The corridor stretched ahead like the throat of some ancient beast.
Stone walls, polished smooth by centuries of boots and magic. Torches set every ten meters or so, burning with that same smokeless blue flame. No windows. No natural light. Just the faint hum of mana in the air, like the buzz of distant electricity.
I walked slowly at first, sword in hand, ears straining for any sound that wasn't my own footsteps.
The knight who'd run away with Aria had probably raised the alarm by now. Bells. Horns. Running feet. Reinforcements.
I had maybe five, ten minutes before this place turned into a hornet's nest.
And I had no map. No minimap. No helpful glowing arrow like in games.
Just instinct and the new, terrifying clarity that Mana Manipulation (EX) gave me.
I could feel the castle's mana flow the way a fish feels currents in the ocean.
Thick veins of power ran through the walls — ley lines, probably. They converged deeper inside, toward what felt like the heart of the structure. That was probably the throne room or the main ritual chamber.
But I didn't want deeper.
I wanted out.
So I followed the thinnest threads. The places where mana was weakest. Where the flow leaked outward like blood from a shallow cut.
It led me left at the first intersection, then down a narrow stairwell that smelled of damp stone and old iron.
Every few steps I paused, pressed my palm to the wall, and let the mana tell me what lay beyond.
Guards — two, maybe three — patrolling a hallway thirty meters ahead.
I waited until their footsteps receded, then slipped past.
The stairwell ended at a heavy iron door, rusted at the edges but reinforced with glowing runes.
I touched the runes.
They pulsed once, hostile.
Then I pushed a tiny thread of my own mana into them — not to break, just to understand.
The runes were a simple alarm ward tied to a central nexus. If disturbed, they'd scream to every guard post in the wing.
Cute.
I compressed a needle-thin spike of mana, sharpened it until it was denser than diamond, and slid it between two rune lines like a scalpel.
The runes flickered, confused.
Then went dark.
I pushed the door open.
It creaked louder than I liked.
Beyond was a storage level — barrels, crates, sacks of grain, racks of spears and shields. Dust motes danced in the faint torchlight.
And voices.
Low. Urgent.
"…Lady Aria's been attacked. The otherworlder's loose."
"Impossible. He was level one."
"Tell that to Sir Garen. He's got a crushed windpipe."
I pressed myself against a stack of barrels.
Three guards. One sergeant-type with a plume on his helmet, two younger ones. They were arming themselves — extra swords, crossbows, a small mana crystal that glowed faintly on the table.
I could take them.
Easily.
But every fight was noise. Every unconscious body was evidence.
I needed silence.
So I waited.
They talked for another minute, then the sergeant barked orders.
"You two, secure the east stair. I'll check the service tunnels."
They split.
Perfect.
The two younger ones headed my way.
I slipped behind a row of wine casks, crouched low.
They passed within arm's reach.
I waited until the last second.
Then I moved.
One hand over the first guard's mouth, the other arm around his throat.
He stiffened, tried to shout.
I squeezed.
Not enough to kill — just enough to cut blood to the brain.
He went limp in four seconds.
The second guard turned at the soft thud.
I was already there.
Palm strike to the solar plexus — hard enough to knock the wind out, not hard enough to crack ribs.
He doubled over.
I finished with a chop to the back of the neck.
Both down.
Quiet.
Clean.
[Two enemies subdued (Unconscious – 11 minutes / 9 minutes)]
[Minor talents available: Basic Spear Handling (C), Crossbow Proficiency (C), Patrol Discipline (D)]
I ignored the window.
No time for small fries.
I dragged the bodies behind the barrels, stripped one of his tabard and cloak, pulled them over my own clothes. The tabard was too big, the cloak too short, but in dim light it might buy me seconds.
Then I moved on.
The service tunnels were narrow, meant for servants and maintenance mages. No decorations. Bare stone. Occasional iron grates in the floor that let out the smell of kitchens far below.
I followed the weakest mana threads upward now.
Up meant outside.
Eventually the tunnel opened into a wider passage — servants' quarters. Laundry baskets. Drying racks. A few doors leading to small rooms.
And a single guard post at the far end.
Two more soldiers, talking in low voices.
One yawned.
I could feel their fatigue. Their boredom. Their mana was sluggish, barely circulating.
Easy prey.
But instead of attacking, I did something new.
I gathered a thin mist of mana around myself — not invisibility, not yet, but enough to bend light slightly, blur my outline.
Then I walked.
Calmly.
Like I belonged.
One of the guards glanced up.
Saw the tabard.
The cloak.
A tired otherworlder in borrowed uniform.
He frowned.
"…you new?"
I nodded once, kept walking.
"Relief shift," I muttered, keeping my voice low.
He grunted.
The other didn't even look up.
I passed between them.
Heart in my throat.
They didn't stop me.
I reached the end of the passage.
A wooden door with a simple latch.
I pushed it open.
Cool night air hit my face.
Moonlight.
Grass.
A courtyard garden, walled on three sides.
And beyond the far wall — the faint glow of a city.
Freedom.
Almost.
I stepped out.
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
Then I heard it.
Hooves.
Lots of hooves.
From the main gatehouse on the opposite side of the courtyard, six mounted knights rode out, torches high.
Behind them, infantry in formation.
And floating above the lead rider — a crystal orb the size of a basketball, pulsing with white light.
A tracking spell.
They were searching for me.
I pressed myself against the wall, in the shadow of a trellis covered in night-blooming flowers.
The lead rider raised a hand.
The orb flared brighter.
Then it drifted — slowly — toward my position.
Shit.
They had a direct mana trace.
Probably from the summoning circle I'd woken up in.
Or from Aria's blood on my hands.
I had seconds.
I looked around wildly.
Garden. Stone wall maybe four meters high. Too smooth to climb quickly.
A small fountain in the center.
A gardener's shed to my left.
I sprinted for the shed.
Inside: shovels, rakes, bags of fertilizer, a wheelbarrow.
And a coil of rope.
I grabbed the rope, tied one end around a heavy sack of soil, threw the other end over the wall.
Not elegant.
But it would do.
I climbed — fast, thanks to the new stats.
Halfway up, the orb passed directly overhead.
I froze.
The light swept over me.
For one horrible second I thought it would stop.
But the tracking was tuned to my original mana signature — the one before I stole Mana Manipulation.
The new, denser flow inside me confused it.
The orb moved on.
I hauled myself over the top.
Dropped to the other side.
Landed in soft earth.
An alley.
Narrow. Smelling of garbage and wet stone.
City sounds drifted in — distant laughter, the clop of carts, the murmur of people.
I pulled the hood of the stolen cloak up.
And I ran.
Not blindly.
I followed the mana currents again — outward, away from the castle's thick nexus.
Through alleys. Over low walls. Past drunkards sleeping in doorways.
I didn't stop until the castle's mana presence faded to a dull throb in the distance.
Then I found a small plaza with a public fountain.
I knelt, splashed water on my face.
Blood. Sweat. Dust.
My reflection stared back at me — wild-eyed, hair plastered to my forehead, stolen tabard torn at the shoulder.
I looked like a fugitive.
Because I was.
I sat on the edge of the fountain for a long time.
The moon was high.
Somewhere in the city, bells began to ring — not alarm bells, just midnight chimes.
I checked my status again.
[Name: Takahashi Ren]
[Level: 4] (Stealth, evasion, and combat experience)
[Slots Filled: 1/3]
• Mana Manipulation (EX)
[Passive Talents: Swordsmanship (A)]
I flexed my hand.
The mana responded instantly — a tiny blue spark dancing between my fingers.
I could do anything with this.
Build walls. Shatter stone. Fly, maybe, with practice.
But right now, I needed food. Shelter. Information.
And I needed to figure out what came next.
Because the kingdom would hunt me.
Aria — if she woke up — would remember my face.
And I'd just proven to myself that I was willing to hurt people to get stronger.
The question wasn't whether I could stop.
The question was whether I wanted to.
I stood up.
Looked toward the brighter lights of what seemed to be the commercial district.
Then I started walking again.
One step.
Then another.
Into the night.
Into the city.
Into whatever came next.
Because in this world, power wasn't given.
It was taken.
And I was finally hungry enough to take it all.