The weight of what I'd done settled in for a split second—the guard's headless body crumpling to the dirt, blood pooling like spilled ink on the chaotic battlefield. His eyes, still wide with surprise, stared blankly at the sky. It was my first kill in this world, a life snuffed out by my own hand. Part of me recoiled, a flicker of my past life resurfacing, the old Reed. The one who ruined lives from boardrooms simply for entertainment, never getting my hands dirty—but then the memory hit me harder: the cold steel of a blade on my throat, my own blood pulsing out as the world faded to black. So what? I thought, shoving the guilt down. My life was taken once, and I won't let it happen again, no matter the cost.
The pause in the fight was very brief—everyone frozen with their gazes locked on me, the unknown kid who'd just turned a guard into a corpse with a casual spell. Chiara's icy eyes narrowed, her expression shifting from shock to fury. The remaining guards hesitated, their grips tightening on their swords while rioting prisoners nearby cheered or scattered. Our plan was to be unseen, but that was out of the window now. With the yard still a whirlwind of smoke, shouts, and clashing metal, the moment shattered like glass. Battle roared back to life.
Elias seized the brief opening, hands weaving in quick gestures. A shimmer rippled through the air around the guards flanking Chiara, then some began to blink around wildly, confusion twisting their faces. They turned to their comrades and began to swing wildly; one guard stabbed his ally in the shoulder, bellowing, "Traitor—die!" Blood sprayed as they fought amongst each other.
"Illusion magic," Elias said, his voice steady despite the chaos. "It preys on the doubts of the mind. The weaker-minded currently view their comrades as phantoms of you and I, then attack. It is Vis refined for deception—stable and subtle."
Scary stuff. Elias wasn't just a fallen scholar; his magic had layers, hints of a darker past. I'd pry that "admitted defeat" story out of him once we were free. For now, it bought us time, thinning the guards' ranks a bit, though they had begun to subdue the enchanted comrades.
With the small fry distracted, Aeloria's duel with Chiara ignited in earnest. This wasn't just some street brawl; it was a clash of Dracovenia's elite, a showcase of how noble families and households shaped their battle styles, passed down through generations but adapted by individual members to suit their strengths. As Elias had explained during our nightly training sessions—those grueling hours where he'd lectured on Vis mechanics while Aeloria demonstrated practical use—most nobles trained in family-specific approaches, rooted in affinities and traditions. But knights like Chiara earned their rank by personalizing them, infusing unique twists that elevated the base style into something deadly and signature. The Stern household's foundational style was "Glacial Cascade," a fluid, affinity-driven method emphasizing ice manipulation through Vis for speed and control, turning battles into frozen dances of precision. Chiara had honed it into her own variant, blending it with agile footwork and shard barrages that exploited environmental chill, making her a knight who could freeze foes in place while striking from impossible angles.
Aeloria, though, was different—no noble lineage, no inherited style. Hers was forged in the fires of forced battles throughout youth and relentless training as a demi-human slave. During training, there was no official title for Aeloria's fighting style, but the people of the kingdom had dubbed it "Beast's Fury"—a moniker like her "Shackled Beast" title. The name evokes raw, untamed power that overwhelmed through persistence and adaptation. It obviously lacked the refined elegance of noble styles, but it was brutally effective, using Vis to amplify her natural strength rather than refine it into elegance.
Chiara struck first, conjuring a thin, dense ice sword from thin air—Vis manifesting as frozen crystal, sharp as a diamond. She moved with frightening speed, her form a blur of elegant precision: Glacial Cascade in full flow. Her steps were more like sliding across frosted ground. She lunged, blade whistling through the air, aiming directly for Aeloria's throat in a fluid arc that defied gravity—Vis stabilizing her momentum, allowing mid-air pivots like a figure skater on invisible ice. But then Chiara's twist shone through: She wove shard fragments into the strike, small icicles trailing the sword like a comet's tail, ready to embed on impact and freeze from within.
Aeloria met her head-on, her heavy sword swinging in a wide parry. Sparks flew all around as metal clashed with ice, shards exploding outward like fireworks. Aeloria's approach was brute and instinctive, with an overwhelming lust for survival—a prime example of the "Beast's Fury." While channeling Vis through her muscles to shatter defenses, she also had her demi-human resilience, allowing absorption of hits that would fell others. She didn't dance like Chiara; she bulldozed, her strikes heavy, each swing carrying the weight of years surviving as the kingdom's "Shackled Beast." She countered with a low sweep, forcing Chiara to leap—but Aeloria followed up with a shoulder charge, her body enhanced to ram like a battering ram.
Their exchanges were a whirlwind, fragments blurring in my vision: Aeloria's blade sweeping low, forcing Chiara to vault; Chiara retaliating with ice shards raining down in a personalized hail—her variant of Glacial Cascade seemingly turning the barrage into seeking missiles that curved mid-air, as if homing on heat signatures. The air around them chilled, frost creeping across the dirt, turning the battlefield into a slippery hazard. Aeloria shattered a wave of shards with a powerful swing, ripples and fragments of crystal flowing through the air. But Chiara was too fast, darting around, nicking Aeloria's armor with glancing blows that left frostbite trails, sapping her strength.
It was both mesmerizing and terrifying—this was proof of strength in this world that they had preached so much. Vis users like them had mastered control, their mana flows bound by Vos for precise use, preventing backlash instinctively. Vis was stable, a tool shaped by technique and affinity, allowing for complex styles like Chiara's personalized Cascade. The difference between my chaotic and raw ability was night and day; bypassing the normal magic system had sounded legendary at first, but now, in battle, I realized it was more like wielding a wildfire. My raw mana use—untouched by Vos to create the stable Vis—was potent but unpredictable, completely defying the physics I've known.
Elias and I dove into the fray against the remaining guards—not the elite knights, but still trained in the basic "Ironclad Guard" style, a defensive form using Vis for shield-like barriers and sword enhancements. We had no weapons, but our mana sufficed. My body, which had been fortified from labor and the week's regimen, moved with an unearned ease—quick and agile, like I'd never been in my past.
Elias led, not giving them a chance for recovery. He charged a guard, Vis crackling around his fist like lightning—stable and controlled—a measured pulse that dropped the man with a temple strike. "Keep moving," he exclaimed. "Your raw mana's edge is endurance—you can outlast everyone here, do not overcommit."
I nodded, pooling mana throughout my limbs. Imagine control, I thought, picturing a faucet—a steady flow, not a flood. But physics didn't want to work with me; mana warped reality, amplifying force in ways Earth science couldn't explain. Raw mana ignored Vos's regulator, turning small pushes into catapults if unchecked.
I solidified my body like armor, imagining Iron Man, then propelled toward a guard, one hand outstretched. He raised his sword, so I released a wind pulse mid-leap—which was meant to stagger, but I poured too much. The "pulse" was released as a gust, exploding outward, not just knocking him back but hurling him into a wall with bone-crunching force. Backlash hit me like a whiplash, spinning me off-balance. I stumbled, cursing. Too much again. I was too hyper; the adrenaline pumping through my veins wouldn't allow calm thoughts to properly execute.
Another guard lunged as I stabilized. I dodged, but clumsily—my enhanced speed clashed with the uneven ground, mana making me feel too light, like low gravity. He swung his sword, which I countered with a wind blade in quick succession, imagining a scalpel—sharp and precise. But control slipped in the heat of the moment; this was the first time I had been in a serious battle to the death, the thought weighing on my mind. The blade widened, slicing his arm but also gashing a nearby rioter. Friendly fire. Blood sprayed, and the man screamed. Elias shot a glance in my direction that said: Focus, it's now or never.
He was right. Though in that moment, a guard closed in on him, the sword enhanced with an earthen adaptation—heavy and grounded. Caught off guard, Elias parried with his right arm, enhancing defense with Vis—but it wasn't enough. The guard's sword opened a fresh cut down his arm, Elias grunting before leaping away, blood flowing. "Reed—cover!"
I blasted wind, aiming low to trip the man—but I underdid it this time. The gust fizzled, barely ruffling his armor. Too little. Raw mana's finicky; without Vos, it's all up to me to control the chaotic power, no buffer. As I began to realize this, the guard advanced. I charged in blind, grappling the guard. As we were hand-to-hand—instinct kicked in, and it dawned on me, I could absorb his mana. Though this wasn't planned, and the effects are pretty much unknown besides speculation, I was desperate. I absorbed. His mana surged into me, a weak trickle converting to my raw pool, a slight boost. As he weakened and collapsed, I felt stronger but disoriented.
Elias walked over, arm still bleeding from the earlier wounds exacerbated by the fight. "That was good—but sloppy. We have much to work on with you, Reed." He seemed rather happy until we both realized what was going down not too far away from us.
Aeloria's duel was turning grim. Both she and Chiara were battered: blood, dirt, with gashes marring their armor. Aeloria's heavy swings slowed, frost creeping up her legs from Chiara's traps. Chiara pressed, her movements a deadly ballet—shard barrages curving mid-air, homing like missiles.
"You knew you couldn't win, slave," Chiara taunted, her voice laced with noble disdain. "A demi-human playing knight? Pathetic. Taking you down will feel great—glory to Stern!"
Aeloria snarled, shattering the ice with a surge of power brought about by survival instinct, turning the pain into fuel. But Chiara was faster, darting in, releasing an icicle that cleanly lodged itself into Aeloria's shoulder. Aeloria staggered as her legs began freezing in place, Chiara closing in for the kill.
No. Elias seemed to be weakened, and I was still disoriented—but I could act. "Aeloria!" I yelled, overloading mana into my legs—picturing the winged sandals of Hermes, "Talaria," propelling myself toward them. I moved too fast; everything became a blur as I crashed forward, arms open. I locked Chiara in a bear hug from behind, my sudden speed catching her off guard as we crashed forward together.
She thrashed. "Release me, filth!"
Then I made the split-second decision, which I believed was the only way to survive in that moment. After all, witnessing her battle with Aeloria had forced me to see just how different strength levels were in this world. I would absorb all of her mana. Full scale, no holding back. My hands clamped around her arms; I began. Mana flooded into me—a freezing torrent. At first, exhaustion and disorientation vanished, my pool swelling and sated. As she weakened, Chiara's struggles faded—but the pull deepened, something other than mana.
Everything blacked out before I was pulled through a vortex. I opened my "eyes" in Chiara's mind: flashes unspooled, vivid and unrelenting, like diving into the storm of someone else's life. It began in the Stern estate—a grand hall of marble and frost-etched windows. I was a young Chiara, no more than five, standing before a Stern tutor. "Again!" he barked, as I strained to freeze a puddle into a crude shard, my small hands trembling with effort. Pain shot through her—my?—fingers, the cold burning like fire, but I pushed, we pushed forward. Joy flickered as the shard formed, my family's approval a rare warmth in the cold household.
The visions accelerated: adolescence in training arenas, drilling Glacial Cascade—the Stern style's fluid ice forms, but I was twisting it, she was twisting it, infusing her own personal flair. She practiced alone at night, accidentally creating her unique adaptation while trying to perfect her family's style, turning it into a predatory style. Battles followed: a tournament between nobility where I froze an opponent's limbs mid-strike, the crowd's cheering, rivals screaming. Triumph, but loneliness—peers whispering about my cold heart. Trauma hit hard: a lost comrade in a border skirmish, failure to save him froze my soul with guilt, deeper than any spell.
Then rage: Aeloria's induction as a knight. "That slave scum?" I thought. "She could never understand what us nobility gave up to acquire these positions." Indignation plain on my face. I pleaded with Seigmund and others. "She'll betray us—a slave demi-human girl whose family was destroyed right in front of her by the very people employing her." My rant also fueled noble prejudice; nobody listened, so I continued on with my life. Skills imprinted: Vis formulas for glacial flows, ice enhancements bending physics. Joys were fleeting: a noble ball where she danced, but so did trauma, like family scorn for "emotional weakness."
As abruptly as it started, it ended. I was back in my body, collapsed as the influx ended. Overwhelm crushed me—not just power, but her being. Her memories clashed with mine; cold invading, identities fracturing. Screams echoed around until I realized I was the one screaming.
The last thing I remembered was seeing Chiara on the ground next to me, pale and unconscious. For a short while, I saw the rioting rage through blurred lenses. Then I was hoisted up and lost consciousness. I woke up surrounded by dense green, wind howling and leaves rattling all around. It was the same as when I first awoke in the new world. Had I died again?