The scarred bandit charged first, his rusty sword raised high, a wordless roar tearing from his throat. Behind him, the other four spread out, trying to flank Astraeus from multiple angles. It was a practiced maneuver, the kind that came from ambushing travelers on lonely roads.
They expected him to panic. To freeze. To die quickly.
They were wrong.
Left side, the one with the axe—he's the real threat, Kha'Zul's voice cut through Astraeus's rising fear with surgical precision. The leader is slow, overconfident. Use that.
Time seemed to slow as Astraeus's training took over. His hands moved through the air, not forming the rigid gestures of academy spells, but flowing, guiding the Ethereal Essence that responded to his will. Silver-blue light coalesced around his right hand, condensing into a sphere of raw energy.
The scarred leader was five feet away, his sword descending in a brutal overhead strike.
Astraeus stepped to the side—not a panicked dodge but a controlled movement—and thrust his palm forward. The sphere of essence exploded outward, transforming into a blast of concussive force that caught the bandit square in the chest.
The man flew backward, his sword spinning from his grip, his body hitting the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. He lay there, gasping, eyes wide with shock.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 28/50]
Good. Now the axe wielder, before he closes the distance.
Astraeus spun, already gathering more essence. The bandit with the axe was charging from his left, the heavy weapon raised for a devastating horizontal swing. There was murder in the man's eyes, the cold calculation of someone who'd killed before and wouldn't hesitate to do it again.
But Astraeus had died before. And that made all the difference.
He shaped the essence into fire, remembering the dire wolves, remembering the heat and light and destructive force. The sphere in his hand ignited, flames dancing across its surface, and he hurled it like a throwing stone.
The fireball streaked through the air and exploded against the axe wielder's shoulder. The man screamed, stumbling, his weapon falling as he frantically tried to beat out the flames spreading across his leather jerkin.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 20/50]
Behind you!
Astraeus dropped flat, instinct and Kha'Zul's warning combining into pure reaction. A club whistled through the space where his head had been a moment before, the wind of its passage ruffling his hair. He rolled to the side, came up in a crouch, and found himself facing two bandits—one with the club, another with a short sword.
They were more cautious now, having seen two of their companions taken out in seconds. They circled, trying to keep Astraeus between them, forcing him to divide his attention.
You can't fight them both at once. Not with your current skill level. You need to separate them.
"How?" Astraeus muttered, his eyes tracking both opponents.
The one with the club is slower. Create a barrier. Force him to go around while you deal with the swordsman.
A barrier? Astraeus had never made a barrier before. But Kha'Zul's training had taught him that essence was malleable, that it could become anything he willed it to be. He just had to understand the principle.
A barrier was just essence given form and structure. Solid. Unyielding. A wall between him and the threat.
Astraeus thrust both hands toward the club wielder and pushed. Ethereal Essence surged outward, not as fire or force but as pure solidified energy. A wall of silver-blue light materialized between them, translucent but clearly present, humming with power.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 12/50]
The club wielder swung at the barrier experimentally. His weapon bounced off with a resonant clang, the impact sending ripples across the surface of the wall. He cursed and began moving to the side, trying to circle around.
But that gave Astraeus precious seconds to focus on the swordsman.
The bandit lunged, his blade aimed at Astraeus's stomach—a killing thrust, fast and professional. Astraeus twisted, the sword passing inches from his ribs, and grabbed the man's extended wrist. The bandit's eyes widened in surprise.
Channel essence through your grip. Burn him.
Astraeus didn't think. He just acted. Ethereal Essence flowed through his hand, transforming into heat, into fire, into searing pain. The bandit screamed, his sword clattering to the ground as he tried to jerk his wrist free. Astraeus held on for another second, then released him.
The swordsman stumbled backward, cradling his burned wrist, his face pale with shock and pain.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 8/50]
Your barrier is failing. Move!
Astraeus glanced at the wall of essence he'd created. It was flickering, growing translucent, his concentration divided too many ways to maintain it. The club wielder saw it too and charged, his weapon raised.
Astraeus ran.
Not in panic, but with purpose. He sprinted toward the edge of the road where the forest began, his mind racing. He was nearly out of essence, exhausted from a full day of training, and still facing three opponents—the club wielder pursuing him, plus the scarred leader and the axe wielder who were recovering.
You can't run forever, Kha'Zul said. You need to end this. Now.
"I'm open to suggestions!"
Use your environment. The trees. Make them work for you.
Astraeus reached the tree line and dove behind a thick oak. The club wielder followed, crashing through the underbrush with all the subtlety of a charging bull. Astraeus pressed his back against the tree, breathing hard, trying to think.
His essence pool was critically low. He had maybe one, possibly two more techniques left before he was running on empty. He needed to make them count.
The club wielder appeared around the tree, his weapon raised. Astraeus was ready. He'd gathered the last dregs of his essence into his hand, shaped it into a thin, concentrated lance of force, and thrust it forward like a spear.
The lance of energy caught the bandit in the knee. There was a sickening crack, and the man went down screaming, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. The club fell from his grip, forgotten in the overwhelming pain.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 2/50]
Two left. The leader and the axe wielder. Both injured but still dangerous.
Astraeus emerged from the trees, his hands empty of essence but raised in a fighting stance. The scarred leader was back on his feet, his sword recovered, his expression twisted with rage. The axe wielder had managed to extinguish the flames, his shoulder burned but his weapon back in hand.
They advanced together, more cautious now, having learned that the boy in torn academy robes was far more dangerous than he appeared.
"You're dead, boy," the scarred leader growled. "Whatever tricks you've got, you're out of essence. I can see it in your eyes. You're running on empty."
He was right. Astraeus could feel the emptiness inside him, the well of power drained to almost nothing. His head pounded, his vision swam, and his hands shook with exhaustion.
But he smiled anyway.
"Maybe," he said. "But I don't need essence to kill you."
Bluff. Make them hesitate. Buy time for your essence to regenerate.
The bandits paused, uncertainty flickering across their faces. They'd seen him do impossible things—create barriers, throw fire, blast a man off his feet with pure force. Who knew what else he was capable of?
"You're lying," the axe wielder said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Am I?" Astraeus took a step forward, his hands still raised, silver-blue light flickering weakly around his fingers—the last dregs of essence, barely enough to create a spark, but they didn't need to know that. "You've seen what I can do. Do you really want to find out what happens when I stop holding back?"
The scarred leader's grip on his sword tightened. "There's two of us and one of you. Even if you take one of us down, the other will gut you."
"Probably," Astraeus agreed. "But which one of you wants to be the one I take down? You?" He pointed at the leader. "Or you?" He shifted his finger to the axe wielder.
They exchanged glances. The calculation was written on their faces—was whatever they could loot from a dead academy student worth dying for?
Your essence is regenerating. Three points now. Four. Keep stalling.
"Here's what's going to happen," Astraeus said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "You're going to walk away. You're going to leave your friends here and disappear into the forest. And in exchange, I won't hunt you down and burn you alive."
"You can't—" the axe wielder started.
"I killed a Demon King," Astraeus interrupted, and the lie came so easily it surprised him. "Do you really think two bandits scare me?"
The scarred leader's eyes widened. "You're lying."
"Am I? Look at my shadow."
Both bandits looked down, and Astraeus felt Kha'Zul respond to the cue. The demon's presence surged, his shadow form rising from the ground—not fully manifesting, but present enough to be visible. Crimson-black tendrils writhed, horns curved from the silhouette, and eyes burned with ancient fury.
The effect was immediate and devastating. Both bandits stumbled backward, their faces going pale, their weapons suddenly forgotten.
"Demon," the axe wielder whispered, his voice cracking.
"Bound to me," Astraeus said, letting steel enter his voice. "Serving me. And very, very hungry. So I'll ask one more time. Do you want to walk away? Or do you want to see what a demon does to people who threaten his master?"
They ran.
The scarred leader dropped his sword and sprinted into the forest, the axe wielder right behind him. Their footsteps crashed through the underbrush, growing fainter, until silence returned to the road.
Astraeus stood there for a long moment, his heart hammering, his whole body shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion. Then his legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.
"That was insane," he breathed.
That was effective, Kha'Zul corrected, his shadow form sinking back down. You fought well. Better than I expected.
"I almost died."
But you didn't. You adapted. You used your environment, your resources, and when those ran out, you used psychology. That's the difference between surviving and dying.
[COMBAT ENCOUNTER COMPLETE]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: 150]
[LEVEL UP!]
[YOU ARE NOW LEVEL 3]
[SKILL EXPERIENCE GAINED: BASIC ETHEREAL MANIPULATION]
[PROGRESS: 95/100]
[NEW ATTRIBUTE POINTS AVAILABLE: 3]
Astraeus pulled up his status screen, his hands still shaking.
[STATUS]
Name: Astraeus Ren
Level: 3
Health: 130/130
Ethereal Essence: 6/50
Stamina: 15/100
The numbers told the story—he'd pushed himself to the absolute limit. Another minute of fighting and he would have collapsed from exhaustion.
"Where should I put the attribute points?" he asked.
Intelligence, Kha'Zul said immediately. It governs your essence pool and regeneration rate. You ran out of essence mid-fight. That's unacceptable.
Astraeus allocated all three points to Intelligence.
[INTELLIGENCE: 14 → 17]
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE POOL: 50 → 65]
[CURRENT ESSENCE: 6/65]
He felt the change immediately—a subtle expansion, like his internal reservoir had grown deeper. The essence flowing back into him seemed to move faster, filling the expanded space.
"Better," he admitted.
Much better. Now check on the bandits you didn't kill. See if they have anything useful.
Astraeus forced himself to stand and walked over to where the three injured bandits lay. The club wielder was unconscious, his broken knee swelling grotesquely. The swordsman with the burned wrist had passed out from pain. The axe wielder with the scorched shoulder was conscious but not moving, his eyes tracking Astraeus with a mixture of fear and hatred.
"You're a monster," the man spat.
"No," Astraeus said quietly. "I'm just someone who refused to be a victim."
He searched them quickly, finding a few silver coins, a waterskin, and a small knife. Not much, but better than nothing. He took the coins and the waterskin, leaving the knife.
"I'm going to leave you alive," Astraeus said to the conscious bandit. "Tell your friends, tell anyone who'll listen—the road to Thornhaven is under my protection now. Anyone who tries to rob travelers will answer to me."
"You can't protect the whole road," the bandit said.
"Maybe not. But I can make an example of anyone who tries. And after today, do you really want to test me?"
The bandit was silent.
Astraeus walked back to the road, his legs unsteady, his body screaming for rest. The sun had set completely now, darkness settling over the land. He needed to find a place to camp, to recover, to process what had just happened.
He'd fought five armed men and won. Not through overwhelming power or superior skill, but through adaptability, tactics, and sheer determination. And Kha'Zul's guidance.
"Thank you," he said quietly as he walked. "For the advice during the fight."
Don't thank me. I was protecting my own interests.
"Still. You could have let me die."
And go back to the seal? No thank you. I've had enough imprisonment for several lifetimes.
But there was something in Kha'Zul's tone—something that might have been the faintest hint of approval. Or maybe Astraeus was just imagining it, his exhausted brain reading meaning into things that weren't there.
He found a small clearing off the road and collapsed against a tree. He was too tired to make a fire, too tired to do anything but sit and breathe and let his essence slowly regenerate.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 12/65]
The number ticked upward gradually. At this rate, he'd be back to full by morning. Assuming nothing else tried to kill him during the night.
Sleep, Kha'Zul said. I'll keep watch. Again.
"You're being surprisingly helpful."
I'm being pragmatic. You're useless if you're dead from exhaustion.
"Right. Pragmatic." Astraeus closed his eyes, too tired to argue. "Wake me if anything dangerous approaches."
Obviously.
Sleep claimed him within seconds, pulling him down into darkness. He dreamed of fire and shadow, of burning essence and crimson eyes. But this time, the dreams weren't nightmares. They were lessons, Kha'Zul's three thousand years of combat experience filtering into his unconscious mind, teaching him even while he slept.
When he woke with the dawn, he felt different. Stronger. More capable. The fight with the bandits had been a crucible, burning away the last remnants of the frightened academy student who'd died in the ruins.
What remained was something new. Something harder.
Something that might actually survive the journey ahead.
[QUEST PROGRESS: REACH THORNHAVEN]
[ESTIMATED TIME: 2 DAYS]
Astraeus stood, stretched, and checked his status. His essence pool was full, his stamina recovered, his health at maximum. The silver coins he'd taken from the bandits clinked in his pocket—enough to buy a decent meal and maybe some basic supplies when he reached the next town.
"Two more days," he said to the morning air, to Kha'Zul, to himself. "I can do this."
Of course you can. You've already done harder things.
"Like what?"
Like dying and coming back. Everything else is trivial by comparison.
Astraeus smiled and started walking. The road stretched ahead, empty and quiet in the early morning light. Somewhere ahead was Thornhaven, civilization, safety. But he wasn't in a hurry to get there anymore.
Because he was beginning to understand something important: the journey was the training. Every challenge, every fight, every moment of exhaustion and fear—it was all shaping him into something more than he'd been.
And he had four thousand chapters ahead of him to become something extraordinary.
But for now, he just walked, one foot in front of the other, with a Demon King bound to his shadow and a god system lighting his path.
It was enough.