Nikolai opened his eyes to darkness again.

  This time, however, it was normal darkness, and his eyes cut through it without issue. He groaned and slowly sat up from where he had been lying. He was still in the room where he had killed the ooze monster, and thankfully nothing had disturbed him while he was out. He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, but the blood and grime on his body was dry, so it must have been a while.

  He touched a hand to his pounding head and muttered as he sent a gentle stream of healing through himself. He felt every scrape, bruise, and cut mend, and sighed in relief as the headache faded.

  Frowning, he turned his senses inward. None of the injuries had been particularly serious, yet the mana cost had been far lower than expected. As he felt around within himself, a grin spread across his face. Mana flowed far more smoothly now, as if friction he hadn’t even known was there had been stripped away entirely, the floodgates thrown open.

  Moving mana around, he barely felt any resistance at all. Apparently obtaining a path related to magic, did more than just sound good.

  He felt the new rune pulse within him, ready for use, and then inspected his physical condition. His body felt… perfect. More than that, it had changed while he’d been unconscious. Where a bit of fat had once clung to him, there was almost none now. Lifting his shirt, he found clearly defined abs rippling across his stomach.

  “Almost feels like I wasted all those hours doing crunches…” he muttered, unable to suppress a smile.

  With a sudden burst of motion, he sprang from sitting to standing. His movements felt smooth—graceful, even. He’d never been unathletic, but this was something else entirely. His body responded with precision and ease, like shedding a weighted vest he’d worn his entire life.

  He clenched and unclenched his hands, then picked up the cane from where it lay beside him. He inspected it carefully, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch on it. Remembering his new skill, he focused on it, and information flowed into his mind.

  Blackbriar Cane

  Information locked.

  Bound to Nikolai Travelion.

  Having an idea, he activated the cane’s second function, and the suit evaporated into motes of darkness. Activating it again, it drew on his mana, and moments later he was dressed in a perfectly tailored grey-and-black suit. It was almost identical to the one he’d worn before, though now a subtle bluish-teal pattern was woven into the fabric.

  Satisfied that he could change the look of the attire as he had thought, he surveyed the room.

  He was tempted to test his new rune, but given that it consumed essence, now wasn’t the right time. He was sure the opportunity would come soon enough.

  Leaving the large chamber, he returned to the narrow passages and set off in a random direction. At that point, any path was as good as another—so, being right-handed, he went right.

  He moved carefully but didn’t linger. He needed to get out. Even with his affinity allowing him to pierce the darkness, it was beginning to feel oppressively heavy.

  He encountered several dead ends—empty rooms, collapsed hallways, passages that simply ended in solid stone—forcing him to backtrack more than once. After perhaps an hour of sanity grinding exploration, he heard a shuffling sound ahead. The corridor began slanting upward, and hope stirred that he had finally reached a higher level of the crypt.

  At the end of the passage hung a massive metal door, dangling from a single hinge as if an angry titan had kicked it open. Thick and heavy, it bore a deep indentation in its center, clear evidence of brute force.

  Peering through carefully, he found himself looking into a much larger hallway. Paintings lined the walls, and a heavily rotted carpet ran its length. He frowned. This didn’t resemble a crypt at all—it looked more like the interior of a ruined castle.

  Movement to his left drew his attention. The source of the shuffling sound revealed itself: a small group of zombies, one of them holding a lit torch.

  He did a double take.

  They were heading his way, and his first instinct was to flee. Steeling himself, he instead ducked back into the passage and wrapped himself in shadows, the ambient mana responding eagerly to his will.

  Nikolai Travelion—twenty years old, Twilight Mage—was done running.

  He had killed the ooze. He had grown significantly stronger since then. And right now, he wanted to test himself.

  Soothe hummed quietly within him, but he nudged it stronger, calming his rising nerves as he planned his approach.

  The zombies shuffled past the broken door, pausing only briefly as if sensing something amiss. Hidden within the shadows, he went unnoticed, and they resumed their patrol.

  He moved up silently behind them. Still cloaked, he cast his curse on two of the zombies, then leveled his cane and activated Drain. They were slow to react. Two collapsed, twitching violently, while the one furthest back began turning an ashen gray, its body decaying to dust in real time.

  The torchbearer proved sharper than the rest. It turned, eyes locking onto him, and let out a hoarse moan as it drew a rusted sword and charged. As if linked by a hive mind, the remaining zombies surged forward together.

  Nikolai held his ground.

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  He cut off Drain and stepped aside as the first zombie swung. The blade came faster than he expected, but he was already moving. His body flowed around the attack, his movement almost dance-like, exhilarating in its ease.

  He swung the cane in a wide arc, cracking it against another zombie’s skull with an audible crunch. It staggered but didn’t fall—though Nikolai barely spared it a thought. He kept moving, creating space before reactivating Drain as he backpedaled.

  They closed in again. He kept going with his spell, until he instinctively knew had drained enough essence now.

  Time to go on the offensive.

  For the first time, he cast Sacrificial Mana Blade, feeding light-affinity mana into the spell. The mana surged unnaturally fast—far more potent than anything he’d felt before. He hadn’t experienced anything like that, and the disparity left him momentarily confused.

  In his right hand, an ethereal blade of radiant light formed, dark red veins threading through it like blood. Short-sword length, oval-edged, tapering to a point, with a small crossguard—it felt almost weightless.

  Nikolai laughed, unable to contain his glee.

  Cane in his left hand, blade in his right, he charged.

  The first zombie lunged, but it was slow and clumsy. Nikolai spun past it and decapitated it with a single horizontal slash. The body burst into flames as it came into contact with the blade, and collapsed lifelessly.

  He dodged another attack gracefully, then leapt backward as the sword-wielding zombie swung again. He cursed a third zombie, watching it jerk violently as mana flowed smoothly.

  Focusing on the sword-wielder, he thrust his hand forward instinctively.

  The blade shot from his grasp in a blur, sinking hilt-deep into the zombie’s chest. Flames erupted instantly.

  A tether of mana connected him to the blade. Curious, he tugged, and the sword flew back into his waiting hand.

  Not just a weapon—something he could control with thought and mana alone, his grin widened.

  It was mana-intensive, but he didn’t care. It was damn cool.

  With only one zombie left standing and three twitching remnants on the ground, the fight was all but over.

  Not long after, Nikolai sat in a dark alcove, leaning against the wall. The undead were dealt with, and he’d taken the opportunity to drain more essence from the remains, replenishing what he’d spent. The conjured blade had consumed more essence than expected, dipping a bit into his own—another lesson for the future. He needed not just enough, he needed more than just the cost to summon it.

  As his breathing steadied and the initial rush of power faded, his thoughts began to churn.

  Too much had happened too quickly.

  First of all, he wasn’t human anymore. Strangely, after some thought, he found that fact mattered less than he’d expected.

  It was frightening, yes—but he had never felt better. Stronger. More in control of his own fate.

  That control, however, came at a cost.

  He had made a deal. With a fey.

  The encounter had been so surreal that even now, with undeniable proof, it felt unreal. He’d thought himself clever at the time—careful, even—but the parting words lingered.

  Ten years.

  Ten years to grow strong enough for whatever trial awaited him within the Fey Court. Against immortal beings, that suddenly felt like no time at all.

  He sighed. He needed a plan.

  So far, he’d gone along with events as they came, letting himself be guided because he knew so little about this world. Now, though, he wanted freedom. No, he would take it. His very nature rebelled against being controlled, manipulated.

  He began listing needs in his mind.

  Information. Weapons training. Access to runes. Places to fight monsters. Money.

  Preferably somewhere new. Somewhere without ties.

  Funds were the key. With money came training, runes, access—and perhaps better hunting grounds. Still, monster-killing couldn’t be the only path to advancement. Otherwise, farmers and scribes would never rise beyond the standard human.

  No. He was missing something.

  Healing had advanced his runes—that much was clear. Perhaps he could travel as a healer. Earn coin. Gain connections. Learn.

  He rubbed his temples. Options abounded, but efficiency mattered. He had a deadline now—a train on the tracks, barreling toward him in ten years’ time.

  First priority: get out of the dungeon.

  And if possible… punch Azila in the mouth.

  She deserved worse, but killing her outright would just cause problems he didn’t need. Besides, she’d unintentionally enriched him.

  He grinned at the thought of her face when he appeared alive.

  Perhaps he wouldn’t reveal the truth of her betrayed. Leverage was useful.

  Nikolai stood.

  Plans could wait. For now, he needed to move.

  Moulin strode into her husband’s study, setting a tray of tea and biscuits on his desk before glancing at the large oval mirror on the wall. Their apprentice was somewhere very dark, but the enchantment rendered the scene in clear, readable colors.

  She frowned.

  He looked… different.

  “Husband, what happened while I was busy?” she asked.

  Vitzer glanced up from a summoning diagram and shrugged. “The brat had a bit of a fall. Then ran into an acid ooze.”

  Moulin narrowed her eyes. “A fall? He is alone? Why?”

  “Ah—Azila, that’s her name,” Vitzer said lazily. “She shut a door in his face.”

  Moulin’s gaze sharpened. “You did this.”

  He flinched under her stare. “What? I didn’t.. Well perhaps I may have suggested something, might have hinted at us perhaps making Livi team up with the brat, but that’s all!”

  The porcelain cup cracked in her grip.

  “Our daughter’s team loves her,” Moulin hissed. “You encouraged this?”

  Vitzer smiled. “Now we know the beastkin’s true nature.”

  They turned back to the mirror as Nikolai rose—dressed in a pristine suit.

  Moulin blinked. “Where did those clothes come from?”

  Vitzer scowled. “Olman’s lost apprentice. Ten years ago.”

  Her eyes widened. “The cane…”

  They watched in silence as Nikolai fought a group of zombies.

  When it was over, Vitzer exhaled sharply. “Stage three. Did you see how he moved?”

  “A skill?” Moulin murmured.

  Vitzer scoffed—then fell silent.

  “…Did he really obtain one? That brat has the devil’s luck..”

  Moulin smiled faintly. “Perhaps our investment will be more fruitful than expected.”