Seth dropped his leather bag by the edge of the small, burbling river that ran through the forest and closed his eyes for a moment. Once he had regained his composure after seeing his parents' painting burn, he had run to the town's market to purchase new clothes and tools to live in the forest with the few coins he had left. That tax collector would direct the fifteen-coppers fine at anyone who dared to shelter him, so it was best to stay away for the moment. After opening his eyes, Seth surveyed the clearing by the water stream to assess what could be useful. With a sigh, he then began to gather materials and build his campsite. Branches and fallen logs became the basis of his shelter, carefully arranged in a way that would deflect rain and wind before being bound together by the strong rope Seth had bought at the market.
After grabbing a handful of leaves to make a pillow, he spotted a flat stone worn smooth by the relentless flow of the river. Carefully, he picked it up and placed it within his newly built shelter—it would be the perfect cutting board. Then, near the shelter's entrance, he dug a shallow pit, lined it with rocks, and filled it with dry leaves and twigs for future use.
Just as the sun reached its peak, Seth stood up and took a moment to survey his campsite, repeatedly tossing a small rock in the air. He had avoided woodcraft most of his life to awaken as a Warrior and not a Primalist, so it was simple and basic, but from now on it would be his home.
Just as he caught the stone, memories of the tax collector burning his parents' paintings surged in his mind. What could he have done against the man as a newly awakened Wielder? A Primalist on top of that?
His Path was supposed to be self-determined, reflecting his efforts and merit. Did he truly deserve this fate? Receiving one of the worst classes, just for hunting a bit too much? Having his house stolen from him because he had endured the pain from the flame of the awakening stone for far longer than others?
None of this would have happened if the Faertis hadn't bled everyone dry with their absurd taxes. The tax collector's behavior had shifted in front of his house—something had frightened him too. Like all of them. Everyone lived beneath the noble House's boot, their actions dictated by threats made for the benefit of a few.
"Just so those pricks could get back their oh-so-important position among the Twenty Great Houses," Seth muttered through gritted teeth. "As if this shit mattered to anyone but them."
Letting out a frustrated grunt, Seth spun around, whipped his arm forward and threw the rock in his hand at a small birch across the clearing. The air around it seemed to blur as it flew and slammed into the tree with a loud crack, shattering part of its trunk's bark and scaring birds away.
Seth stood there, eyes wide.
I did that, he thought, heart racing in his chest. But how? My Strength didn't change with my awakening. The only difference is… aether.
Moving his focus inward, he scanned his Well; to his surprise, it was currently half-empty. He had just used aether without even realizing it. But I didn't even think about it?
The previous night, channeling aether into his eye had been far more difficult and had taken way longer. Perhaps it's because of the anger… or simply because I didn't follow any grooves. I need to do some tests.
Seth quickly grabbed his large bag and moved down the clearing to set up the stickleback trap he had bought earlier in the river for fishes and a few snare traps in the nearby undergrowth. On his way back, he picked up a dozen tiny rocks before confirming that his Well was once again full. The moment he reached his campsite, he dropped them to the ground, only keeping one in his hand.
Alright, let's see what I can do, he thought, examining the surroundings. His gaze then stopped on a large, lonely oak standing between two bushes in the distance. Perfect.
Seth planted his feet firmly, shoulder-width apart, and bent his knee. Inhaling deeply, he reared his elbow back and up, then snapped his whole arm forward, shifting his weight onto his front foot. The rock hurtled toward the tree and struck it right in the middle with a high-pitched thud.
Now with aether.
Picking another rock, Seth closed both eyes and focused on his chest. Gradually, the rustling of the leaves turned into distant whispers, the wind on his skin disappeared, and the sweet, flowery smell in his nose faded.
Ignoring Identify's grooves, he drew some aether out of his Well and pushed it into his arm's muscles instead of his eye—a burning sensation rose in his shoulder and spread down to his hand. With each heartbeat, the pain intensified, as if an actual flame was licking and searing through his flesh.
Seth winced but pressed on. He had to know his limit. He had to reach the bottom of his Well. In case one day, he'd need to slay something—or, someone—in a single hit.
In no time, his breathing turned into ragged gasps, and sweat started running down his face. He had never plunged his arm into boiling water, but he was certain doing so would hurt less than this. The pain was unbearable. The moment his Well finally ran dry of aether, he screamed his lungs out and flung the rock at the same old tree.
"Fucking hell!"
The projectile crossed the clearing in a blink and slammed into the oak with destructive force. The bark shattered, splinters and debris flying in all directions as a deafening bang echoed through the forest.
"Holy sh—"
Seth's legs gave out, and he fell to his knees. The forest around him spun wildly, trees and bushes blending into a mixing blur of green and brown. Rolling onto his back, he couldn't help but grin through the dizziness—he'd done something a non-Wielder shouldn't be able to do. I gotta see that tree.
Seth tried to push himself up, but his arms buckled and he dropped flat to the ground. Groaning, he stared at the blurred sky and the swaying branches above him. Probably a side effect of an empty Well, he thought, steadying his breathing. Alright, let's see how long it takes to refill.
"One… Two… Three…"
Both the urge to throw up and overwhelming weakness faded as he reached sixty—the exact number of seconds it took to fill ten percent of his Well, and a threshold it would probably be best to stay above in the future. Well, at least during fights.
"Nine hundred twenty," Seth then said as it hit the fifty percent mark.
To his dismay, the more aether his Well held, the slower it filled, making the process of counting even more tiresome. He was barely halfway through, yet the rate had fallen to a fifth of what it had been.
Unable to stay still any longer, Seth pushed himself up and walked over to the old oak while continuing to count under his breath. His eyes widened as he examined the damage on the trunk. The impact site was a crater chewed deep into the tree, wood fibers torn and blackened around the edges, as if something had bitten straight into the heartwood. Even if he'd used his knife, he doubted he could achieve the same result.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
A broad smile lit up his face. Sure, the throw wouldn't kill any large animal like a wolf or a bear, but it would certainly cause some serious injuries—maybe even to an arcane beast.
Still grinning, Seth fished a few pieces of jerky from his pocket and devoured them. Even though only a few hours had passed since he'd left the town, his stomach was already begging for food—probably another side effect of using too much aether.
After finishing his snack, he leaned on a tree and his gaze drifted ahead as he continued counting aloud. For the past few minutes, his recovery rate had dropped to a mere tenth of what it had been initially, but at last, the mind-numbing wait finally came to an end.
"Four thousand nine hundred twenty."
With a long sigh, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. After a moment, he realized he didn't have ink. Resigned, he knelt down and began scrawling his findings with dirt instead.
Recovery rate
1 minute - 10%
15 minutes - 50 %
1 hour and 22 minutes - 100%
Seth rolled the parchment and tucked it back into his pocket. It would be interesting to see in the future if his recovery rate only depended on the ratio between his Regeneration and Well Capacity or other factors also had an impact. Now, though, it was time to move on to his next test.
Running.
Without wasting time, Seth broke into a jog, going back and forth between two nearby trees. As he gradually increased his pace, his hunting boots slid a bit more with each turn, yet he didn't care. Today was all about finding his limit. Who cares if I slip and fall?
The moment he reached his maximum speed, he drew aether from his Well and infused it into the muscle of his legs, focusing mostly on his calves. The effect was almost immediate. Each stride began propelling him a little farther, and as he looked down, the ground was blurring beneath his feet. How much faster am I running? Ten percent? Twenty percent?
Before he could figure it out, he snapped his head up—the tree was just a few feet away.
"Shit!"
Seth twisted sideways, but his boots dug into the dirt almost of their own free will, launching him off the ground. He sailed through the air before crashing into a bush ahead. Most branches snapped under his weight, but those that didn't stabbed him in the back, hurting him like hell.
Wincing, he clambered to his feet. I'll need some practice.
Enhanced speed wouldn't be an advantage in a fight if he couldn't turn . Focusing solely on his muscles probably wasn't the best approach. To dodge and maintain balance, he'd need to improve his reflexes and shorten his reaction time. To do that, he'd have to enhance the tiny threads connecting his brain to his muscles—what the Scholars in the anatomy books referred to as nerves. If he could channel aether into them, it might do the trick.
But before working on that, there was one more thing he had to try.
Seth unsheathed his hunting knife and scanned his Well. Sixty percent. That should be enough.
Speed would certainly help against arcane beasts, but infusing aether into his weapons would be groundbreaking—it might even allow him to kill some of them.
Taking a deep breath, he squeezed his knife's handle and tried pushing aether into the blade, ignoring all the grooves for Identify just like he had done with his muscles. The energy flowed easily from his Well to his hand, however once it got there it stubbornly built up in his palm instead of transferring into the weapon. Seth gritted his teeth and forced it out of his body—but the moment it passed through his skin, it dissipated into the air.
Why isn't it working? Seth frowned, staring at his knife. Do I need a special weapon? Or is it something about the Primalist class?
It was common knowledge that Elementalists were the best at manipulating aether outside their bodies and casting destructive spells, but all the other classes were also supposed to be able to also do it… including Primalist. If they can't, wouldn't that limit me in spells I could learn?
Seth set that question aside and kept trying. Yet each attempt failed miserably; the aether went everywhere except inside the knife. A half-dozen tries later, the forest began to spin around him.
Damn it. Already down to ten percent.
Forced to stop, Seth leaned on the tree and slumped to the ground. He was now facing a choice: keep trying, even if it might be impossible, or practice something else and ask Marcus or Sericar for guidance later.
Chewing his lip, Seth weighed the pros and cons while his Well slowly filled up in his chest. Does it really make sense to waste aether when my regeneration rate is so slow? It'd be wiser to just focus on what I can actually improve for now.
A plan took shape in his mind. First, he would need to do his best to keep his Well between ten and thirty percent, so he could maximize its filling rate. Then, he would refine his control over aether inside his body. The best way to do that? Simulate real combat. Thrusting his knife, sprinting and dodging while enhancing both his muscles and nerves.
Afterwards, he could try shooting some arrows—but only if he got good enough. Snapping his bowstring from pulling a little too hard was the last thing he needed. His to-buy list was already long enough.
As soon as his Well hit thirty percent, Seth stood up and got to work. He immediately began dashing between bushes and trees, abruptly turning every few seconds to dodge the weapons and spells of imaginary enemies.
Just like he would in a real fight, he used his aether wisely, keeping his Well above the ten-percent while staying as close as possible. When his legs grew tired, he switched his focus to his arms and thrust his knife with force. Each strike aimed at the vital spots—the throat, head, and chest—was empowered with aether.
Gradually, Seth began infusing both his legs and arms almost simultaneously, combining lower and upper-body training. The aether flowed up and down as he maintained his focus, evading and stabbing.
Soon, he realized that some paths carried the mystic energy more efficiently to his muscles and nerves, so he made a conscious effort to use them. Sticking to those routes slowed him down and was quite draining, but if he gave it enough time, he hoped the repetitive flow could carve grooves like Identitfy's—and maybe even create a spell.
After several hours, Seth's hands finally dropped to his knees as he gasped for air, his calves burning from all the quick turns. Blood oozed from on his arms and mixed with the dried crust, the wounds caused by the hare reopening from all the swings.
His clothes were drenched from sweat and clung to him like a second skin, but his control of aether had greatly improved; he could now channel the energy simultaneously into different parts of his body, adjusting the amount as needed. The only let down was that, despite his efforts to always guide it along the same paths over and over again, there was no sign of any grooves being formed.
He knew it wouldn't be this easy, that crafting a spell was a process that took time and patience, but still. He'd hoped for a least a little something, a hint of progress, to prove he was on the right track
In the distance, the sun's red glow barely covered half of the sky behind the leaves—night would soon fall.
I'd better go check if the traps caught something, Seth thought, sheathing his hunting knife.
The dried food he had bought at the market was meant for emergencies, not for his first night. After all, who knew when he would go back to Sunatown? If the tax collector or any noble saw him speaking to someone, they could invent an excuse to fine them and strip them of even more coin.
With that in mind, he swept his hair back and headed toward the traps he had set earlier. As he walked along the river, he began to cast Identify. Following the spell's grooves to shape the aether and channel it into his eye took him about a minute, which was way faster than the previous night.
Seth
Class: Primalist
Rank: 4 (Low-Copper)
Subclass: -
Strength: 8
Arcane Power: 3
Toughness: 6
Well Capacity: 5
Agility: 7
Regeneration: 8
Spells:
- Identify [Copper〜Common (Refined)]
"Not a single attribute," Seth murmured, the words coming out as a quiet sigh.
He rested his hand against the oak tree beside him, feeling the rough texture of the bark. According to Wandering Merchants, a Wielder should gain half a dozen attributes on the day of their awakening. That first rush of aether was supposed to be a unique and nourishing experience.
But clearly, that rule didn't apply to Primalists. He knew the high-risk, high-reward nature of the class wouldn't hand him power just for swinging a weapon in the safety of the woods. Yet, looking at the stagnant numbers, he couldn't help the pang of disappointment.
I guess it was to be expected, Seth thought with a faint smile. For any real progress, I'll need at least some danger.
However, that didn't mean diving in headfirst without preparation. Trying to hunt an arcane beast without any real control over his aether would be suicidal. The Tempest Hare was a great proof that he couldn't underestimate them—not if he wanted to stay alive.
Remove
As the two fish he had caught with the stickleback trap slowly cooked above his hand-made fire pit, Seth repeatedly cast Identify on things around him. Herbs, flowers, trees, rocks—it didn't matter. Whenever the words in the corner of his vision faded out, new ones appeared. The only thing he cared about was keeping his Well at ten percent to maximize his aether regeneration and improve his control.
His eyes moved to a small scarlet bloom nestled at the base of a tree.
Red Wing Flower
Resource
Tier: -
Grade: Common
Common, again.
It had taken him only a few casts to figure out that was the lowest-possible grade. Everything he had Identified so far had the same properties: Common grade and a dash next to Tier. But that didn't bother him. He wasn't hoping to find anything rare or special right around here.
The moment his meal finished cooking, Seth removed his damp gear and hung it on a branch with the intention of cleaning it in the river the following day before slipping into linen pants and putting on a plain shirt. He then sat by the firepit, took the fish, cut off their heads on the flat rock beside him, and began eating. Even if he was desperate to grow strong quickly—strong enough to secure a spot at Trogan Academy and make the Faertis House pay—he couldn't ignore risk management.
A week, he told himself. He would spend that time training his aether control, and only then would he dive into the Wicked Forest.
But as soon as the thought formed, doubt crept in. He had barely any knowledge of how to survive in a place like that. Sure, he had faced wolves, bears, and boars as a hunter, but would that experience translate to arcane beasts? Would his tracking skills apply to a forest suffocating in aether? There were probably plants in there that could kill him just by brushing against his skin, and he wouldn't know the difference until it was too late.
Is that why Marcus told me to come see him again? Seth wondered. To teach me about those things?
As Seth bit off a large chunk of cooked fish, he suddenly remembered the Alchemist's parting advice: to read his father's encyclopedia.
How did I forget about it?
He reached into the large bag for his father's gift box and pulled out the book inside. The pages were yellowed, bound together by a rusty spiral, with a thick front and back leather cover. The title was written in a dark crimson red: 'The Encyclopedia of Beasts.'
Seth immediately cast Identify.
The Encyclopedia of Beasts (???)
???
Tier: ???
Grade: ???
"Three question marks?" Seth whispered, staring at the floating text.
He recognized the symbols, not from personal experience, but from the tavern tales spun by Wandering Merchants and townfolks. They spoke of legendary loot found in the wild that even the spell made by Scholars couldn't fully appraise it.
It can't be because it's junk, Seth reasoned. Hand-made items just show dashes. I saw that on my own traps earlier. This... is different.
Without waiting any longer, Seth abandoned the dying fire to lie inside his shelter with the fish and the encyclopedia. "There's only one way to know for—"
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening, and he quickly flipped through the first few pages.
Arcane beasts. A lot of them. All drawn in vivid colors, with stunning details that made them look almost alive. Each of them was followed by two to three paragraphs that recorded their name, strengths, weaknesses, where they could be found, and general information.
Thunderstorm Griffin, Volcano Drake, Apocalypse Fenrir—some of them sounded extremely powerful, like gods among the arcane beasts. A claw of one of those beasts could probably pay for the awakening of all Sunatown's citizens.
Let's see what beasts can be found in the Wicked Forest.
Seth skimmed through the book, stopping only to read and analyze the creatures with that place as a possible location. If he wanted a chance to survive, he needed to know exactly what he could be facing. Staying on the outskirts might lower the odds of too many encounters, but it didn't reduce them to zero.
After spending hours engrossed in his reading, Seth carefully put the encyclopedia back into the wooden box before putting out the fire. Everything was fascinating, but he needed to be well-rested for tomorrow's training. As he settled onto his makeshift bed and prepared to sleep, one question kept lingering in his mind.
How did my father get his hand on such a book?
His memories of the man were quite blurry, but if he had been an adventurer, Seth's mother or Marcus would have mentioned it. Did he find it somewhere? Someone left it behind in town? Or maybe he found it on a corpse near the Wicked Forest?
Seth slowly drifted into a sleep while his mind spun with dozens of theories, each one more absurd than the last.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting fading rays through the clouds as Seth lay on the grass. Breathing heavily, he cast a glance at his hand, a tired but genuine smile touching his lips. His Well's aether had reached the end of Identify's the grooves in only six seconds.
Seth
Class: Primalist
Rank: 4 (Low-Copper)
Subclass: -
Strength: 9
Arcane Power: 3
Toughness: 6
Well Capacity: 5
Agility: 9
Regeneration: 8
Spells:
- Identify [Copper〜Common (Refined)]
Thirteen days of relentless training. Thirteen days of sweat and ache. In total, he had gained three attributes—one in Strength and two in Agility. Sure, it wasn't even half of what Wielder with other combat classes supposedly would get on their very first day, but it was progress. Real, tangible progress.
However, the risk-free road had clearly come to an end.
He had woken up at five this morning, ready to push his limits, and here he was twelve hours later—soaking wet, nauseous, and looking at the exact same numbers as four days ago. He wasn't ungrateful for the growth, but he knew what the stagnation meant. He had squeezed every gain he could out of safety. If he wanted to keep climbing, he couldn't do it here anymore.
Warriors, Guardians, Priests, and Elementalists—they could all afford to avoid the risk of hunting arcane beasts. They could progress by simply training in high-aether density zones like Trogan Academy or through sparring with each other. The entire culture of Kastal was built around that safety.
It made sense, in a way.
By crushing the population under taxes so heavy that barely anyone could afford to awaken, the crown had strangled its own supply of Wielders and the obvious result was a weak army.
The kingdom couldn't afford to have those that could become soldiers dying in the jaws of wild beasts just to progress a little faster. So, while hunting arcane beast wasn't explicitly forbidden by law, the noble Houses and the king strongly discouraged it, painting it as a reckless gamble rather than a valid Path.
For most, that system worked perfectly. But for a Primalist, that safety was a cage. Seth knew now that following the standard doctrine would only leave him weak. And rob him of his chance to get into Trogan Academy and get the knowledge he needed.
At first, he had hoped to enter the Wicked Forest with at least a combat spell in his arsenal, but things had gone the way he had wanted. He had initially tried to carve new grooves while practicing his knife work, but the complex interplay of slashing and thrusting engaged too many muscle groups to consistently use the same aether channel.
Recognizing the bottleneck, he had changed strategy and had focused instead on a simpler concept: running speed. Yet the results were much more promising. The grooves he had managed to carve were barely a tenth as deep as those from Identify.
At this pace, fully crafting the spell in a safe environment would take months—time he didn't have.
Seth retrieved his old leather bag leaning against a nearby tree and headed back to his camp, checking his traps as usual along the way so he could pick up his meal of the night.
Tomorrow, I'll go see Marcus, he decided, knowing he would soon go hunt in the Wicked Forest. It's been two weeks, and I pretty much plateaued.
After lighting a fire, he skewered the two fish and the hare he had caught and put them above the flames. Once they were perfectly cooked, he took them and grabbed his father's encyclopedia before going into his shelter to eat like he did every night.
Hours slipped by as Seth skimmed through the book, reading about the beasts of the Wicked Forest for what felt like the hundredth time—yet he refused to call it pointless. It was all about analyzing their behaviors, matching them to something he knew, and trying to visualize how he might survive an encounter. The beasts were formidable, yes, but every monster had weaknesses and limits. He just had to find them.
This time, however, the moment he flipped the last page, something caught his eye. There was a red shadow in the middle of the end sheet—something was hidden behind it. Seth frowned and used his nail to peel it away, revealing an envelope with a crimson seal flattened against its back. The air seemed blurry and heavy on its surface.
It's enchanted, he realized.
Flipping it over, Seth found a sentence written on the back.
'Put a drop of blood on the seal.'
Seth's eyes narrowed, and he read the words a few more times. A safeguard, maybe?
He pulled out his knife and carefully nicked his finger with the tip. Squeezing the small cut, he drew out a few drops of blood and let them drip onto the seal.
As soon as the first drop hit, the aether surrounding the white envelope vanished, and the seal broke in half. Without hesitation, Seth quickly took out the two things inside: a folded-up piece of parchment and a coin-sized black crystal with a white rune that looked a lot like a key.
With a frown, he cast Identify.
Black Lion Keystone
???
Tier: ???
Grade: ???
Effects:
- ???
A key for what? Seth wondered for a moment before grabbing the parchment on his lap and reading its content.
'Son,
If you're reading this, it means I didn't make it back home, and Marcus has given you my gifts. I thought I could take you and your mother away and keep both of you safe, but I was wrong.
By placing this keystone in the bottom of the box, you'll find my fourth and final gift. It will help you grow stronger over time, but at the cost of putting a target on your back for the rest of your life. Choose carefully if you want to use it or not. If you do, keep its existence a secret. No one must know. Not even your mother. Or else you will also put her in danger.
Don't be afraid of using both the Keystone and my final gift, even if you are Copper.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Take care of your mother. And tell her I love her more than there are stars in the sky.
May Kreytorus guide your Path,
Your father.'
Seth's heart skipped a beat, and he snatched the wooden box out his bag so he could yank the lid open. As soon as he placed the Keystone at the bottom, four shimmering chains of golden aether appeared around the black crystal, each connecting to a corner.
Before he could even blink, all four of them broke the center where they crossed and vanished—along with the Keystone and the wooden board at the bottom of the box—revealing a hidden compartment. A small azure crystal rested inside, gleaming with a powerful luster under the campfire's light; a thin layer of aether hovered on its surface, creating a mesmerizing aura.
Seth stared at it for several long seconds before noticing a sealed letter tucked beneath. Carefully, he reached into the box and retrieved it. The word 'Instructions' was written in elegant calligraphy above the seal.
Seth glanced back at the sparkling crystal and used Identify.
Link
???
Tier: ???
Grade: ???
Affinity: ???
Restrictions:
- Primalist
Completely baffled, he kept rereading the words hovering in the corner of his vision as his gaze jolted between the piece of parchment and the crystal. What is that thing? How did my old man know I'd awaken as a Primalist? And how is it supposed to help me get stronger?
As Seth went through his father's letter again for cues, his eyes stopped on one particular line.
'Take care of your mother.'
The words were a punch to the gut, reminding him of his failure as a son. His mother had done everything for him, and he, on the other hand, hadn't been able to entirely alleviate her suffering.
Seth looked at the shimmering crystal in his hand. If she were still alive, he would have used it without any hesitation so he could earn as much as needed.
But she wasn't here anymore, and the silence of the woods only reminded him of how little he had left to lose. Instead of fearing the consequence, he began to imagine exactly how he could use having more strength.
Kick the tax collector's ass? The thought crossed Seth's mind, only to be dismissed. That was small thinking. The tax collector was just a symptom—a leech force to feed on a wound. The real disease was the Faertis House, and the suffocating system they upheld.
He didn't want petty revenge on a single man. He wanted out.
He wanted the power to shatter the shackles that bound him to a life of misery. He wanted the freedom to choose for himself.
And free Sunatown's people.
They all deserved a better fate. To own their lives, rather than slaving away just to feed himself and fill the coffers of people who despised them.
Using that orb might put a target on his back, but looking at the faint glow, Seth knew the alternative was worse: a lifetime of bowing, of scraping by, of being nothing more than a resource for the nobles to exploit and discard.
If this got him into Trogan Academy he could finally stop surviving and start living.
"Damn it," Seth muttered, his grip tightening around the stone. "Things can't stay like this."
Sucking in a deep breath, he grabbed the instruction letter and broke the seal with his thumbs. As he unfolded the piece of parchment inside, his golden eyes carefully went over the three short paragraphs it contained.
The first one explained how to form a bond with a partner by using something called a core. The second detailed how that new connection would grant him bonus attributes proportional to his partner's and create a bridge between their Wells, allowing them to share aether. And finally, the last one gave rather disturbing instructions on how to create a 'core'.
'Infuse aether into Kreytorus' Legacy and survive his Trial for your core to be forged. Fail, and you will enter the eternal sleep awaiting all mortals.'
Seth frowned, rereading that final paragraph twice. Who's Kreytorus? Some kind of god my father worshiped in secret?
It would explain the strange ending of his letter. But then why hadn't Seth's mother ever mentioned him? She had enjoyed talking so much about gods and goddesses, taking every opportunity to teach him their names and stories. So why would she leave out the one his father supposedly followed?
And above all, what the hell was a Legacy?
In other words, that thing could kill him, but in return, it would let him bond with someone and get some of their attributes. Would that mean he'd have more attributes than other Wielders of the same Rank? If that was the case, a spell that provided such a tremendous advantage would definitely not be free.
Seth put the letter aside and pushed himself up, rolling the orb—which he assumed was that Kreytorus' Legacy—in his hand. A chance of dying? He mused. That's a fair price for changing my fate, I guess.
But what kind of trial would it be? Pain seemed like the obvious answer—what else could this thing possibly do? Exhaling slowly, he let his resolve settle in. This wasn't the time for caution.
Without another second of hesitation, Seth channeled aether into the gleaming sphere. Unlike his previous attempts with his hunting knife, there was no resistance—the energy ripped from him in a torrent, and the world surged into motion around him.
His vision smeared into streaks of color, and a profound nausea hit him, twisting his insides as if the ground had flipped upside down. His stomach lurched, threatening to hurl everything he'd eaten right back up. Wind roared past his ears like a waterfall, then just as abruptly as it had begun, everything stopped with a bone-jarring thud.
Seth gasped and dropped to his hands and knees, retching dryly as his center of gravity tried to realign. The soft dirt of his shelter was gone, replaced by cold stone.
His eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet, panic flaring in his chest.
He was standing in a colossal, windowless room made of rough-hewn grey rock. It was a perfect cube, perhaps forty feet wide and deep, with torches hanging on its walls and a ceiling that vanished into shadows high above. There were no doors. No windows.
"What the..." Seth whispered, his voice echoing flatly in the dead air.
In the center of the room, resting on a slightly raised dais of rock, was a weapon. It wasn't a sword or anything fancy enough to be sold in a shop. It was a crude thing—a jagged blade fashioned from the yellowed, serrated teeth of some unknown beast wrapped in rough leather at its base. It looked more like a tool made by a savage man in the woods than a weapon.
Seth walked forward, his hand trembling slightly as he gripped the hilt. It felt surprisingly heavy, the balance forward-leaning.
He cast Identify.
Savage Tooth Blade
Weapon
Tier: Copper
Grade: Common
Effect:
- Ignores 4% of Toughness while stabbing or slashing.
Seth gripped the weapon tighter, his knuckles turning white. He looked around the empty room again. Where am I? he wondered, spinning in a circle. Is this the trial?
Before he could even take a step toward the wall to search for a hidden exit, the air in the far corner of the room began to distort.
Blue particles of aether swirled into existence, coalescing rapidly. They thickened, knitting together into a massive sphere in the span of a heartbeat. A low, guttural growl then rippled through the room, and the creature that stepped out from the fading light made Seth's eyes widen.
It stood on four powerful legs with tar-black fur. But it was the heads that rooted Seth to the ground—three canine heads that snarled atop thick, corded necks, each of the maw dripping with strands of saliva that sizzled against the stone every time a drop fell.
Seth frantically cast Identify.
Lesser Black Cerberus
Potential: Copper Tier
Rank: 8 (Mid-Copper)
Affinity: -
Strength: 15
Arcane Power: 13
Toughness: 12
Well Capacity: 9
Agility: 11
Regeneration: 11
Seth stepped back, his breath hitching in his throat. Rank 8. He was barely Rank 4. A Mid-Copper beast against a Low-Copper novice with no spells and a knife made of a tooth. This wasn't a trial; it was an execution.
The Cerberus didn't wait for Seth to process his fear. With roars that sounded like three thunderstorms crashing together, black aether surged around its body and it charged.
Seth threw himself to the right, his boots scrabbling against the stone. The beast's jaws snapped shut where he had been standing a fraction of a second before, its claws gouging deep furrows into the rock. The wind of its passing knocked the breath out of him.
He scrambled up, putting his back to the wall. The Cerberus turned, its six eyes burning with a hateful red light. The center head snarled, while the left and right ones seemed to search for an opening.
It lunged again.
This time, Seth wasn't fast enough. He tried to dodge by infusing aether into his legs, but the beast feinted with its center head and struck with the right. The massive jaws clamped down on his left forearm.
"Argh!" Seth screamed as teeth sank through leather and muscle, grinding against bone.
The next instant, black smoke billowed from the creature maw and began to eat through his flesh. Pain and adrenaline flooded Seth's system. With a growl, he s
With a growl, he swung the Savage Tooth Blade blindly, the jagged teeth carving a shallow gash across the beast's right nose. The Cerberus yelped in surprise and released him, shaking its heads.
Seth stumbled away as blood poured down his mangled arm and dripped onto the cold floor. The pain was blinding, a white-hot fire radiating from the wound, but he forced himself to ignore it. He looked at the beast, which was already recovering, licking the blood from its muzzle with a sick relish.
I can't win, Seth thought. It's too strong. Too fast.
The Cerberus circled him. It was toying with him now, seemingly enjoying the scent of fear. It charged again in a blur of black fur. Seth barely managed to bring the tooth-blade up to deflect a claw swipe, the impact jarring his shoulder so hard he thought for a moment it had dislocated. The force launched him backward, and he slammed against the unyielding stone wall.
He slid to the ground, gasping for air. His vision swam. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, a dead weight of throbbing agony. Every part of him was screaming to curl up, to hide, to beg for it to end quickly.
Then he saw her—his mother, as she had been in those final days. Hollow cheeks, thinning white hair, the light in her smile stolen piece by piece by sickness. Wandering merchants loomed around him with damp eyes, offering quiet pity as he struggled to hold her upright. Vandric, Sunatown's Priest, shook his head and refused to lower his price, telling him it was useless to buy more remedies for a dying woman. And beyond it all stood the townsfolk, their faces ruined by hunger, all on the brink of starvation, while the tax collector weighed their coins and nervously looked at the nobles watching him.
Ahead, the Cerberus prowled closer, taking its time, savoring the moment. It loomed over him, blocking out the wavering torchlight. Its three sets of jaws gaped wide, revealing rows of serrated teeth.
Its hot, fetid breath washed over Seth's face as he looked up into the creature's red eyes. He saw his own reflection there—a worthless commoner who had never been the master of his own fate.
Was that it? Was he really going to die like that? Powerless? Without fighting until the end?
Then, he rebelled.
Deep in his chest, beneath all the fear and grief, a spark flared to life. Not courage. Not hope. Something older. Something primal.
No.
The word resonated through his whole body. His heart then began hammering his ribs, sending a surge of adrenaline and rage screaming through his veins.
Why should he die here? Because he was weak? Because he was poor? Because the world had decided it should be so?
Screw that.
A low growl rose in Seth's throat, matching the beast's own. The pain in his arm didn't vanish, but it changed. Instead of signaling him to stop, it reminded him that he was still alive. That he could still fight.
The Cerberus lunged for his throat.
Seth didn't flinch, didn't close his eyes. All fear had given way to a cold composure—the same that had filled him during countless hunts. His body moved before his mind could even finish the command. He dropped to the side, dodging the snapping jaws of the center head, then pushed himself up and slashed the beast's flank as he dashed past it.
It moves like a boar, not a wolf, he thought, watching the weight shift in the creature's massive shoulders as it growled and took a step back. Heavy. And committed.
Seth remembered tracking the great boar two winters ago. A monster like that wasn't something to outrun, and certainly not something to block. The only option was to wait for it to overextend. To let it expose itself.
Aether flared around the Cerberus, and an instant later it charged again. Seth widened his stance instead of scrambling away. The moment the center set of jaws was inches from his face, he stepped in.
Dropping his center of gravity, he ducked under the beast's attack and thrust the Savage Tooth Blade with every ounce of strength he possessed, aether leaving his Well and flaring through his limbs.
The jagged weapon tore through the pale underfur of the Cerberus's flank. Seth roared and dragged the blade farther, ripping through its thick muscle.
The beast shrieked in pain, then thrashed wildly. Its hind leg whipped out, catching Seth in the chest with a loud crack and sending him tumbling across the room. He crashed into the floor, groaning in pain.
He coughed, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the stone floor. But he was smiling. A bloody, manic grin that showed far too many teeth. He'd been bit and mauled by wolves before, so fighting through pain was nothing new.
"Is that all you got?" he hissed, pushing himself up with his good arm.
Dark blood puddled beneath the Cerberus. The creature limped as it turned, its three heads heaving in uneven breaths. The confidence in its red eyes had disappeared, replaced by a flicker of doubt.
And with it, the last remnants of Seth's fear vanished.
Earlier, he had let the terrifying form of the thing fool him. He had looked at it and seen a monster. But as Seth's gaze dissected the creature's hesitant stance, he realized the truth.
He wasn't the prey. He was the hunter, and this—despite the three heads—was just an animal. An injured one at that. And he knew exactly what would come next.
Pain didn't make a predator surrender; it made them desperate. Predictable.
The Cerberus launched another attack, but the speed was gone.
Raising his knife, Seth waited and planted his feet. His vision tunneled, focusing entirely on the rhythm of the beast's movement, on the bulge of its muscles.
The beast leapt. And Seth met the attack.
Claws clad in aether ripped through his side, but he ignored the pain and jammed his injured arm into the maw of the left head, forcing its jaw apart with bone and torn muscle.
The teeth sank in—hot agony flaring—yet Seth barely grunt. With the beast held by his own flesh, he raised the Savage Tooth Blade high and channeled aether into the weapon. Then, he drove it down into one of the left head's eyes.
The Cerberus bellowed and thrashed, smashing Seth against the wall again and again in a desperate attempt to dislodge him. But he refused to let go—his grip fueled by rage and hunger.
With a guttural snarl, he twisted and wrenched the blade sideways. Bones of the eye socket cracked as the crude weapon shredded the brain behind it.
The head went limp.
The other two heads immediately snapped at him, tearing chunks of flesh from his shoulder, but Seth was beyond pain. He yanked his weapon free and stabbed again. And again. And again.
Emptying his Well to boost the might of his slashes, he carved the beast's neck, sawing through the thick cords of muscle until he finally hit the artery. A geyser of hot blood sprayed over him, blinding his eyes and coating his face—nothing that could make his strikes falter.
Even through the bloody haze, his arm kept moving, the crude blade raising and falling in a frenzy. Two final thrusts, and the Cerberus finally collapsed.
Its legs gave out beneath its weight, and the beast tumbled on top of Seth, bringing him down with it. The remaining heads snapped weakly… then fell still.
Seth lay there, trapped beneath the large corpse, his lungs straining for air. His body was a wreckage—a mangled mess as a left arm, half a dozen broken ribs, a flayed open side that bled freely.
The fight was over. But his heart was still beating stronger than ever in his chest.
With a broken grunt, he forced the heavy carcass aside and dragged himself free. The moment he tried to stand, his legs immediately buckled beneath him and he slumped against the cold stone wall, surrounded by a pool of his own blood and the beast's.
He had won. He was dying… but he had won.
A searing pain suddenly surged through him, not from his wounds, but from beneath them. It was as if molten iron were being poured directly into his ribcage. He arched off the wall, gasping, eyes squeezing shut as the world vanished in red-hot agony.
Something was forming inside him. A crystallization of that moment. The hunger to survive, the rage, the instinct—it all coiled and solidified, locking into place between his heart and his lungs.
Thousands of invisible boiling-hot knives pierced Seth's body. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. The pain ripped through him, clawing into his flesh without any mercy. Each breath seemed to peel the lining of his lungs and fill them with scorching sand. It was so intense, so all-consuming, that his mind began to shut down, his thoughts fading into a void of nothingness—
Then, it stopped.
The burning, the pain—all gone in an instant. A blinding white light then erupted at the center of the room and devoured everything.
Before Seth could react, the world twisted. His stomach lurched as he felt like being split apart and put back together in a single heartbeat.
He gasped and jolted upright, a ragged breath tearing through his throat as his hands clawed blindly at… dirt.
He was back in his shelter. The fire had burned down to embers. The smell of cooked fish still lingered in the air, replacing the metallic stench of blood that had filled his nose seconds earlier. Seth's chest still heaved as sweat dripped from his nose and chin.
He frantically looked down at his left arm. It was whole. No bite marks. No shredded flesh. He ran a trembling hand over his ribs. They were also intact.
"A dream?" he whispered. "It was just... a dream?"
It had felt so real. The pain, the teeth of the beast, the joy of the kill. It couldn't have been a dream.
Just as he exhaled, a warm liquid dripped onto his hand. He wiped his nose, then his cheek. His fingers came away slick with bright crimson. It was pouring from his nose and eyes, his vision tinged red. As he stared at the blood that had pooled in his palm, a cold realization settled in. The wounds on his arm might have been nothing more than echoes, but the strain on his mind had been real.
If I had died there... my heart would have stopped here.
Seth collapsed onto his makeshift bed, struggling to stay awake through the exhaustion when he suddenly felt it: something new and alive deep inside his chest.
A tiny orb had formed right between his beating heart and his Well. It was filled to the brim with an energy too vivid, too pure, and far too fierce to be aether. The mysterious thing was roaring inside him like a ravening beast with an insatiable hunger. It wanted him to hunt, fight, and grow—urging him to do anything he could to survive.
Filing Identify's grooves, Seth glanced at his hand.
Seth
Class: Primalist
Rank: 4 (Low-Copper)
Subclass: -
Core: Feral Instinct
Strength: 9
Arcane Power: 3
Toughness: 6
Well Capacity: 5
Agility: 9
Regeneration: 8
Spells:
- Link [???〜??? (???)]
- Identify [Copper〜Common (Refined)]
Before he could process what he saw, Seth passed out.
Early the next morning, Seth returned to Sunatown and bought another stickleback trap along with a few dozen arrows from a traveling merchant at the market in exchange for a few games he had slain a few weeks ago.
Normally, he would have bought them for a better price from Renwal, the town's blacksmith, but chances were the man would try talking about the tax collector auctioning his house—plus, there was the risk of running into Mael there. And Seth wasn't in the mood for convincing his friend that sheltering him and putting himself at risk of being fined wasn't worth it.
As he wrapped up his purchases, his mind drifted back to the events of the previous night. Even though he had survived the creation of the core, the whole damn fight against the Cerberus had somehow given him no attributes at all. And on top of that Link was pretty much useless until he found a partner.
Partner. Why that word?
It didn't sit right with him. The instructions were clear: forming the bond required consent. So why not just say 'person'? It wasn't like an object, a weapon, or even a beast could agree to something like this. Consent implied intelligence and awareness—qualities only a human could possess. Maybe the author of the instructions was trying to be poetic, like saying 'enter the eternal sleep' instead of just dying.
Then why did my father insist on telling no one? I can't make the bond without informing the other person. It doesn't add up.
As Seth rubbed his face, he noticed a hooded man with a messy black beard standing between the market's central fountain and one of the few already open homemade stands. His outfit was quite eye-catching—a wrinkled red tunic stained with dirt, boots so worn out that two toes stuck out, and a sheathed sword at his belt adorned with a gleaming blue gem.
Only one group of people would wear such ragged clothes while wielding such a magnificent weapon: Wandering Merchants—those who had awakened the Merchant class and decided to travel the world to make the best of it.
The man pulled back his hood, revealing long black hair badly in need of a cut.
Sericar.
The grin on the Merchant's face and his enthusiastic wave made it obvious he didn't know about what had happened to Seth's house, which was a relief—but there was something else behind that joy. The way his eyes roamed over Seth, the wider-than-usual smile stretching his face. He knows about my awakening.
"Hey, Seth! When did you—" the man began before stopping abruptly when he saw Seth's threatening glare.
"Hey, Sericar! How are you doing?" Seth said. Then, leaning toward the man's ear, he continued, "Nobody knows, so please keep it a secret for now."
It wasn't that Seth wanted no one in Sunatown to know. But there were a few people who would certainly not react well—those who viewed Primalists as cursed, who believed they brought nothing but misfortune.
It was absurd, of course, but fear didn't listen to reason. Seth didn't have the time or patience to break those false beliefs, nor did he want to deal with the inevitable panic. All that drama would only be a distraction he couldn't afford. Not until he had the strength to truly change his life—and the lives of the people here.
The Merchant smiled then put a finger onto his mouth. "My lips are sealed, lad!"
Seth let out a heavy sigh, reassured. Sericar was a man of his word. Even after nearly ten years of visiting Sunatown for Marcus' potions, the Merchant had always honored his promises. On top of that, he never failed to spare half an hour to answer some of Seth's questions. For a man whose time was worth many coins, that meant a lot.
After glancing around, Seth lowered his voice and asked the question running through his mind. "Why didn't I feel it when you Identified me?"
Sericar chuckled and patted Seth's back. "Lad, I'm a Merchant—that's the spell I use the most. You didn't think I'd use the basic version, did you?"
"The basic… version?" Seth asked, frowning.
"I don't use Identify, but Advanced Identify," Sericar answered as he took a purplish jewel out of his pocket. "With the basic one, I'd never be able to see through stuff like this."
Seth filled Identify's grooves and examined the small gem.
???
???
Tier: ???
Grade: ???
"Um," he mumbled before pointing at the jewel. "So, if I ever find something like this, I'll need to ask a Merchant to Identify it?"
"No," Sericar answered, shaking his head. "It'd be better to ask a Jeweler or another non-combat Wielder who handles the item on a daily basis. They all use a version of the spell that shares what they see, so the customers can also see the item's properties. Merchants don't do that—it's bad for business. They prefer buying rare stuff at half the price because the seller has no clue what they have in their hands."A grimace appeared on Seth's face as he recalled the strange flower he'd taken from beside the Tempest Hare. The Wandering Merchant who had traded it to him for awakening stone and an Identify spell-scroll had probably ripped him off more than Seth had thought.
"And even as a combat Wielder," Sericar continued, "you'll need to learn more advanced forms of Identify eventually. Or else you'll never know who—or what—you are fighting."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Try to Identify me," the Merchant answered.
Seth glanced around, double-checking that no one was watching them then slowly built the spell in his eye as the bearded man waited patiently.
???
Class: ???
Rank: ???
Subclass: ???
Strength: ???
Arcane Power: ???
Toughness: ???
Well Capacity: ???
Agility: ???
Regeneration: ???
Seth blinked several times. "I can't even see your name."
"That's because of this little guy," Sericar said, pulling down his tunic's collar to show a necklace underneath. "Concealment artifacts like this are pretty common in a city like Trogan, especially among the nobles. Most are used to hide attributes. It's also the same for arcane beasts, enchanted gears, and artifacts. The aether inside them can create some kind of barrier that blocks you from Identifying them. Depending on their Rank, though, that barrier can be pretty weak."
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
During the skirmishes of Trogan Academy's selection, I'd likely face nobles wearing those, Seth thought, rubbing his face. Without the ability to see their attributes, coming up with any sort of plan beforehand would be nearly impossible. "How can I breach a concealment barrier like yours?" he asked, pointing at the necklace. "In case I need to."
"You can't. Sorry, lad. Identify is only a Copper spell. There's a limit to what it can do."
Seth sighed. "Practicing casting it feels like a waste of time now."
"It isn't," Sericar answered. "It has limits, sure, but it's still extremely useful while Copper. And eventually, you'll be able to upgrade its Tier."
"Upgrade its Tier?" Seth repeated with a frown. "What do you mean?"
"It's one of the few spells with an existing upgrading spell-scroll," Sericar explained. "With one of those, you can build new grooves on top of the old ones and raise it to an Iron spell."
"Can't I just modify the grooves by myself by casting the new one thousands of times?" Seth asked.
"No, you can't," the Merchant laughed. "Some spells like Identify aren't rare or powerful but are so damn complex that you'd need to be a Scholar with a decade of theory knowledge under the belt to even think about modifying them."
Seth's mouth twisted to the side. "And I guess those upgrading spell-scrolls are hard to find?"
If they were just expensive, he could still hope to save up enough coins to buy one eventually. But if they were rare, he might as well forget about them—the Faertis House, or any nobles in general, would never let a commoner purchase one of those.
"Mmm, that depends on where you search," the Wandering Merchant answered. "In Arthuri, yes, they're probably hard to come by with the Faertis controlling most of the Iron and Silver spell-scrolls. But in a city like Trogan, you should find plenty of them. If you're having trouble, just have Marcus send me a message once you hit Iron. I'll help you out."
"Thanks, Sericar, but I don't think that'll happen anytime soon," Seth said, forcing a polite smile. "You saw my class. I need to focus on finding a way to hunt arcane beasts without getting killed first. And that… will probably take a lot of time."
"Right," the man said, pursing his lips behind his long beard. "But don't be demoralized. Plenty manage it. And if you get into Trogan Academy? You'll have access to resources and instructors that make that process infinitely safer."
Seth let out a short breath. That was the dream, wasn't it?
"I know. But I have to get stronger before I can get in. If I go to the selections now without gaining several Ranks, I'm basically asking to get my ass kicked."
"Not if you go to the first one this weekend at Arthuri!"
"Huh, why?" Seth frowned, taken aback. "It makes more sense to go to the last one. I'll be stronger by then."
Sericar shook his head. "Everyone else will also be stronger, and let's be honest—most of them can progress faster in safety than you can in the wild. At least, if you don't gamble with your life by attacking beasts way stronger than you. So, the longer you wait, the wider the gap will get. Plus, the moment students register, their Ranks are recorded, and rewards based on those initial stats will be given to them once they get to the academy.
The Wandering Merchant paused for an instant to rub his neck. "Most participants who wait until the last selection aim for the top prizes—there's two months between the first and last one, which is enough time to climb several Ranks. Hate to say it, lad, but you can't compete with them. You'd be better off going to the first one and hoping to beat a few others who've just awakened like you."
Seth kept his expression neutral, yet the words stung even if he knew that the merchant wasn't wrong. Other Wielders would have gained half a dozen attributes on their first day alone from having their body bather into aether. From there, they would continue to climb in Ranks through training in safe high-density environments without ever needing to risk their lives hunting arcane beasts.
All Seth's years of training and hunting had given him decent starting attributes, but within a week or two, those efforts would all mean nothing. If he wanted to keep his chances of entering the academy alive, he would have to swallow his pride and go to the first selection.
Sericar continued before Seth could answer anything, "But I still think you should give it a try. You could learn so much at the academy. How to craft spells, how to improve them. Same with aether manipulation and sensing. You'd learn about the Path and how it affects you as a Wielder. You'd also get the chance to pick up advanced combat techniques and gain fighting experience—not just with a bow, but with swords, axes, spears… learn how to defend against them."
Seth hesitated, his hand drifting up to run through his hair. He didn't need arguments to try to get to Trogan Academy; a chance to grow strong enough to decide his own fate was enough of a reason. The problem was the timing. If he went to this first selection and failed, that was it. There were no second chances. But Sericar's logic made sense. Waiting only allowed the gap between him and the wealthy nobles to widen.
"You're right," Seth finally said, rubbing his head. "I'll go to the first one."
"That's fantastic!" Sericar exclaimed. "I'll let Renwal know—he's making the trip this weekend and I'm sure he'd love the company! Oh, and don't worry, I won't say a word about your awakening. I'll say you… just want to go see the selections! Those are always fun to watch, I'm sure he won't suspect anything!"
Seth nodded, biting his tongue. "Great."
"I need to get going," Sericar said, clapping Seth's shoulder. "If we don't see each other before you leave, good luck. I'm sure you'll do great!" The Merchant took a step back, preparing to turn before halting. "Oh, by the way, does Marcus know yet?"
Seth shook his head, frowning. "Yes, he does. Why?"
"Did he give you the red ones?"
"The red ones?" Seth repeated as he arched his eyebrow.
Sericar grinned. "You should go see him again. And ask for the red ones this time—I'm sure he'll give you a great price."
"Thanks, Sericar, but I—wait, what?" Seth blinked in confusion while the Wandering Merchant was already walking away. He then glanced around nervously before shouting, "What do you mean, the red ones?"
Sericar looked back and gave him a wink. "Go see him. Trust me."
For a moment, Seth stood still and watched the man's figure disappear into the distance. It wasn't an inconvenience, really—his plan had always been to go see Marcus today. The Alchemist had asked him to return in two weeks, and Seth intended to stop by before heading back to his campsite to prepare for his first real venture into the Wicked Forest.
The red ones? The old Alchemist sold plenty of useful items for hunting, like Baiting Potions, but why would he need them? It didn't make any sense.
I guess I'll find out.
Seth paused for a moment in front of Marcus' shop before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.
The old Alechemist was leaning against the counter, studying a piece of parchment in his hand. "You took your time," he grunted, not even casting him a glance. "I thought you'd take a week, not two."
"Things happened..." Seth answered, walking over to the counter. "And I got sidetracked."
"Yeah." Marcus finally looked up, his dark eyes locked on Seth from either side of his hooked nose. "I heard. The tax collector. And the house."
Seth didn't answer, his jaw tightening.
"It's no big deal, lad," Marcus said with a dismissive hand wave. "You shouldn't get attached to material things like wood and stone. Memories are enough to keep people alive."
"They burned the only painting I had of my parents," Seth retorted, briefly clenching his fists. "It's hard not to be angry about that."
Marcus watched him for a long silence, then his gaze narrowed. "Are you planning on going after him? The tax collector?"
"No," Seth answered, shaking his head. "It wouldn't change anything. He's just a pawn of the Faertis House. Attacking him would get me in more trouble."
"That's right." The Alchemist nodded. "You should lay low as long as possible. Avoid big cities. Stay off their minds."
"That's going to be hard," Seth said, finally sitting at one of the stools in front of the counter. "Since I plan on getting into Trogan Academy."
Marcus stared at him for a long moment, then let out a sharp snort. "That's a foolish idea. The Academy isn't the paradise people think it is. It's a snake pit."
Seth shrugged. "Even if that's true, I'd prefer a snake pit where I can learn something than staying weak all my life. All Wandering Merchants tell it all the time. If commoners don't go to one of the nation's three elite academies, they will miss out on their potential."
Marcus rubbed his wrinkled face with his hands, hesitating. The Alchemist looked like he wanted to argue, but he finally sighed to admit his defeat. "Yeah... fine," the old man mumbled. "Just make sure to avoid unnecessary attention. Things could get way worse than they are now."
Before Seth could ask what he meant, Marcus turned and disappeared into the back of his store. He returned a few seconds later with a leather pouch and let out a loud sigh as he handed it to Seth.
Seth opened it and found six red vials and one green, each about the size of a finger, strapped neatly inside. He immediately channeled aether into Identify's grooves.
Healing Potion
Consumable
Tier: Copper
Grade: Uncommon
Effects:
- On consumption, heals all minor and major injuries over 3 hours.
- Restriction of 1 every 6 hours.
Agility Potion
Consumable
Tier: Copper
Grade: Rare
Effects:
- On consumption, increases Agility by 15 for 10 minutes.
- Restriction of 1 every 24 hours.
"These should help you kill a few arcane beasts without dying from your injuries," Marcus said, crossing his arms. "The green one is a safety potion. Use it to flee if you're about to get killed. Also don't expect the red ones to save your ass right away if you're seriously wounded—they take time to work. Oh, and don't give them to anyone who's not a Wielder. Instead of healing them, the potion will just make them throw up for days."
"Thank you, Marcus," Seth mumbled, his fingers lightly brushing each of the vials. Uncommon and Rare. These were definitely worth a small fortune. "How… uh, how much do I owe you?"
"Nothing," Marcus said, sitting back on his stool with a yawn. "Just make sure to bring me any Rare herbs or flowers you come across."
"Will do," Seth answered, fastening the potion pouch to his belt. "Any great advice for out there?"
"Yeah," Marcus grumbled. "Try not to die. At least not until you've brought back enough flowers to cover up for those potions."
Seth smiled and turned toward the door. "I'll do my best."