Right after, the Book of Heroic Spirits unfurled in his mind, and the follow-up quests in the "Initiation" series slowly surfaced.
"Find better, stable food and lodging, and befriend someone you can truly open your heart to?"
Shane mouthed the quest text. The conditions were still simple on paper—basically an extension of the previous trial—but in the here and now they were pure fantasy. Impossible.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to the reward he'd just earned for clearing the trial.
The dark-gold card hung quietly in his consciousness, giving off a faint, pulsing glow.
A gentle warmth flowed out of it in steady waves, blending with the calories from the bread he'd just eaten, slowly driving out the chill and exhaustion coiled in his body.
In a matter of seconds the leaden weight in his limbs felt lighter; at least he no longer blacked out every time he tried to squat and stand.
"Good stuff," he thought with genuine appreciation. He tugged his sleeve down to cover his wrist and, with a silent call, felt a smooth warmth fill his palm.
The card was neither metal nor wood—more like warm jade, pleasant to the touch.
He slipped it up his sleeve and rubbed it lightly with his fingertips. A strange sense of connection rose unbidden.
He understood instinctively: this card was linked to the presence the Book had just summoned—the Heroic Spirit whose true name had yet to be revealed.
Through it, he could borrow a portion of that spirit's power.
For example—the Noble Phantasm.
As that understanding formed, information about "Heroic Spirits" flowed into him.
Heroic Spirits are beings sublimated from legend and lore, wielding power ordinary people can't even imagine. Their Noble Phantasms—mystic armaments forged from the core of their deeds—are the ultimate expression of a Heroic Spirit's might.
And now, whenever he wished, he could use the card to manifest that legendary armament for himself.
It was an awfully generous payout from the Book of Heroic Spirits. Shane couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from lifting.
"That snow-mountain vision from before probably ties to this spirit's identity… What kind of Noble Phantasm can I call out?"
He itched to try it, like a kid with a new toy.
But a glance at the others, sprawled or slumped around the cell, made him swallow the urge. There would be time later.
Just then, he noticed an elderly man with grizzled hair looking his way from time to time. Their eyes met, and the old man gave him a kindly smile. "Good, was it?"
Shane blinked, then realized he meant the bread. He grinned back. "Cold and rock-hard—almost choked me. But… for me, it was the best meal I've had."
"Hah! Honestly, I've always thought that stuff tasted awful too." The old fellow chuckled, the lines at his eyes smoothing.
"Hey, that was Grandpa Rob's hard-saved food. You'd better thank him properly," Hugh said as the overseer left and the cell loosened up, elbowing Shane like they were already friends.
Shane turned to the old man. His chest was bare, his frame stick-thin, each rib starkly visible. Shane sobered and nodded. "I'm truly grateful."
He answered so earnestly it made Hugh a little awkward. Scratching his hair, Hugh muttered, "Ahem… you don't have to be that serious. I believe you."
"It's fine," Rob waved it off with a gentle smile. "I'm old—no appetite. Don't think twice about it."
"Grandpa Rob's a real old-timer here. Most folks have been helped by him at some point. When he was young, he was a mage in one of the kingdom's top guilds," Jellal added after composing himself.
"A mage?" Shane's eyes lit up and he leaned forward. "Sir, you can use magic?"
"But of course!" Rob turned proudly to show the emblem on his back—a stylized, strange-looking creature branded into his thin spine. "I'm a Fairy Tail mage. How could I not use magic!"
Then his voice dropped, tinged with loneliness. "But… these days I've lost my magic. It doesn't feel right to go around calling myself Fairy Tail anymore."
Shane stared at the emblem. It rang a bell, but he couldn't place where he'd seen it.
He let it go and looked at the old man with fresh hope. "Then… could you teach me magic?"
"Magic isn't something you learn just like that," Rob said, shaking his head.
"Without grimoires and a proper course of study, mastering magic in a place like this is almost impossible—unless you're the type of prodigy who awakens to it naturally."
"I see…" Shane lowered his head. To brush up against this world's supernatural system and be unable to study it—anyone would feel a pang of loss.
Then he thought of the Heroic Spirit card he'd just received. Wasn't that another form of magic? The cloud lifted a little.
"A prodigy like that wouldn't get caught and thrown in here," Hugh cut in, then switched to a worried tone. "You, meanwhile—forget magic for now. With that scrawny frame, making it through tomorrow's shift is the real problem. Those overseers don't spare the whip."
He wasn't fearmongering. On the site, people died every day—from exhaustion or from angering a foreman.
"I'll do my best."
"Forget it, I'll keep an eye on you," Hugh thumped his chest. This blunt newcomer was his kind of person.
Shane glanced at Hugh, who wasn't even as tall as he was, and almost laughed—but he nodded solemnly anyway. "Thanks."
"Whatever you do, don't draw attention. And if you have to, come to me," Jellal added, dead serious. Clearly the workload was no joke.
"Got it. I won't be shy about asking." Shane wasn't the posturing type. He had the Book, but he hadn't figured out its limits; no point in acting tough.
Jellal went on to introduce two more friends of theirs: Wally, nicknamed "Mad Dog," and Millianna, the youngest in the cell.
Shane chatted with them briefly and was surprised to find that, even in a prison, their hearts were simple and kind. Being around them was easy.
He also learned one more thing: in this tower, aside from the dark mages who ruled the place, none of the slaves could use magic.
Which only drove home how unusual the Book of Heroic Spirits was—handing him a class card on par with magic on a whim.
Maybe the day's labor had wrung everyone dry. Before long they were toppling over one by one. The cell fell quiet, breathing rising and falling in uneven waves.
Shane had wanted to pry for more information, but seeing how spent everyone was, he understood the value of rest. Their warnings hadn't been jokes.
He lay down on the straw mat, closed his eyes, and planned how to test the card tomorrow.
Drowsiness thickened. In a haze, he saw two armies warring across a barren land for decades, as if without end; he saw the toiling masses struggle to live amid iron and fire; he saw people forge their hope into a bow and an arrow.
He saw a man of great authority place them into another man's hands.
And then he saw the snow mountain again. The man, bearing bow and arrow, set off to climb into the wind and snow without end.
…
…
A shrill whistle drilled into his ears like a chisel, yanking him from sleep.
Shane jolted awake, heaviness still pooled behind his eyes, as if he hadn't quite returned from the story he'd been dreaming.
"Those scenes… were they that Heroic Spirit's past?" He stared at the card in his mind, curiosity and doubt tangling together.
As a history major, grand, epic vistas like that hit him straight in the gut. They also made him even more intent on the nameless Heroic Spirit's identity.
"Class is Archer… and there are plenty of famous archers…" He rubbed his chin without thinking.
The dream faintly matched a legend he knew—but were those images from Blue Star's history, or echoes of some other world? He couldn't say.
"Whatever. I'll watch for more."
He stood, thoughtful. By now he no longer resisted these uninvited "visions." If anything, he was looking forward to the next one.
"Next time, I'll figure out who it is."
"Time to go." While he was thinking, Jellal—already awake—gave him a gentle push and whispered a prompt.
Shane snapped back to himself. Around him, everyone had already risen in silence and formed up in neat, quick lines.
"Move! Move! You filthy, lazy swine!" Outside the bars, robed overseers cracked their whips and barked orders, faces twisted with malice.
He noticed everyone kept their heads down, avoiding even a glance at them.
Don't draw attention.
Remembering Jellal's warning, Shane lowered his head and slipped naturally into the line.
They began to march. Shackles clanked against shackles in a jangling chorus. The moment they left the cell block, the glare of the sun made him squint.
Once his eyes adjusted, the sight before him knocked the breath from his lungs.
A tower.
A stone tower so massive it defied belief, rising as if to pierce the sky.
It was built of rough, dark megaliths and had already climbed frighteningly high. Countless figures—ant-small—swarmed over the tower and the scaffolds around it.
The clink of hammers, the roar of stone grinding, the overseers' curses and the crack of whips braided together into a din that rattled the eardrums.
"So this is… the Tower of Heaven we're building?" Shane murmured, remembering what he'd heard the night before.
They said the Black Magic Cult was constructing a forbidden magic—the R-System—to resurrect the dark mage they worshipped.