The process of acquiring a map turned out to be much more complicated than he originally expected it to be. Only the village chief had one, and he wasn't keen on giving it away.
"I'm not asking to have it. I just want to take a look, that's all."
"No means no. You are a visitor, not a resident for me to be sharing stuff with."
And where am I meant to find a map if I don't know where I am?
Zeniph felt a dull ache behind his eyes at the lack of logic, but he didn't argue. Instead, he returned to the tavern, where some mercenaries had gathered, drinking and chatting.
Hearing some of them speaking Latin, he approached them.
"Good day. Do you perhaps have a map I can glance at? I'm not familiar with the local area."
The man stared at him for a moment before grumbling something and producing one from his backpack. Creased and yellow from age, all of its color had faded, and the markings were barely recognizable.
Studying it, he recognized some of the landmarks, such as the cliffs he had seen earlier and the lush forests. Matching the angles, he found the right road and traced it to the village.
"I was going to tell you where we were, but apparently you already knew. Anyway, if you're not a local, head to the town north of here. You can catch a caravan to the port cities, and perhaps home."
Zeniph nodded, thanked the man, and stood from the table. After leaving the tavern, he headed east. The town was a good idea — just not what he needed right now.
The holy empire was in the opposite direction, and he needed resources to get there, as well as preparation. The ruins he had seen could provide that — both shelter and a quiet place to rest.
Setting out on foot, he soon came across a creek and knelt to drink. Scooping the water into his hands, he brought it up, quenching his thirst. His reflection shifted with the flow, drawing his attention.
It was the first time he properly studied himself. He had heavily tanned skin and long blond hair, with the facial features of a youngster. After a while of guessing, he figured he could pass for twenty, but his nationality was a puzzle even for him.
His face suggested an easterner, but his color and build a southerner, although neither had blond hair.
Hours of walking passed, and he took another break. Climbing up a tree, he grabbed some wild apples for himself, stuffing a few into the sack he carried for the future.
Coming back down, he sat cross-legged and decided there was no need to delay opening his mana pathways.
Life was easier with mana; for example, he wouldn't have gotten a splinter from the tree, as he could have brought the apples down with a wind spell.
Pain shot through his body, each nerve tingling, muscles burning as he forced the flesh to accept the mana. Each breath came shorter, his vision darkening as he channeled the surrounding mana into himself, breaking down the barriers.
Sweat dripped from his face as he concentrated, every spare bit of energy focused on the task. Finally, they gave out, the mana flowing in like water from behind a dam, instantly easing the pain. He sat for a while, letting his mental and physical body recuperate.
Usually, mages awakened their mana over a year of training and help from teachers, but if you could endure the pain, you could do it far faster.
He let out a small chuckle as he formed a swirl of wind and heat, warming himself against the cold of the evening.
With a sigh, he got up again, determined to reach the ruins before night fully settled over the forest. As much as he loved nature, he wasn't a fan of the cold, and you had to be awake to cast spells.
The stars were already beginning to show as the silhouette of the fallen walls came into view, their proud battlements lying fallen in the moss as vines crawled up their cracked sides.
Brushing the hanging ivy aside, he walked through the gate, searching for a place to lay down. A still-intact side door caught his attention as he paced around, and behind it lay a spiral staircase, its bottom so deep he couldn't make it out in the dark.
Wind whistled through as he slowly descended, each step echoing around the walls. At the bottom, he paused for a minute, casting an orb of light. It illuminated the surroundings, showing the deep corridors and basements.
Pillars of old limestone held up the ceiling, intricately carved with figures and stories. Heading deeper inside, the winding hallways opened into a wide plaza, with a single long hole in the roof letting in a tiny ray of moonlight.
He walked toward the center, where stood a single round table. On it lay a sword, sheathed in a leather scabbard.
As he stepped into the center, a sudden pulse of purple light flashed from the ground, a magic circle formed around him, with a trap array inscribed at the borders.
Like a knife scraped against ceramic, a voice sounded.
"Gotcha"