The house crumbled, and Korrin was thrown into the air. When the chaos finally subsided, he found himself trapped beneath rubble, his right leg pinned beneath shattered wooden beams. A jagged metal shard pierced his left arm, and blood streamed from the wounds covering his body. Pain coursed through him as if his nerves had been set ablaze. Even Draeven’s gang had never injured him this severely.

  In front of him lay the severed heads of his parents, blood still pouring from their necks.

  His vision shook as he forced himself to look up. Standing before him was Rikka’s battered form, two swords driven through her chest. Nausea rose in his throat—not from the blood creeping toward his face, but from fear.

  Two shadowy figures wrenched their blood-coated swords free, and her body collapsed to the ground. To his horror, they simply sheathed their swords and walked away, leaving him sobbing in the rubble. Stunned by this, Korrin cried out.

  “Kill me! Kill me, you bastards!”

  Tears streamed down his face as he smashed the floor with his fists. But the figures did not respond. Instead, they disappeared into the night, leaving him alone with the bodies of those he loved. As darkness closed in, he whispered one final plea.

  “Kill me, please. I-I don’t deserve to live…”

  Korrin had been sleeping poorly for the past week. The nightmares were wearing him down, causing him to wake up in fits of misery throughout the night. Often, he would walk into the learning center with dark circles under his eyes and ungroomed hair. Worse yet, he had not spoken to Rikka since their disagreement, avoiding her whenever she tried to approach him. However, through Valtix, he had been informed that Rikka had recovered her strength and had already applied for the city garrison.

  In class, the other students quickly realized he was uneducated and manaless, turning him from a curiosity into an unwelcome presence. He spent most of the week skulking in the back of the room, ignored by the other students and teachers.

  Still, the week was not wasted. Indeed, Valtix was correct about what he lacked. By the end of the week, his foundation in magic and other subjects had improved enough for him to begin studying more advanced material on his own. After his final class, he felt ready to tackle the unique power engraved in his soul.

  Korrin sat cross-legged on his bed, the sky darkening beyond the window. With a deep breath, he tried to remember the feeling that he had experienced that day, the feeling of being whole. He sat there for several long minutes, frustration creeping in.

  Soul Activation. According to the teacher and everyone Korrin had interacted with, this process was innate. Why was he struggling so hard to find his soul?

  Korrin sighed, but knew he had to change strategies. Focus wasn’t working. Instead, he shifted to another method of activation: emotions. Furrowing his brows, he dove into memories he had tried to suppress, the cause of his many nightmares.

  Vaelin’s outburst. The house collapsing. His parents’ headless bodies. Their empty eyes. And finally, Rikka, whose battered figure lay collapsed in front of him, her painful screams echoing throughout the burning village.

  His breathing turned uneven as anguish tightened in his chest. He wanted to end it all: the soldiers, the pain… and himself. His soul answered.

  With a rush of pressure within his chest, the air seemed to vibrate around him as his eyes lit with gold flames. With shaking hands, he lifted his arms, fighting to keep the soul within him from slipping away. He recalled the feeling of energy swelling within his chest and attempted to recreate that experience. He focused on the presence within his chest and forced it into motion, shaping it into a steady rotation.

  The energy built within him and eventually filled his core, threatening to spill over. Feeling the energy course through his veins, Korrin moved onto the third step. He drew the energy to his fingertips, and in the air, he carved the runic pattern of the only spell he knew—Minor Illusion.

  Only then did he realize how complex the geometry truly was for this simple spell, yet he felt as if he had known it all his life. Once the rune was complete, he flicked his fingers, and a bright light suddenly engulfed the room. Steadily opening his eyes, he stared at his skin.

  Crystalline structures now protruded along his veins—the same illusion he had used to trick the soldiers. With a deep breath, Korrin slowly deactivated his… Soul Conduit, as he decided to call it. Walking to a mirror, he stared deep at his body, stunned at the outcome. He had perfectly replicated the illusion of mana burn crystalization. A name surfaced in his thoughts: Runecraft. It was yet another mystery as to how he knew such knowledge.

  A smile cracked on Korrin’s face. For the first time, he had used a power he once believed he would never possess. Even if it was not mana, the energy he wielded opened up so many possibilities.

  Korrin burst from his room, his joy blatantly plastered on his face. As he ran down the hallways, the illusory crystals began to disintegrate, leaving a trail of golden sparks that lit the dark corridor behind him.

  “Rikka! Rikka!”

  He arrived at Rikka’s door and quickly opened it. Finally, he could stand by her side.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Rikka! You wouldn’t believe—!”

  But what greeted him was an empty room, a single letter resting on her bed. Stunned, Korrin walked up to the letter, his hands shaking as he opened it.

  It read: “Korrin. If you’re reading this right now, I’m gone. Valtix graciously allowed me to stay and even wrote this letter for me, but it is time I accomplish my duty. There are many things I wanted to say before I left, but I knew it would make this separation much more difficult, for you and me.”

  Dried tear stains marked the paper, smudging the ink. He gripped the letter tighter.

  “This day was bound to come, and I only wish I could have confessed some feelings before it did. But I will keep these words to myself, for I believe a day will come when we meet again. Goodbye, Korrin, my most precious friend.”

  Korrin stood there for several long moments, his eyes staring blankly at the letter. At last, he clutched the silverbloom necklace at his throat and stepped out of the room. Korrin almost sobbed, but stopped himself. He had already cried for too long.

  “My dear Korrin! There you are! I have your first job.”

  It was early morning when Valtix stormed into the employee lounge, handing him several lengthy scrolls. Before this, Korrin had been drearily eating his usual breakfast, both Kelix and Vara silently chewing on their meals in different corners of the lounge as well. It seemed that out of all of Valtix’s employees, it was the three of them who lived in the merchant company’s building.

  “These scrolls are of great importance, Korrin! Undecipherable! By conventional means, at least.”

  Valtix winked at Korrin.

  “Kelix, Vara—finish quickly if you must. That brute is giving me quite the trouble today.”

  Kelix gave a quick salute while Vara quietly nodded before turning back to her newspaper.

  Soon, Korrin found himself seated at a table buried deeply within Valtix’s library, the scrolls spread before him. It was, as Valtix said, complex. The patterns engraved onto the scrolls were more complex geometries than words, leaving even him momentarily stunned. It didn’t help that the scrolls were clearly replicas; perhaps someone had copied them from an ancient ruin. And yet, somewhere deep within, the sequences felt familiar.

  “Spells. These are spells.”

  Indeed, these complex patterns were similar to the ones he had practiced the night before.

  “Where did Valtix get these?”

  Korrin sighed. The mysteries only grew as time went on.

  A few days later, Korrin was back in front of Valtix’s desk, a stack of papers between his hands. He had spent many nights carefully studying the patterns on the scrolls, documenting his findings in careful detail. In the end, he had been able to decipher most of the writings.

  The main spell identified by Korrin was one known as “Str?nth?l,” or “Strengthen” in Lingua. There were also sections of a second, but with incomplete records, Korrin had no choice but to abandon his research on the second spell.

  “Well, Korrin. What did you find?”

  Valtix seemed rather interested in what Korrin had to say, as he had put down his other work and carefully eyed Korrin. Similarly, Korrin was also interested in how much Valtix knew about the documents. Korrin did not want to reveal a possibly heretical form of magic or the strange memories he had received, so he had to tread lightly on what he reported.

  “The scrolls detail… an ancient spell of some sort. Most likely used to strengthen something.”

  “My, my. Quite excellent work, Korrin. This will be of great use!”

  Korrin handed the report to Valtix, and he quickly flipped through it, scanning Korrin’s findings. With a faint grin, he slipped the report into an envelope and sealed it. Strangely, the envelope bore not the symbol of Valtix’s company, but that of a shattered sun. Korrin did not attempt to question this, though, and was about to leave when Kelix suddenly came running into the office.

  “Sir! Brakkir’s already broken through the front entrance! He’ll arrive at this office soon!”

  A dangerous glint shifted in Valtix’s eyes.

  “Very well, lead him in. It was about time we had a proper discussion.”

  Sweat dripped off of Korrin’s face as he attempted to remain calm, but the pressure was heavy. As he stood behind Valtix, Kelix by his side, Korrin could only stare dreadfully at the figure that faced the three of them.

  Standing well over six feet, the middle-aged Ironclad loomed like a siege engine given flesh, his tank-thick musculature pressing against iron-gray skin. A jagged scar split his face from brow to beard, carving through coarse, dark hair streaked with silver strands. Around him lingered a suffocating stillness that made the air feel heavier and threatened submission in those around him.

  By his side were ten men of different races, each exuding a similar dangerous aura. Each carried a bloodied blade at their side. Fresh blood dripped onto the carpet.

  “Brakkir! My carpets, please.”

  The only one unfazed was Valtix, who innocently sat in front of the man known as Brakkir, a cup of coffee in his hands.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Valtix. Hand over the goods.”

  Brakkir’s voice was deep and agitated, anger burning in his eyes. With every breath, the pressure in the room seemed to increase.

  “What goods could I possibly have? If you’ve come to rob me, I’m afraid I’m not one to let go of my merchandise easily.”

  “Valtix!”

  Brakkir angrily slammed his fist into Valtix’s desk, splitting it in two and sending papers flying across the room. Anxiously, Kelix and Korrin got into fighting stances, and Brakkir’s gang reciprocated. Silver flames had already ignited in their pupils, some of them activating their Ironbody ability.

  “Now, now. No need to be smashing up my furniture!”

  But Valtix was faster. With a snap of his fingers, strange mechanisms unfolded from the walls, their gears clicking with a mechanical hum. Some of the machines had large barrels at their end, and some beeped steadily as if ready to ignite. Clicking his tongue, Brakkir seemed to realize the disadvantage he was in and waved his hand, causing his gang to settle their weapons.

  “You'd better have the shipment on my doorstep by the end of the week, or your assassins’ blood will not be the only blood on my blade.”

  With a final glare at Valtix, he trudged out of the office, smashing furniture as he walked by. Korrin cautiously looked at Valtix, questions circulating through his mind.

  “Sir… surely they mistook you for someone else.”

  Valtix glanced at Korrin, a sudden laugh coming from his mouth. Wiping a tear, he managed between bursts of laughter.

  “No, no, Korrin. I did, in fact, steal his shipment!”