Chapter 42

SYSTEM ALERT Spell Ranked Up: Wind Blast Mastery: ProficientExperience Gained: 5.000 Killer Mantis Killed x3 Rabid Wolf Killed x1 Mudstrider Killed x1 Ripple Bug Killed x17 Vine Devil Killed x2 Squirrel Throwers Killed x9 Experience Gained: 9.750 Level up! Well, I suppose I didn't kill as many as I could have if I had been there physically, but I still earned two levels from the whole night. And I'm pretty sure I can advance my affinity to the next rank if I get the right ingredients from Ogden. The battle between the Wyvern and Arthur had been too fierce for him to even attempt to interfere, so he hadn't received any direct reward. But for Nick, simply watching had been enough. Now that he wasn't worried sick about his father's fate, he could finally admit that the stampede was ultimately a net positive, at least for him. He was sure the families of the fallen wouldn't feel the same, but Floria's citizens were aware of their status as frontiersmen. Life wasn't cheap, but they all knew it could end quickly. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Nick softly drummed his fingers against his knees. He allowed his mind to wander, retracing the night's events in search of clarity. There was so much to unpack—too much, really—but he had to start somewhere. His first revelation was both the most exhilarating and the most puzzling. He had managed to affect the material plane while still in astral form—not just observing, but actually interacting. That had always been the domain of legendary mages on Earth, and even then, it was limited and typically tied to elaborate rituals or devilish pacts. But Nick had accomplished it instinctively, relying only on his wind affinity and sheer determination. Initially, he had assumed this breakthrough would be sufficient to elevate the Trait to Intermediate rank. After all, wasn't mastery the ability to transcend one's limits? Yet, there was no such notification when the system messages came in. That discrepancy gnawed at him. If it wasn't his wind affinity reaching a new level, then what was it? He scratched his head, trying to pick the problem apart. What I know is this: I managed to infuse enough intent into my mana that I could create a tenuous connection to the air. Whether it was my desperation that did the trick or some planar metaphysical rule that's different here, I don't know, but that's what happened. Also, as far as I know, no elemental mage could ever affect their element in astral form—even the ancient fire-breathers of the Inca had to rely on specially made ritual weapons to defend themselves in the astral plane. I know people thought it was because the affinity resided in the body and not the spirit, but I'm sure everyone agreed that wasn't a good path to follow. So was it the affinity at all? The other option was that the mass death event—of both people and monsters—had weakened reality enough for him to slip through in a cosmic coincidence. The idea that death affects the fabric of reality is well-understood, but I have never heard of any noticeable effect occurring with fewer than ten thousand deaths. Even then, without a master ritualist to guide the changes, they would either dissipate on their own or merge into a resentful spiritual manifestation. Then there was [Blasphemy]. The official description claimed it protected him from external influences, but its true nature remained completely unknown. Could it have played a role? It wasn't the first time he'd wondered about its implications. "Blasphemy," he murmured aloud, as if it might conjure answers. It didn't, of course. He shook his head, forcing himself to move on. Speculation could wait until he had a clearer picture of what happened. The next thing to consider was the wyvern. Watching it battle Arthur had been nothing short of awe-inspiring. The sheer power it wielded and the finesse with which it controlled the air were unlike anything Nick had ever seen. His own wind magic seemed crude by comparison, like a child splashing in puddles beside a roaring river. And yet, that was precisely why the experience had been invaluable. He had seen the limits of what was possible, seen how a creature born to the element wielded it as naturally as breathing. In comparison, the magic described in Ingrid's journal was not particularly impressive. Studying its contents had been a slow process, as her leaps of logic and instinctive approach limited the depth of her explanations. However, after witnessing the wyvern in action, he felt like a piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place. He was certain that his progress would speed up if he could truly internalize and understand what he had observed. Maybe not to the extent of a genius like her, but enough to make a difference. Nick stretched his fingers, flexing them as if testing the air. It responded eagerly to his commands, and he had to physically restrain himself from experimenting to see if he could put those insights into action. His reserves were still nearly depleted, and he faced a long day ahead. Finally, there was the stampede itself. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. The monsters had emerged from the south, yet the wyvern—a creature he knew hailed from the northwest—had appeared to lead the charge. There might have been another nest, but the limited research he had conducted indicated that wyverns were fiercely territorial. If the stampede had been powerful enough to attract its attention, they would have had to confront the entire flock. That meant the creature hadn't been acting naturally. It had been driven to them. And who could direct a wyvern? The only real answer he could provide was the gods of the forest, the entities who governed the wild lands with their own inscrutable logic. The temple was also evidently activating to address their growing influence, which indicated that the threat wasn't merely in Nick's head. The stampede, the chaos, the senseless death—it all indicated something larger at play. Something intentional. Nick's lips pressed into a hard line. If gods were involved, it meant trouble for everyone. For now, however, he would keep this revelation to himself, aside from the information exchange he planned to have. There was no need to stir the pot until Alluria's delegation could get a sense of the situation. I might not be able to use astral projection to spy on them, though. If Ogden could see me, I must assume that anyone powerful enough can do the same. The Prelate is supposed to be far beyond Alexander, and I would rate him among the top ten in Floria. His thoughts briefly turned to the monster parts waiting to be sorted. A smirk tugged at his lips. The old alchemist's enticing promise of spoils had captured his interest. Nick had every intention of paying him a visit. But not yet. First, he needed rest. And then, he needed to think. Going to such a place with his head clouded was a recipe for disaster. He'd be fleeced of everything he knew and left with the scraps. As Nick lay back against the pillows, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Nick stretched his arms overhead, wincing as his muscles protested. Although his body had been safely tucked away during the battle, the mental strain of the night weighed heavily on him. He glanced around his room; his initial attempts to clean up had been only marginally successful. Obsidian pieces still lay scattered on the floor, and despite his best efforts, the stoneroot powder was too fine to clean up without air magic—which he hadn't used since he was tapped out. Sighing, Nick pulled himself upright. He had to clean this up before anyone came upstairs. He gathered the obsidian pieces, carefully wiping away the powdery residue and placing them back into the wooden chest he kept under his bed. He would need to carve new ones for any major ritual, but these would suffice if he needed to cast something in a pinch. Now that his mana had recovered, he felt no hesitation in conjuring a gust that cleaned the floor, coalescing just above a satchel where he let the gathered stoneroot settle. Although the magic was basic, he wouldn't have been able to perform it without casting [Minor Elemental Manipulation] before, which indicated that he wasn't merely imagining his deeper connection to the air. By the time he was done, it looked like any other teenage boy's space—messy but not suspicious. Read latest stories on empire Satisfied, Nick gave one final look around the room before heading for the door. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since before the stampede. As he descended, he heard a low murmur of voices coming from the living room. He instinctively slowed and leaned in closer to listen. "I'm telling you, Devon." His mother's voice filtered in. "Your father won't leave us uninformed for long. He'll send word soon." Devon's reply was softer, yet Nick could sense the tension behind it. "I know. I just... I wish I could have done something." Nick frowned. Devon wasn't one to mope—at least not openly. This must have affected him more than he realized. He stomped the rest of the way down, making more noise than necessary. Both heads turned toward him, pausing mid-sentence. "Morning," Nick said casually, ruffling his already messy hair. "Any news?" Elena gave him a small smile and patted the couch beside her. "Come sit with us." Nick complied, dropping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Devon, sitting in a nearby armchair, glanced at him but said nothing. "I'm assuming we won since we aren't all dead?" "I haven't heard anything for hours, so the town is likely safe, but we'll know for sure soon. Your father will send someone as soon as things stabilize enough," Elena said confidently. Nick nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. There was so much he wanted to do, but he was tethered here until an official word arrived. Elena squeezed his shoulder. "Patience, Nick. It won't be long now." She thinks I'm as nervous as Devon. I'd love to tell her there is nothing to worry about, but I can't. Let's hope Dad sends word soon. She was right. Elena had barely corralled them into preparing breakfast when a knock sounded at the door. Elena stopped, blinking in surprise, and then moved to answer. Nick trailed after her, his pulse quickening. He recognized the shape waiting outside. The door swung open to reveal Eugene. Although dirty and tired, he had a large smile on his face. As soon as he saw Elena, she was swept into his arms and soundly kissed. Her hands flew to his shoulders, and she held on for dear life as he spun her around, keeping her pressed against him. They laughed as they separated, bright-eyed and so clearly in love. At times like these, I remember they are not even forty. Part of me still sees them as impossibly old adults, but they are pretty young. I wouldn't be surprised if they had another child now that Devon and I are off to a good start. "We won," he finally said, breaking the kiss. "Arthur came through, and we kept the losses low." She pressed her forehead against his, evidently relishing in the closeness. "I'm so glad you are back," she whispered. "I know," he replied, "I didn't want to leave you." "I know," she echoed, though it was clear that the matter wouldn't end there. Nick couldn't help but wonder how much she resented being left behind. She knew it would happen if his suspicions were correct, but it couldn't have been easy. Wrapping his right hand around Elena's, Eugene entered the house and opened his other arm. It was an unmistakable request for a hug, and Nick didn't hesitate before he rushed in, quickly followed by his brother. He felt no shame in the deep reassurance that surged through him. Though he'd been present for the fight and watched over his father, he hadn't been able to interact with the man. Old Nick lost his parents at a young age, and he had always yearned for that connection. He couldn't be the same son he would have been before his reincarnation, but he was still part of the Crowleys. Now, I just have to make sure the old turtle keeps his mouth shut. seaʀᴄh thё Novelƒire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.