His thoughts churned with questions, his mind returning to the creature he had fought. A humanoid monster. That alone defied reason. Humans and monsters weren't supposed to share the same skills, yet it had wielded Fire-based abilities—ones he recognised from human combat techniques. And those cries… they still echoed in his head, haunting and unnatural.
Lost in thought, he hardly noticed the passage of time until the first ray of sunlight warmed his cheek. The golden light snapped him out of his reverie. He glanced down at himself—his clothes were tattered, burned, and drenched in blood, a stark reminder of the brutal fight. His right arm, badly burned, still hadn't healed. That, too, was unusual. Normally, his wounds would have begun to mend by now.
Determined to tend to his injuries, Ronan pressed forward. Nearly an hour later, he stumbled upon a small fountain. He wasted no time stripping off his ruined shirt and splashing the cool water onto his face and body. He cleaned the dried blood and soot, then reached into his pack for medicinal herbs. Applying them with practised hands, he carefully bandaged his burned arm.
The journey ahead was far from peaceful. Along the way, he encountered several Rank Two Tide Serpents, dispatching them with precision. Yet, despite his victories, his arm continued to worsen. The wound refused to heal, and an eerie sense of decay spread beneath his skin.
After two nights and a full day of travel, Ronan finally arrived at Briarfield Village. The moment he set foot in town, he headed straight for the local healer's clinic.
The doctor, an older man with silver-threaded hair and wise eyes, examined his arm with a furrowed brow. He traced his fingers over the wound, his expression growing more concerned.
"I'm not certain," the doctor admitted, "but this burn… it feels like the result of corrupted magic. That would explain why healing magic hasn't worked."
"Corrupted magic?" Ronan echoed, his brows knitting together.
The doctor nodded. "Corruption acts like a curse. Normal healing won't work—you need purification. Without it, the decay will continue to spread." He walked to a nearby shelf, retrieving a few small bottles filled with a shimmering liquid. "This is low-quality Holy Water. Use it twice a day to slow the spread of corruption. It won't cure you, but it'll buy you time."
Ronan took the bottles and handed over the payment. "Thank you, doctor."
"Don't delay seeking proper treatment," the doctor warned. "The Luminal Covenant specialises in purification magic. You should go to them as soon as possible."
Ronan gave a curt nod before leaving the clinic. Without wasting time, he summoned his flying sword and soared into the skies. His destination was Sylvara. He needed answers, and there was only one man he trusted to provide them.
Days later, he stood before the towering gates of Sylvara Magic Academy. A wave of nostalgia hit him—he had once walked these grounds as a student. But before he could step inside, a guard moved to block his way.
"Ronan? Is that really you?" the guard asked, blinking in surprise. "It's been two years. You look like a whole new person."
Ronan frowned slightly. "Good morning. I thought you would have forgotten me."
The guard chuckled. "Good morning. How can I forget a mischievous brat like you? So, what brings you here?"
"I was passing by and thought I'd meet with Mr. Gideon," Ronan said casually.
"Go ahead," the guard allowed, then added with a grin, "And try not to cause trouble."
Ronan smirked over his shoulder as he walked past. "When have I ever caused trouble?"
The guard raised a brow. "The whole academy remembers you as a troublemaker."
Ronan's grin widened mischievously. "Fair enough." He didn't linger, making his way straight to the instructor's office.
To his relief, Mr. Gideon was there—seated behind his usual cluttered desk. The seasoned instructor, sharp-eyed and commanding even in stillness, looked up in mild surprise.
"Ronan?" Mr. Gideon said, raising a brow. "Good morning. I wasn't expecting you. How are you?"
"Good morning, sir," Ronan replied evenly, though his thoughts weighed heavily. "I'm fine. And you?"
"I'm doing well." Mr. Gideon leaned back in his chair, studying him. "So, what brings you here so soon?"
Ronan hesitated only briefly. "It's about Void Overdrive. The boost is too powerful—it feels like my body can't handle it."
Mr. Gideon's expression sharpened. "What's your current tier?"
"Adept Tier Four."
Understanding flickered in Mr. Gideon's eyes. "When I first learned Void Overdrive, it evolved. I had pushed past my limits while boosted by another skill, and from then on, the technique tried to replicate that enhanced state. You must have triggered something similar."
Ronan scowled. "And you're telling me this now? A warning beforehand would've saved me a lot of pain."
Mr. Gideon gave an awkward laugh and reached into his desk, pulling out a well-worn book. "Here. This should help you regulate its output. Study it carefully."
Ronan accepted the book, flipping through a few pages before nodding. "Thank you, sir." He paused, his tone lowering. "But there's something else."
He touched his storage ring, and with a pulse of mana, the lifeless body of the humanoid monster appeared—suspended eerily in the air.
Mr. Gideon shot to his feet, eyes wide with shock. "Where did you get this?"
"In the Eldermere Highlands," Ronan said firmly. "I fought it a few days ago. I've never seen anything like it, so I brought it here."
"Did you enter the Dimensional Rift there?" Mr. Gideon asked sharply.
"No."
For a moment, Mr. Gideon studied him, then his tone hardened. "You fought this thing alone?"
"Yes."
Mr. Gideon let out a heavy breath, rubbing his temple. "Are you injured?"
Ronan pulled back his sleeve, revealing his burned arm. "Yeah. Badly."
Without another word, Mr. Gideon stored the creature's body in his spatial ring. His face was unreadable, but his voice carried a rare urgency.
"Come with me. We're going to the Central Academy immediately."
Ronan clenched his jaw. "I was thinking of visiting home first since I'm already in Sylvara."
"No," Mr. Gideon said firmly. "That can wait. First, we heal you. Then we talk."