Before sealing the cross-dimensional corridor and severing his baseline coordinates from the modern world, Markus made one final, highly calculated logistical detour in the upper commercial tier of the Valerian capital.
The physiological restructuring the vanguard girls were undergoing was a massive thermodynamic drain. While the raw, uncompressed marrow and beast cores from the Primordial Universe provided the necessary evolutionary blueprint to compress their cells, their physical bodies still required a massive, immediate influx of clean, easily digestible calories and refined proteins to stabilize the new muscle fibers. Feeding them raw monster game during a sensitive cellular curing cycle would force their freshly altered stomachs to waste precious energy breaking down volatile primordial toxins.
The solution was modern culinary refinement pushed to its absolute peak. Markus directed his steps toward Campeón, the capital's premier wood-fired culinary fortress, renowned for its legendary, high-density protein feasts prepared exclusively for high-tier Awakeners and imperial nobility.
Inside the polished obsidian and roaring hearths of Campeón, the air was thick with the rich, intoxicating aroma of oak-smoked fats, crisp spice-crusted skins, and perfectly rendered juices. Markus did not wait for a table. Stepping directly to the grand master-chef's counter, he laid down a flawless Tier 3 core fragment, completely bypassing the restaurant's months-long reservation backlog.
"I require the Grand Champion's Feast," Markus stated, his voice a flat, freezing frequency that commanded immediate priority. "Triple the standard protein portions. Packaged for immediate, long-range tactical deployment."
The head chef, recognizing the terrifying aura of the Chief Architect, abandoned his other orders. Within twenty minutes, the kitchen brigade assembled a massive, steaming mountain of culinary wealth: colossal racks of slow-roasted, honey-glazed boar ribs, massive sheets of crispy, salt-crusted crackling chicken, and thick slabs of wood-fired prime loin dripping in a dense, herb-infused bone reduction.
The moment the trays were pushed forward, Markus did not allow a single watt of heat or moisture to escape into the ambient air. He extended his right hand, his 100% Space Mastery wrapping around the massive feast in a localized stasis field.
With a silent ripple of vacuum pressure, the massive feast vanished from the counter, shifting into a pristine, isolated sub-spatial pocket where time and thermodynamic decay were functionally non-existent. When opened, it would taste exactly as if it had been pulled from the roaring pit a fraction of a second ago.
***
The localized spatial coordinates collapsed with a familiar, silent hiss as Markus stepped back through the threshold of the frontier inn's upper suite. He waved his hand, deactivating the sub-spatial stasis vault. The massive Campeón feast materialized onto the heavy obsidian table with a resonant thud, still steaming at a pristine 74.2°C, the rich scent of oak-smoked crackling chicken and honey-glazed boar ribs instantly filling the cold stone room.
Markus shifted his gaze toward the volcanic jade beds. They were empty.
The linen sheets were neatly folded, and the glowing essence shard he had left behind as a paperweight sat alone on the nightstand. His parchment note was gone.
Markus didn't display a shred of urgency. He closed his eyes, his mind interfacing with Nyx to cast a passive, high-frequency radar sweep through the settlement's crowded geometric layout. Within milliseconds, the system pinned four distinct, highly compressed mana signatures moving in a tight perimeter through the lower commercial and tavern sectors.
[TACTICAL RADAR TRACKING]
>> Rosanne / Mika / Jessica / Donna: ACTIVE
>> Location: Lower Sector — The Whispering Slag Tavern
>> Status: Low-profile; gathering local network intelligence.
They had successfully completed their fourteen-hour cellular curing cycle, and instead of waiting idly for their commander to return, they had taken the initiative. They were out in the town, utilizing their newly adapted Primordial Human sensory pathways to map the settlement's political factions, troop movements, and resource trade routes.
Markus allowed a faint, clinical nod of approval. A truly elite vanguard didn't just wait for architectural blueprints; they actively surveyed the terrain themselves.
"They are learning to read the landscape," Markus noted quietly, adjusting his heavy dark coat. "Leave the feast under a localized preservation ward. We move to secure the next logistical tier."
Ten minutes later, Markus crossed the iron threshold of the Brimstone Mercenary Conclave. The crowded guild hall was a chaotic swarm of low-frequency ambient mana, thick with the stench of cheap ale and sulfur. The moment his pristine, dark traveling coat drifted past the main archway, a sudden, palpable silence rippled through the front tables. The local mercenaries instinctively shifted their boots, their scarred faces tight with uncomfortably sharp awareness.
In less than a week, The Eternity Vanguard had ceased to be a joke. They were an operational terror.
Markus bypassed the crowded Gold-rank bounty boards entirely, walking straight past the main floor toward the iron-reinforced staircase that led to the restricted upper balcony—the domain of the Platinum Registry.
The heavy, multi-eyed registrar at the high-tier desk didn't offer a patronizing laugh this time. He slowly lowered his skinning knife, his gaze locked onto Markus's piercing silver-blue eyes.
"The Gold boards aren't fast enough for your pace anymore, traveler?" the registrar rumbled, his voice laced with defensive caution. "Platinum contracts aren't just bigger monsters. They are territorial anomalies. Failures on these boards cost provinces, not just parties."
"Provide the ledger," Markus replied flatly, his voice a freezing frequency that brooked zero negotiation. "We are graduating the rank before the suns complete their current orbital rotation."
To force the guild's automated rank-advancement matrix to bypass the standard three-month verification delay, Markus needed to execute a mathematically absolute overload of their high-tier contract system. He pulled the leather-bound Platinum register toward him, his fingers flipping through the iron-stamped tags until he isolated three overlapping Tier 5 crisis vectors located within the same geographic sector.
He tore three high-density parchment sheets from the iron binding, slamming them onto the desk.
Contract I: The Obsidian Core Inversion (Tier 5) – A rogue, living tectonic mass threatening to violently collapse the main mining veins three miles beneath the northern shelf.
Contract II: The Crimson-Winged Sky-Sovereign (Tier 5) – A high-speed, apex aerial predator actively hunting the valley's primary trade transport drakes.
Contract III: The Abyssal Leyline Leakage (Tier 5) – A localized spatial tear weeping uncompressed corrosive primordial fluids into the settlement's forward agricultural perimeter.
"Three Tier 5 anomalies simultaneously?" The registrar stood up, his heavy chair scraping violently against the iron floorboards. "This is a suicide loop! Even veteran Platinum cohorts split these across separate months!"
"The Eternity Vanguard operates on a different clock," Markus stated, pressing his imperial signet ring onto the registry slate with a crisp, metallic snap that sealed the contract lock. "Ensure the platinum insignias are forged by the time we return tomorrow evening. We will be bringing back the cores."