The magnetic force field was the tangible manifestation of accumulated energy within a living being. The denser and more refined the energy, the stronger and more oppressive the field became.
Its origin lay in the world's ambient natural energy, drawn into the body and refined over time. If left unchecked, that concentrated power leaked outward, distorting the surrounding environment much like radiation seeping from a damaged nuclear reactor.
For apprentices, whose energy reserves were still meager, this was a negligible concern. Even if they released their force field entirely, it rarely caused more than a faint ripple in the air—perhaps enough to intimidate ordinary mortals, but nothing more.
Magi, however, were a different matter. Their fields, if left uncontrolled, could crush the life from nearby commoners in moments and impose suffocating pressure on anyone weaker than themselves. Control wasn't merely a skill for them—it was a necessity for survival and coexistence.
By conventional logic, Zatiel should not have possessed the strength to exert a force field capable of affecting the kobolds before him. His raw energy levels were far below what was required. But Zatiel's Abyssal Aura was no ordinary force. It surpassed mere Spirit Force, infused with the chaotic, corruptive essence of the Abyss itself—a power that gnawed at the mind and stirred primal fear in any who felt it.
Sophia stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide. She watched in disbelief as the kobolds—creatures notorious for their aggression—fell back step by step, even as their numbers swelled.
How? she thought, her mind reeling. No apprentice, no matter how strong, should be able to make them retreat like this with nothing but a force field.
She bit her tongue and kept silent. Whatever this was, it was not the time for questions.
Zatiel advanced without haste, every step deliberate, every breath controlled. He stopped only when the kobolds were pressed back against the rocky base of the mountains, their escape routes cut off. His aura thickened, pressing down on them like an invisible weight. Cold, calculating eyes swept across the cowering creatures.
There were more than a hundred of them now—faces twisted with fear, hatred, and a lingering spark of defiance. That spark flared when one bold kobold roared in challenge.
Sophia's breath caught. She knew what was coming: one challenge would ignite the rest into a frenzied attack.
But before the roar had even faded, chains of shadowy metal erupted into existence around the defiant kobold. They pierced his limbs with precise, almost surgical accuracy—avoiding vital organs but flooding him with searing pain.
The creature writhed and howled. With a small flick of Zatiel's hand, the chains tightened, pulling in opposing directions until bone and sinew gave way. The kobold's body fell in four pieces to the dusty ground.
A hush fell over the mountainside.
"Surrender," Zatiel said, his voice low and resonant, the syllables carrying the weight of something far older than himself, "or perish."
He had spoken in the Draconic tongue. The effect was immediate—every kobold froze, and a new kind of fear bled into their eyes. Then, almost as one, they dropped to their knees.
"The leader will present themselves to me," he ordered.
A wizened kobold stepped forward with halting steps. His scales were dulled with age, and the bone necklace at his throat marked him as a chieftain. "Mighty one," he rasped, bowing his head, "how may we serve you?"
"I will remain here for five days," Zatiel replied. "Your tribe will mine these mountains and deliver every scrap of mineral you uncover. Meet my expectations, and you live. Fail me, and half your tribe will die." His words carried no threat—only the flat certainty of a man stating the weather.
"We will gather all the minerals!" the chieftain—Rax—said quickly, the tremor in his voice betraying his fear. He knew without doubt that the being before him would wipe them out without hesitation if displeased.
As Rax turned to leave, Zatiel spoke again. "One more thing. If you bring me something of genuine value, I will give you a method to grow stronger." He didn't wait for a response. Turning on his heel, he left with Sophia in tow.
Rax stood watching their retreating figures for several long moments, his face caught between dread and calculation, before finally barking orders to his kin. The mining began immediately.
A short walk later, Zatiel and Sophia stopped atop a small hillock overlooking the kobold settlement.
"If you have something to say, speak," Zatiel said without looking at her. He had noticed the way she kept glancing his way, wrestling with unspoken thoughts.
She hesitated, then asked, "Are you… a Magus?"
In her mind, what she had just witnessed could only be the work of a Rank 1 Magus concealing his true identity. Not even a pseudo-Magus could have achieved what he had done so effortlessly.
"I have yet to reach Rank 1," Zatiel said calmly. "As for the source of my power… if fortune smiles on you, you may learn it in time." He settled into a meditative posture, but Sophia pressed on.
"But if you're not a Magus, then what you did back there was incredibly risky. It's not like you—you always seem to want control over every variable. What if things had gone wrong?"
Zatiel opened his eyes just enough to meet hers. "True mastery lies in knowing your enemy so well that the outcome is predetermined. Kobolds may be descended from dragons, but their nature is one of servitude to the strong. It is in their blood to bow to overwhelming force. Speaking in the Draconic tongue awakens that instinct. Of course, there are always exceptions—those rare ones who resist. That's why I was ready to kill a majority of them if needed and withdraw. I wasn't gambling. I was executing a plan."
Sophia blinked, realizing that what she had taken for an improvised display of power had in fact been a carefully calculated move from start to finish.
"Now," Zatiel said, closing his eyes fully, "rest and meditate. In five days, we move on."
This time, Sophia didn't argue. She simply sat nearby, the image of the kneeling kobolds still vivid in her mind. Whatever Zatiel truly was, one thing was certain—he was not a man to be taken lightly.