Drawing attention now would be reckless, maybe even dangerous.
Still, something felt… off.
What truly bothered him wasn't just the bully—but the crowd.
Dozens stood watching. Silent. Unmoved.
Not a single one made a move to help the boy. If anything, their eyes were filled with disgust. Whispers of "trash" floated through the air, cruel smiles tugging at corners of mouths. They sided with Kael, not out of justice, but superiority. They saw Eren as an insect daring to crawl among lions.
A faint crack snapped Jayden from his thoughts.
Beside him, Rictor's fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone bone-white. His jaw trembled with barely contained fury. He wanted to step in. Hell, he was probably a second away from doing it.
But both of them knew the truth—interfering now, before taking the trial, could cost them everything.
Disqualification… exile… or worse.
Death.
"But I'm not the one at fault!" the boy snapped, cradling his reddened cheek. His voice trembled, not with fear, but defiance. "It was your brother who challenged me! Now that he lost, you're blaming me?"
Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
The blue-haired young man's expression twisted into something feral—his pride wounded, his ego pierced. "You little rat," he spat, eyes blazing. "Trash like you should know your place."
Without warning, his hand shot out, slicing through the air with terrifying speed.
The boy flinched.
He shut his eyes tight, bracing for the pain, for the crack of bone, the sting of humiliation—
WHAM!
But it wasn't his face that was struck.
A stunned silence fell over the courtyard.
The blue-haired teen stood frozen, his head tilted sideways, a red imprint glowing on his cheek.
He turned slowly, confused and livid—only to come face to face with a young man in black coat.
Jayden.
He stood there, hand still lowered from the strike, eyes as empty as a dead star. No fury, no righteousness, no moral speech. Just a hollow calm.
"You... you hit me?!" the bully stammered.
Jayden didn't blink. "He's not the trash," he said flatly.
"You are the real thrash."
To be continued.