Thiriel flexed the fingers of his right hand, one by one, watching how they responded without that annoying delay that had haunted him for weeks.
Pain was no longer a constant presence. Now, it only appeared when he forced a movement too far—a reminder of how close he had come to completely shattering his body. Arielle had done an excellent job with her treatments, though she still looked at him with reproach every time she saw him get out of bed.
He sat on the edge of the mattress and took a deep breath. The magic core responded more fluidly now, spinning stably in his abdomen. He wasn't at one hundred percent—perhaps seventy—but it was enough to start moving for real.
Enough to be able to train, he thought as he stood up.
The sun was just beginning to filter through the inn's window. Caethiriel was sleeping in the adjoining room; Thiriel made sure not to make a sound as he dressed in the worn clothes he had brought from Vexar's tower.
He needed several things if he was going to start rebuilding his life in this city: a decent weapon, comfortable and resistant clothing, and above all, a source of income that would allow him to continue training without depending on anyone.
He went down the inn's stairs in silence. The innkeeper, a man with a prominent belly and a reddened nose, was cleaning glasses behind the counter. He looked up as Thiriel approached.
"Heading out early, lad?"
"I need to find a blacksmith. Is there a decent one in the city?"
The innkeeper nodded, pointing east with the glass he was drying.
"Gareth, on the east street of the commercial district. He isn't cheap, but his steel is the best in Oakhaven. If you're looking for something more affordable, there are a couple of workshops near the market, though the quality..." He shrugged. "You get what you pay for."
Thiriel thanked him for the information and stepped out into the streets of Oakhaven.
The city felt strangely familiar. The memories of the previous owner of this body were still there, superimposed over his own. He knew these streets, even though he had never walked them with his own feet. The morning air was fresh, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the bakeries. Some merchants were already opening their stalls, laying out fabrics and tools on rickety tables. A group of children ran among the adults, chasing a skinny dog that carried something in its mouth.
Thiriel stopped in front of a stone fountain in the center of the square. Two women were filling pitchers while conversing in low voices. Their words reached him clearly in the morning silence.
"...terrible what they did to her. They said they found the body in her own office."
"The Matron of the orphanage, right? I heard they gutted her like a pig."
"Worse. My cousin works for one of the guards, and she says the walls were covered in..." The woman lowered her voice to an inaudible whisper.
The other woman shivered and crossed herself with a quick gesture.
"That woman had many enemies. Everyone knew something was happening with the orphans; they would disappear after coming of age."
"Yes, but who would dare do such a thing? The guards say magic was used."
Thiriel continued walking without altering his expression, but inside, something cold settled in his stomach.
So, one of the apprentices decided to take revenge, he thought.
He couldn't blame them. The Matron had sold dozens of children to Vexar over the years, knowing perfectly well what their fate would be. Every orphan who was "lucky" enough to be chosen by the mage ended up hollowed out in that basement, their vital essence drained drop by drop to feed the old man's vitality.
The Matron's death was justice, even if it came in a brutal form. It had probably been Eiran or one of the other senior apprentices. Years of mind control, of being forced to witness the horrors of the tower while their bodies obeyed against their will... that kind of trauma didn't just disappear because the one responsible was dead.
Thiriel hoped whoever had done it found some peace. Though he doubted it.
The east street appeared before him after several minutes of walking. The metallic sound of hammer against steel resonated from inside a forge made of stone and dark wood. The sign above the door showed an anvil split by a lightning bolt, carved with precision.
Thiriel entered.
The heat hit him like a wall. The interior of the forge was lit by the orange glow of the furnaces, and the air tasted of iron and sweat. A massive man, with arms like logs and a soot-stained leather apron, was working on an incandescent blade.
"Wait your turn," he grunted without looking up.
Thiriel observed the weapons displayed on the walls while he waited. Swords of different lengths, daggers with curved edges, battle axes with reinforced blades. Most were functional pieces, designed to kill, not to impress. Exactly what he needed.
After several minutes, the blacksmith plunged the blade into a barrel of water, and steam rose with a furious hiss. He turned toward Thiriel, wiping his hands on his apron.
"What are you looking for?"
"A sword. Medium length, balanced for quick cuts. Steel that can take hits without chipping."
The blacksmith evaluated him with squinted eyes. His gaze swept over Thiriel's posture, the way he distributed his weight between both feet, the way his hands rested at his sides.
"You know what you're asking for," he finally said. It wasn't a question.
Gareth walked over to one of the walls and took down three different swords. He placed them on a workbench in front of Thiriel.
"Try them."
Thiriel picked up the first one. Too top-heavy, designed for slashing blows rather than speed. He set it aside. The second was lighter, but the hilt didn't fit his palm well. The third...
He held it for a moment, feeling how the weight was distributed along the blade. He made a cut in the air, then another, testing the response. The slice made a clean sound.
"This one."
Gareth nodded with something akin to approval.
"Five silver coins. No haggling."
The price was high, but fair for the quality. Thiriel took the coins from his spatial bag and placed them on the bench. The blacksmith picked them up without counting.
"Need a scabbard?"
"And a belt to carry it."
Half a coin more. Thiriel left the forge with the sword adjusted to his left hip, the familiar weight of a real weapon against his body making him remember his past. It wasn't comparable to the blades he had wielded in his previous life, forged by the empire's best artisans, but it was solid. Reliable.
His next stop was a clothing shop near the market. There he bought two sets of practical clothes: sturdy trousers, thick fabric shirts, and a hooded cloak that would protect him from rain and cold.
The sun was already high when he finished his shopping. Thiriel stopped in Oakhaven's central square, observing the two-story building that dominated the north side: the Adventurer's Guild.
The building was larger than he expected. Built with gray stone and dark oak beams, it had the look of something that had withstood decades of heavy use. The double doors were open, and a constant flow of people entered and exited—men and women of all ages, some carrying weapons, others with backpacks loaded with supplies.
Arielle had mentioned that he could find medicinal herbs by buying them from other adventurers or getting them himself in the surrounding forests.
"Moonflower and Ironroot are the ones that would help your recovery the most," she had said during one of his treatments. "But they are expensive if you buy them in the city shops. Adventurers usually sell them cheaper."
Thiriel crossed the guild's doors.
The interior was noisy and chaotic. Wooden tables occupied most of the space, surrounded by adventurers drinking, eating, and discussing missions. A massive board covered one of the walls, filled with parchments pinned with available jobs. At the back, a long counter separated the public area from the guild offices, where several clerks attended to those waiting in line.
Thiriel approached the counter and waited his turn. When he finally reached the front, a middle-aged woman with glasses and a bored expression looked at him from the other side.
"New registration or inquiry?"
"New registration."
She pulled a form from a drawer and slid it across the counter along with a pen.
"Name, age, specialty if you have one. There's a registration fee of three copper coins. You'll start at Bronze Rank, like all newcomers. The missions available for your rank are marked with a brown stripe on the board."
Thiriel filled out the form with basic information. Name: Thiriel. Age: eighteen. Specialty: Melee combat. He didn't mention magic. There was no reason to reveal more than necessary.
He paid the fee and received in exchange a metal plate with his name engraved and the guild's symbol: a shield crossed by a sword and a staff.
"Welcome to the guild," the woman said emotionlessly. "Don't die on your first mission."
Thiriel moved away from the counter and headed to the mission board. The parchments were organized by difficulty: those with a brown stripe at the bottom, gradually rising to those with a gold stripe at the top. He studied the options available for his rank.
Most were simple jobs. Gathering herbs in nearby forests. Escorting caravans between towns. Eliminating giant rodent pests in outlying farms. Some mentioned low-level magic beasts that had been sighted too close to the main roads.
Perfect, he thought.
He tore three parchments from the board: one for gathering medicinal herbs, another for hunting magic boars, and a third offering a reward for shadow wolves that had attacked travelers.
He took them back to the counter to register his acceptance. The same clerk stamped them without looking twice.
"You have one week for each mission. If you don't complete at least one, your membership will be temporarily suspended." She paused. "The forests to the east have the herbs you're looking for. The boars are usually seen near the river. The wolves..." She frowned. "Be careful with those. They've killed three Bronze adventurers this month."
Thiriel nodded and stored the parchments in his spatial bag.
As he left the guild, the midday sun warmed the streets of Oakhaven. He returned to the inn to leave his purchases and let Caethiriel know his plans.
His sister was awake, sitting in a chair by the window, reading the manual on caring for magic plants she had brought from the tower.
"Brother." She looked up when he entered. "Arielle came an hour ago. She said she'll be here this afternoon for your treatment."
"Good. Tell her I'll be back before dusk."
Caethiriel frowned.
"You're going out? Can you move freely already?"
"Not one hundred percent, but I need to start generating income. I registered at the Adventurer's Guild." He showed her the bronze plate. "I'll do some gathering missions while I finish recovering."
Concern crossed Caethiriel's face, but she didn't protest. She had learned that when her brother made a decision, arguing was useless.
"Be careful," she said simply.
Thiriel adjusted the sword on his belt, verified that he had enough supplies in his spatial bag, and left the inn.
Oakhaven's east gates were guarded by two guards who barely paid him any attention as he passed. Beyond the walls, the dirt road stretched toward the horizon, bordered by farmland that eventually gave way to the dark line of the forest.
Thiriel took a deep breath as he walked.
The air was different outside the city. Cleaner, more alive. He could feel the ambient magic floating like an invisible breeze, more concentrated near the forest than inside the stone walls.
There is no surveillance here, he thought. No puppet servants watching every move. No masters wanting to squeeze me dry.
For the first time since he had awakened in this body, he could train without restrictions. He could deploy his full physical potential against real beasts, sharpening his instincts in combats that no one would supervise. And he could continue refining his magic without worrying that someone would notice the abnormal speed of his progress.
The edge of the forest loomed before him, a wall of oaks and pines blocking the sunlight. The main road continued east, but Thiriel diverted onto a secondary path that wound between the trees.
He stopped at the boundary where the city ended and the wild began.
The wind stirred the leaves above his head, and somewhere deep in the forest, something howled.
Thiriel smiled.
He unsheathed his new sword, feeling how the steel caught the light filtered through the branches. The Magic Warrior Aura pulsed within him, ready to be unleashed.
Let's see just how dangerous these forests are, he thought as he took the first step into the shadows.
Somewhere ahead, the beasts were waiting.
And he was ready to hunt them.