Flauros blended into the night, his body dissolving like a thin wisp of smoke, silently drifting along the cold air currents. The perfect concealment magic made him almost invisible in the pale moonlight.
The feeling of being watched was still there, but he paid it no mind. If the person behind him wanted to approach, they would have to reveal themselves.
In the blink of an eye, he had already glided through the dark alleys, avoiding the city patrols. Even though he had just gone through a battle, his steps were steady, showing no signs of fatigue.
The magic covered him like a black curtain, leaving no trace on his path.
Soon, Flauros arrived at the neighborhood where he rented a room. He stopped on the opposite rooftop, his sharp gaze scanning the surrounding area. Nothing unusual.
He teleported once more, his figure fading into space. When he reappeared, he was standing firmly on the third-floor windowsill where his rented room was located. The window was tightly closed, but for him, that was no obstacle.
Flauros reached out and touched the window lightly, the dark magic seeping into the crack, gently unlocking it. A small "click" sounded, and the door opened slightly, without making any loud noise.
He slipped inside, pulling the door behind him, allowing the darkness outside to completely close.
The room was still as quiet and cold as before. The oil lamp on the table was still intact, showing no signs of anyone touching the furniture.
Flauros scanned the room to make sure no one had broken in while he was gone.
He walked to the table, took off his dusty and scorched cloak, and threw it aside.
He sat down gently on the chair next to the window, relaxing his body after the battle. His eyes narrowed slightly, thinking about what had just happened.
"The dead know how to fight… And someone is pulling the strings behind the scenes."
His hand clenched unconsciously. This was not a random battle. Something bigger was going on.
He sighed, tilting his head to look out the window. The city was still in darkness, the lights flickering from the distant streets. Another long night had passed, and Flauros knew that the storm was not over yet.
Just as Flauros relaxed his body on the chair, a sudden sharp pain pierced his chest like a sharp blade. His eyes widened, and his breathing stopped for a moment.
His throat was so dry that it felt like there was fire burning inside. Every time he swallowed, he felt a stinging pain piercing through every cell.
The blood in his body was boiling, but not because of the usual heat, but a poisonous feeling circulating in every flow.
It tore, burned from the inside, making his limbs tremble uncontrollably. His heartbeat slowed, as if it were running out of life force.
Flauros tried to stand up, but his legs betrayed him. He fell to his knees, his hands quickly grabbing the bed frame to keep his balance, but the pain kept coming. An invisible pressure pressed down on his chest, making every breath torture.
He coughed loudly, but instead of air, a stream of thick black blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. He held it in, but the coughs came in waves, mouthfuls of blood staining the cold floor.
His vision blurred, and only black spots danced before his eyes. His breathing was ragged, and every muscle in his body felt like it was being torn apart by hundreds of sharp teeth. Pain. Suffocation. As if death was getting closer than ever.
Using forbidden magic too much... he knew the price he had to pay.
Especially when he had used an extremely dangerous ancient technique to enhance his magical abilities.
Flauros gritted his teeth, using the last of his willpower to keep himself from collapsing completely. He couldn't let himself die here. Not now.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his flesh until they bled, trying to fight off the terrible pain that was tormenting every cell.
He needed to recover. Immediately. Or he wouldn't have enough strength to survive the night.
Flauros's hands trembled, but he still used the last of his strength, focusing the little mana left in his body.
A faint light emitted from the storage ring on his finger as he activated the spell. Immediately, from the space of the ring, a small glass bottle appeared in his hand.
Inside the bottle was a liquid as thick as honey, emitting a faint luminescent glow.
Under the dim light in the room, it looked like a living creature, undulating, stirring with every movement of the glass bottle.
The green liquid had a strange texture, not completely liquid, but more like finely ground powder suspended in a thick solution.
Flauros clenched his teeth, having no other choice. He turned the bottle cap, without hesitation, pouring the entire solution into his mouth.
As soon as the liquid went down his throat, his entire body felt like it was on fire. The pain spread throughout his nerves, so intense that he almost screamed.
His throat burned, as if the solution just now was not medicine but molten lava. The blood vessels under his skin suddenly bulged, and each vein stood out clearly on his neck, arms, and hands, as if it was about to explode from the pressure.
His heart was constricting violently, as if being squeezed by an invisible hand, each beat becoming chaotic, sometimes fast to the point of madness, sometimes slowing down as if about to stop completely.
His breathing was cut off, and waves of pain came crashing down more violently than any torture he had ever experienced. His body could not bear it, convulsing in waves, cold sweat pouring out and soaking his robe.
But then, after a few seconds that seemed endless, the pain suddenly subsided. It was as if a cold hand had just pulled out all the invisible blades stabbing into his body.
Flauros's breathing was still heavy, but the feeling of being burned from within had gradually dissipated. His throat still hurt, but there was no longer a burning sensation.
His blood vessels stopped boiling, and his heartbeat became more stable. Although his body was still tired, the terrible pain from before had eased considerably.
He leaned against the bed frame, looking up at the ceiling, his breathing still erratic. His hand tightened around the empty glass vial.
The potion was not pleasant, but at least it had brought Flauros back from the jaws of death.
Flauros was still leaning against the bed, breathing heavily, his sharp eyes reflecting the dim light in the dark room. The pain had subsided, but his body still had the remnants of the convulsions from earlier.
He clenched his hand, feeling the blood flowing back into his veins, no longer chaotic as before.
He lowered his gaze to the empty glass bottle in his hand, his brows slightly furrowed. The medicine was effective, but the pain it brought made him even more certain that his body was being damaged more seriously than he thought.
Using forbidden magic continuously for a day had left no small consequences, and this was only the beginning.
Flauros tilted his head, looking out the window. It was late at night, the sky was still immersed in a pitch-black color, and not a single star was twinkling.
Down on the street, the dim lantern light cast a rare shadow on the moving figures in the mist.
The world outside was suspiciously quiet, but he knew that tonight, he was not the only one operating in the dark.
He slowly stood up, his legs still trembling slightly, but he did not allow himself to rest any longer. This trip was not over yet, and he had too many unanswered questions.
His eyes turned cold as he remembered the person who had just died under his spear. A walking corpse, an entity identical to the one he had fought before he set foot in the Divine Kingdom, when he had just founded the Dawn Guild, even when he had just transmigrated here and had not yet officially become a wizard.
But this time, he could feel that the person was more advanced, stronger, and most importantly… it was no longer acting unconsciously.
Someone was controlling them.
And increasingly targeting Flauros, clearly realizing that he had touched their secret.
Flauros raised his hand to gently stroke his messy hair, his eyes gradually sinking into contemplation. If the person behind him had attacked once, there would be a second time. And the next time, he probably wouldn't just face a single puppet.
But Flauros didn't care, those who had nothing to lose had nothing to fear.
The sacred fire wasn't something that could be easily extinguished, even if it was just a weak flame, he would still burn down those who stood in his way.
Especially when the paradise he was aiming for had yet to be achieved.
Looking up at the clock artifact on the wall, it was already 3 am.
He took off his familiar striped scarf and threw it on the bed. He went into the bathroom to wash off the dirt and blood on his body, and also needed to rest to recover his body. He had gone through too much today, maybe he could continue with other things tomorrow.
'I'm worried, but if I keep going like this without any rest, I'll die of exhaustion sooner or later....'
Warm steam still lingered in the air as Flauros stepped out of the bathroom, his black shirt still dripping with water from his hair. Droplets of water rolled down the reddish-brown strands. His hair was still not dry.
The room was quiet, and only the sound of water dripping from the damp locks could be heard. He sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbed a clean towel, and began to dry his hair.
The warm temperature after soaking in the water made him feel much more comfortable, and the muscles that were tense after the battle also gradually relaxed.
Flauros' breathing became slow, his eyes half-closed, reflecting the soft light from the lantern beside the bed.
The feeling of cleanliness after washing away all the dirt, dried blood, and the strong fishy smell from his body made him feel more comfortable than ever. This was one of the rare moments he could enjoy a brief moment of peace.
Gently shaking his almost dry hair, he placed the towel on the table and leaned against the bed, his eyes gradually blurred by the fatigue that was coming.
Tonight, he would probably get some sleep, although not deep, but at least he could rest after everything that had happened.