Day Ten.
Pain greeted me before consciousness fully returned—a dull, throbbing ache that radiated from a dozen points across my torso and arms. I opened my eyes to find pre-dawn darkness filling my chambers, the faint glow of dying embers in the fireplace casting dancing shadows across the stone walls.
My body felt like it had been used as a training dummy for a particularly enthusiastic swordsman.
Which, considering yesterday's activities, wasn't far from the truth.
I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the protests from every muscle group. The scabbed wounds on my ribs pulled tight, threatening to reopen. My left shoulder burned where a wolf's claws had raked deep enough to require stitches.
But I was alive. Functional. That was what mattered.
"System," I muttered, my voice rough from sleep. "Status check."
[STATUS DISPLAY]
NAME: Leon De Stellis
AGE: 17
RANK: Mortal (Low, 12%)
ACTIVE QUESTS:
- Survive the Astral Academy Entrance Exam (11 days remaining)
- Foundations of Power: Reach 25% Mortal Rank (5 days remaining, 13% progress needed)
- Predator's Path: Defeat 50 monsters without retreating (3 days remaining, 0/50 completed)
QUEST ANALYSIS: Current pace insufficient for optimal completion. Increased effort required.
"Tell me something I don't know," I said, swinging my legs off the bed.
Standing sent a wave of dizziness through me—blood loss and exhaustion catching up. I steadied myself against the bedpost, waiting for the world to stop tilting.
I thought back to yesterday's fights. I'd been sloppy. Wasted movement, took too long between kills, couldn't maintain mana circulation while fighting. My strikes had been imprecise—hitting shoulders when I should have aimed for throats, grazing ribs when I needed to pierce hearts.
Inefficient. That was the word.
I'd survived, but barely. And survival through luck wasn't sustainable.
Today would be different. I'd maintain mana circulation even during combat. Control my engagements instead of reacting. Aim for vital points. Move with purpose, not panic.
Learn from yesterday's mistakes or die from tomorrow's.
A knock at my door interrupted my analysis. "Young master, may I enter?"
Rita's voice. I glanced at the window—still dark outside, maybe an hour before dawn.
"Come in."
She entered carrying a small wooden case and several vials of colored liquid that caught the firelight—healing potions, ranging from pale green to deep amber. Her expression was neutral but her eyes immediately tracked to the way I favored my left side.
"You're planning to return to the ruins today," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"You're injured." She set the case down on the side table, selecting a pale green vial. "This is a basic healing potion. It will help with the minor wounds and reduce inflammation."
I took the vial, uncorked it, and drank. The taste was bitter, medicinal, but I felt the effect almost immediately—a cool, tingling sensation spreading through my injuries, the sharp edges of pain dulling to manageable discomfort.
"Better," I admitted.
Rita opened the wooden case, revealing more supplies—bandages, antiseptic, needles and thread for wounds too severe for basic potions. "The deeper lacerations still need attention. Potions help, but they work best on closed wounds."
I nodded, and she set to work with efficient, clinical movements.
As she cleaned and re-stitched the worst wounds, she spoke quietly. "The staff is talking, young master. About how you've changed. Your training methods, your sudden... intensity."
"Let them talk."
"They're concerned. Some wonder if you're pushing yourself too hard."
"Their concern is noted," I said, wincing as she tied off a suture. "But unnecessary."
Rita was silent for several stitches. Then: "Whatever your reasons, young master, try not to get yourself killed. It would be... inconvenient."
The ghost of dry humor in her voice made me glance at her. "Inconvenient?"
"I'd have to train a new young master. Tedious work." She tied off the last stitch, applied a moderate healing potion directly to the wound, and began wrapping fresh bandages. "There. The potion will continue working for the next few hours. Try not to tear the stitches."
"I'll do my best."
After she left, I dressed slowly, choosing dark, practical clothes that would hide blood stains. Every movement pulled at fresh stitches, but the pain was manageable. Familiar, even.
Jake had lived with constant discomfort for years. This was nothing compared to the bone-deep exhaustion of a body slowly failing.
I strapped on my sword belt, checked my supplies—water skin, two basic healing potions Rita had left, spare bandages. Then I made my way down to breakfast.
---
The dining hall held Father, Frey, and Kira this morning.
Father sat at the head of the table as always, reading correspondence with that same cold efficiency. Frey was already eating, but his eyes tracked to me as I entered, widening slightly at the stiff way I moved.
Kira sat quietly, her honey-blonde hair braided simply, blue eyes watching everything with that careful observation I was beginning to recognize as her default state.
"Leon," Father acknowledged without looking up from his letters. "You look terrible."
"Good morning to you too, Father."
Frey set down his fork. "Brother, are you... are you alright? You're moving like—"
"Like I spent yesterday fighting monsters in the ruins," I finished, taking my seat and reaching for bread and cheese. "Which I did. Successfully, I might add."
"Successfully," Frey repeated, staring at the way I winced while reaching for the water pitcher. "You're injured."
"Observant." I poured water, drank deeply. My body was dehydrated from yesterday's exertion and blood loss. "Injuries happen in real combat. That's the difference between practice yard forms and actual fighting."
"You're going back today, aren't you?" Frey's voice held a mixture of concern and something else. Curiosity? Admiration?
"Yes."
"Take me with you."
The words hung in the air. Father's eyes lifted from his correspondence, assessing. Kira's fork paused halfway to her mouth.
I looked at Frey—really looked at him. Fifteen years old, earnest determination written across his features, trying so hard to appear confident when fear lurked just beneath the surface.
He wanted to be strong. Wanted to prove himself. Wanted to understand what I was doing, why I'd changed.
But he wasn't ready.
"No," I said simply.
Frey's face fell. "But I can fight. Master Aldwin says my forms are—"
"Master Aldwin teaches you to fight other students in controlled sparring matches," I interrupted. "The ruins don't have rules, Frey. There's no referee to stop the fight when you're losing. The wolves don't care about your noble birth, and the goblins will gut you while you're trying to remember your defensive forms."
"Then teach me," Frey pressed, leaning forward. "Show me how to fight for real, not just practice yard elegance."
I felt something twist in my chest. Jake's memories, probably—of a younger brother who looked up to him, who wanted to be included despite Jake's failing health.
But this wasn't Jake's life. This was Leon's survival.
"Not yet," I said, gentler than Leon would have typically spoken. "You're not ready for what's out there. One mistake, one moment of hesitation, and you're dead. I can't focus on my own training while protecting you."
"I wouldn't need protection—"
"You would." I held his gaze. "You absolutely would. And I don't have the attention to spare right now. The entrance exam is in eleven days. I need to be ready."
Frey looked like I'd slapped him. But beneath the hurt, I saw something else—understanding. He knew I was right, even if he didn't want to admit it.
"After the entrance exam," I said quietly. "If things go well, I'll train you properly. I'll show you what real combat looks like, teach you what I'm learning. But right now, my priority has to be preparing myself. Do you understand?"
Frey stared at his plate, jaw tight. Then nodded. "I understand."
"Good."
Father made a sound that might have been approval. "Pragmatic. Focus on your own performance first. That's the Stellis way."
I wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment or an observation, and I didn't particularly care.
Breakfast continued in uncomfortable silence. Kira said nothing, but I felt her eyes on me several times—assessing, calculating, thinking thoughts she wouldn't voice.
As I stood to leave, Frey spoke again. "Leon?"
I paused.
"Be careful," he said simply.
Something about those two words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because they came from genuine concern rather than obligation. Maybe because it was the first time Frey had expressed caring about me without fear coloring his voice.
"I will," I said, and left.
---
The ride to the eastern ruins was familiar now—two hours through Lourven Domain's prosperous streets, past subjects who moved aside with fear-tinged respect, into the wild lands beyond the territory's formal borders.
Shadow seemed to sense my mood, moving with smooth efficiency that didn't jar my injuries too badly. I used the travel time productively, resuming my mana circulation practice.
The pathways were becoming more familiar. What had felt like trying to pour water through clogged pipes now felt more like natural flow—still requiring concentration, still imperfect, but improving.
[MANA CIRCULATION SKILL: 84% toward Intermediate Level]
Sixteen percent to go. If I could maintain circulation during today's combat, I might actually hit Intermediate level.
The ruins appeared gradually as always—scattered stones becoming broken walls becoming the skeletal remains of a fortress that had fallen to time and neglect.
I dismounted, tied Shadow to the same tree, and drew my sword. The blade felt heavier today, or maybe my arms were just weaker from yesterday's exertion and blood loss.
Didn't matter. Discomfort was just data.
I took a deep breath, centered myself, and moved into the ruins.
Time to hunt.
---
The first wolf pack found me within fifteen minutes.
Seven wolves, lean and gray, eyes glowing with residual mana. They spread out instinctively, pack tactics, trying to flank and surround.
But I didn't let them.
I charged the nearest wolf before they finished positioning, closing distance, dictating the engagement. My blade flashed in a precise horizontal slash that caught the wolf across its throat.
Clean. Efficient. Lethal.
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 1/50]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: 0.3%]
The pack leader snarled and charged. I sidestepped—minimal movement, just enough to avoid its lunge—and brought my blade down in a vertical chop that split its skull.
[WOLF DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 2/50]
Two down in under ten seconds. The remaining five wolves hesitated, reassessing.
I didn't give them time to think. I pressed forward, maintaining my mana circulation even as I moved. It was difficult—like trying to solve math problems while running—but I forced myself to keep the energy flowing through my pathways.
Third wolf: Thrust through the ribcage, punctured heart. Dead before it hit the ground.
Fourth wolf: Diagonal slash, severed spine. Instant kill.
Fifth wolf: It tried to flee. I threw my sword—Leon's muscle memory guiding the motion—and the blade buried itself in the wolf's hindquarters. It collapsed. I retrieved my sword, finished it with a quick thrust.
The remaining two wolves ran, deciding I wasn't worth the risk.
I let them go. No point wasting energy on fleeing targets.
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 5/50]
[RANK PROGRESS: 12.9%]
Five kills in less than two minutes. My heart was pounding, adrenaline singing in my veins, but I wasn't winded. The mana circulation had actually helped—enhanced my physical capabilities just enough to make the difference.
And more importantly, I'd maintained the flow throughout the entire fight.
[MANA CIRCULATION MAINTAINED DURING COMBAT: FIRST SUCCESS]
[SKILL PROGRESSION: 87%]
Progress.
I took thirty seconds to catch my breath, check my wounds—stitches holding, no fresh bleeding—then moved deeper into the ruins.
---
The next hour was systematic hunting.
Two solo wolves: Quick, efficient kills. Predator's Path: 7/50.
A pack of four wolves: Harder fight, but I controlled the engagement, used terrain to prevent being surrounded, picked them off methodically. Predator's Path: 11/50.
I found a slime nest—fifteen of the gelatinous creatures clustered in what had once been a storage cellar. Slimes were disgusting but relatively safe. Slow-moving, predictable, just tedious to kill since you had to cut them into small enough pieces that they couldn't reform.
I spent forty minutes methodically dicing them apart, using the repetitive work as mana circulation practice. Keep the energy flowing, maintain the rhythm, make it second nature.
By the time I finished, my arms ached from constant cutting and my boots were covered in translucent slime residue that reeked of rot and decay.
[SLIME DEFEATED] x15
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 26/50]
[RANK PROGRESS: 14.2%]
Halfway through the Predator's Path quest. Two percent rank increase. And—
[SKILL ADVANCEMENT: MANA CIRCULATION (INTERMEDIATE)]
[NEW ABILITY: Enhanced Mana Flow - Circulation now requires 40% less conscious effort. Passive mana regeneration increased by 25%.]
I felt the shift immediately. The pathways that had required constant attention now maintained themselves with only occasional guidance. The mana flow increased from a trickle to a steady stream, filling my core, enhancing my body.
This was real power. Small, incremental, but real.
I allowed myself a brief smile, then pushed deeper into the ruins.
Time to find the goblins.
---
Goblin territory was marked by crude totems—sticks and bones arranged in warning patterns. I passed three such markers, each more elaborate than the last, before I found the first goblin patrol.
Four goblins, each carrying crude spears and wearing scraps of looted armor. They were small—barely four feet tall—but their eyes held an intelligence that wolves lacked.
They spotted me immediately and spread out, flanking positions, coordinated tactics.
I didn't wait for them to finish positioning. I charged the leftmost goblin, closing distance fast.
It thrust its spear at my chest. I batted the spear aside with my sword, stepped into its guard, and drove my blade through its throat.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 27/50]
The other three attacked simultaneously. This was the real test.
I pivoted, blade coming up to deflect a spear thrust from my right. The deflection wasn't perfect—the spear tip scored a line across my forearm—but it didn't penetrate deep.
Second goblin attacked from my left. I kicked out, caught it in the chest, sent it stumbling back.
Third goblin tried to circle behind me. I couldn't let that happen—being surrounded meant death.
I charged the second goblin while it was still off-balance, sword flashing in a brutal downward chop that split its skull.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 28/50]
The remaining two goblins looked at each other, some kind of silent communication passing between them. Then they attacked together, coordinated, trying to overwhelm me with simultaneous strikes from different angles.
I used my enhanced mana circulation, pushing energy into my legs for a burst of speed. Sidestepped left, letting their spears pass through empty air, and slashed horizontally.
My blade caught one goblin across its abdomen, opening it from side to side. It dropped, screaming.
The last goblin tried to run. I was faster. Caught it in three strides, sword thrust through its back and out its chest.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 30/50]
I stood among the corpses, breathing hard, checking myself for injuries. The spear graze on my forearm was bleeding but not serious. Everything else was holding.
Thirty kills. Twenty more to go for Predator's Path completion.
I took a longer break this time—five minutes to drink water, bandage the new wound, let my mana reserves refill. The Intermediate circulation was noticeably faster at regeneration.
Then I heard it.
Voices. Guttural, harsh, speaking some language I didn't understand but Leon's memories recognized as goblin-tongue.
Many voices.
I moved quietly through the ruins, following the sound, and found them.
Eight goblins. All armed. All coordinated. Gathered around what looked like a small cooking fire where something unspeakable was roasting.
This was dangerous. Four goblins had been manageable. Eight was pushing my limits, especially after I'd already been fighting for hours.
But the quest didn't have a "retreat when convenient" clause. And more pragmatically, eight goblin kills would put me at 38/50. Close enough to finish the quest today if I could find a few more targets afterward.
I assessed the terrain. The goblins were in what had once been a courtyard, surrounded by crumbling walls on three sides. Only one entrance—the gap I was currently watching from.
Bad positioning for them. They'd boxed themselves in.
I could use that.
I found a section of loose rubble—stones the size of my fist. Gathered a handful. Then I threw one into the courtyard, aiming for the far wall.
The stone clattered loudly. All eight goblins spun toward the sound, spears ready.
I threw a second stone, different angle. The goblins were confused now, looking around, trying to identify the threat.
While they were distracted, I charged through the entrance.
Surprise was my only advantage. I had maybe three seconds before they recovered and coordinated.
I used those three seconds ruthlessly.
First goblin: Slash across the throat as I sprinted past. Dead.
Second goblin: Thrust through the back while it was still turning. Dead.
Third goblin: Horizontal cut that nearly decapitated it. Dead.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED] x3
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 33/50]
Then they recovered, and it became a real fight.
Five goblins, all attacking at once, spears thrusting from multiple angles. I couldn't block them all, couldn't dodge everything.
A spear tip punched through my left shoulder, just below the collarbone. Pain exploded, white-hot and overwhelming.
I screamed, twisted away, felt the spear rip free. Blood poured hot down my chest.
No time to process pain. Two goblins were pressing the attack, sensing weakness.
I channeled mana into my sword arm, enhanced the muscles, and swung with every ounce of strength I had.
My blade caught the first goblin's spear, shattered the crude weapon, and continued through to split the creature nearly in half.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 34/50]
Second goblin thrust at my wounded shoulder. I barely twisted aside, felt the spear tip graze my ribs, then drove my sword up under its chin.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 35/50]
Three left. I was bleeding badly, shoulder screaming, vision starting to tunnel.
But I was also learning.
I used the environment. Kicked a goblin into the cooking fire. It shrieked, rolled away with flames licking at its crude armor.
While it was distracted, I killed the other two in quick succession—brutal, efficient strikes with no wasted movement.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED] x2
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 37/50]
The burning goblin was still alive, trying to put out the flames. I ended it quickly. Mercifully, even.
[GOBLIN DEFEATED]
[PREDATOR'S PATH: 38/50]
Then I collapsed against a wall, my sword clattering from nerveless fingers.
The shoulder wound was bad. Really bad. Blood was pumping out with each heartbeat, soaking through my shirt, dripping onto the ground.
I fumbled for one of the healing potions Rita had given me. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. I uncorked the vial with my teeth and drank.
The effect was immediate but incomplete. The potion was basic grade—meant for minor injuries. Against a wound this severe, it only slowed the bleeding, dulled the worst of the pain, but didn't close it completely.
I pressed wadded bandages against the wound, applying as much pressure as I could manage with one functional arm.
[WARNING: HOST HAS SUSTAINED SERIOUS INJURY]
[BLOOD LOSS: MODERATE]
[RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE EVACUATION AND MEDICAL TREATMENT]
"Noted," I gasped.
[CONTINUING COMBAT IN CURRENT CONDITION SIGNIFICANTLY INCREASES MORTALITY RISK]
I knew the System was right. I was in bad shape. Bleeding, exhausted, mana reserves depleted from the enhanced strikes.
I had 38 out of 50 kills for Predator's Path. Only twelve more needed. But in my current condition, even a single wolf might kill me.
Decision time.
Push forward, risk everything for quest completion today.
Or retreat, heal, finish tomorrow.
Jake had spent years learning when to push and when to rest. When determination crossed into self-destruction.
This was that line.
"Fuck," I muttered, forcing myself to stand. My legs trembled, barely supporting my weight.
I retrieved my sword, sheathed it with clumsy movements, and started the long walk back to where I'd left Shadow.
Retreat wasn't failure. It was tactical thinking.
Dead Leon completed zero quests.
---
The ride back was a nightmare.
Every step Shadow took sent jolts of pain through my shoulder. I had to concentrate on just staying in the saddle, on not passing out from blood loss.
I maintained mana circulation through sheer spite—using the enhanced regeneration to keep my body from giving out entirely.
The two-hour ride felt like two days.
By the time I reached Lourven Domain proper, I was barely conscious. People stared—this time not with fear but with shock at the blood-soaked noble slumped in his saddle.
The guards at the estate gate took one look at me and immediately sent someone running ahead.
I made it to the courtyard before my strength finally gave out. I slid from Shadow's saddle, hit the ground hard, and stayed there.
Footsteps. Multiple people. Voices shouting.
Then Rita's face appeared above me, her usual neutral expression cracked by genuine alarm.
"Young master. Don't move."
"Finished... thirty-eight," I mumbled. "Just twelve more... tomorrow..."
"You're not doing anything tomorrow except recovering," she said, already pulling out a higher-grade healing potion—this one a deep amber color. "Drink this. Now."
She helped me sit up enough to swallow the potion. This one was stronger—I felt it immediately, warmth spreading through my chest, the bleeding slowing significantly, the pain receding to manageable levels.
But even a moderate-grade potion couldn't fully heal a wound this severe in minutes. It would take hours, maybe a full day.
More people arrived. Rita barked orders. I was lifted, carried, ended up back in my chambers somehow.
Rita worked efficiently, using the potion's effects to properly clean and stitch the shoulder wound now that the bleeding had slowed. She applied another moderate potion directly to the injury, then bandaged it thoroughly.
"You pushed too hard," she said, not as criticism but as observation. "Whatever you're trying to accomplish, young master, it won't matter if you die before achieving it."
"I'm aware."
"Are you?" She finished bandaging, sat back. "From where I'm standing, you're training like a man who expects to die anyway and wants to take down as many enemies as possible first."
The accuracy of that statement was uncomfortable.
"I'm just preparing thoroughly for the entrance exam," I said.
"Thoroughly." Rita's eyes narrowed slightly. "Most nobles preparing for the entrance exam hire tutors, practice forms, study theory. They don't hunt monsters alone until they nearly bleed out."
"Most nobles don't need to worry about passing," I countered. "I don't have that luxury. House Stellis's reputation is already questionable. If I fail publicly, it damages more than just myself."
It was a plausible explanation. Not the truth—that I knew I was scheduled to die in ten days—but plausible enough that Rita seemed to accept it.
"Rest," she said finally. "The potions will continue working, but you need time for your body to actually heal. At least until tomorrow evening before you even think about training again."
After she left, I checked my status.
[STATUS DISPLAY]
NAME: Leon De Stellis
AGE: 17
RANK: Mortal (Low, 16%)
CONDITION: Seriously Injured (Recovery time with potions: 18-24 hours)
ACTIVE QUESTS:
- Survive the Astral Academy Entrance Exam (10 days remaining)
- Foundations of Power: Reach 25% Mortal Rank (4 days remaining, 9% progress needed)
- Predator's Path: Defeat 50 monsters without retreating (2 days remaining, 38/50 completed)
Four percent rank increase from today's fighting. Not bad, considering I'd had to retreat early.
But looking at the numbers, the timeline was brutal. Nine percent rank increase in four days. Twelve more monster kills in two days.
All while recovering from serious injury.
I ate the food that had been left—simple but nourishing. Then I forced myself to lie back down.
But I didn't sleep.
Instead, I practiced mana circulation. The Intermediate level made it easier, almost meditative. I could maintain the flow while resting, let the enhanced regeneration work alongside the potions.
[MANA CIRCULATION: SUSTAINED FOR 2 HOURS]
[HEALING ACCELERATED BY COMBINED POTION AND MANA ENHANCEMENT]
[ESTIMATED RECOVERY TIME: 20 HOURS]
Better. Every little bit helped.
As darkness fell and the estate settled into night, I lay there circulating mana, thinking about probabilities and survival odds.
Ten days until Arielle De Luna.
Ten days until the entrance exam that was supposed to kill Leon De Stellis.
But I wasn't going to let that happen.
Tomorrow I'd rest. Let the potions and mana do their work.
Then the day after, I'd return to the ruins and finish what I'd started.
Twelve more kills for Predator's Path.
Nine percent for Foundations of Power.
Ten days until I faced destiny and survived it.
I closed my eyes, maintained my circulation, and let the steady flow of mana lull me toward something that might have been sleep or might have been meditation.
All that mattered was survival.
One day at a time.
One quest at a time.
One percentage point at a time.
There really wasn't any other option.