Nick rode a sphere of kinetic force high above the grasslands, tearing through the sky at a speed that blurred the rolling hills below into a smear of pale green and gold.
In the quiet of his mind, the System prompt lingered; a string of blue text burned into his consciousness.
NICK CROWLEY Eidolon of the Formless/ Prestige Human
LEVEL 102
MANA 752
STR 242
DEX 246
CON 255
INT 380
WIS 474
CHA 369
Six million-plus experience points were a staggering number, yet they’d only been enough to gain a single level.
The System clearly recognized the danger of reaching into the Blind Eternities beyond the void, of undertaking a Great Work. And still, only one level.
I now understand why so few people achieve Prestige and why almost nobody ever manages to go beyond it. Ogden and Marthas are truly monsters.
He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his thoughts drifted back to the sun-drenched island and the woman with bronze eyes. Circe. She had looked across an unfathomable gulf of dimensions and spoken to him. The encounter had lasted less than a heartbeat, yet the sheer danger radiating from her stare still sent a chill down his spine.
Reaching the Prestige tier meant playing a different game. The World was vast, but beyond the ether lay something greater, filled with predators who regarded those like him as mere curiosities.
And here I thought I’d stopped being the small fish. Well, I guess I’m a medium fish in a small pond now. Only I’m aware it’s loosely connected to a whole ocean, and much greater threats lie there.
He pushed the thought aside, banking his bubble toward the rising stone walls of Floria.
He slowed his descent, slipping over the parapets unnoticed, and touched down silently on the manicured grass of Crowley Manor’s private gardens, a place of eternally blooming flowers that felt almost too perfect, yet the slow thrum of nature magic made it just right.
Nick dismissed his spell, rolling his stiff shoulders, ready to summon a servant and call for his parents. He rounded a tall hedge of sculpted yew and stopped dead in his tracks.
Standing by the marble fountain, framed by the morning sunlight, were Eugene and Elena Crowley. He had his arms wrapped securely around his wife’s waist, lifting her slightly off the grass, while Elena’s hands were tangled in the thick fur of his cloak, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss.
Nick stood still for a long moment, kicking himself for not scouting ahead, so busy had he been with his contemplations, before deciding it was too late to retreat. He cleared his throat.
Eugene broke away instantly, his hand dropping to the sword at his hip on pure instinct before his eyes settled on his son. He blinked, his face coloring beneath his beard. Elena stepped back, smoothing the front of her maroon gown as if unbothered, though a rare flush painted her high cheekbones.
“Nicholas," Eugene grumbled, dropping his hand from his sword hilt. "You have terrible timing.”
"A useful habit in my line of work," Nick replied dryly, flashing a cheeky smile. "I apologize for the interruption. I can return to the sky and circle the town a few more times if you need a moment.”
"Do not be insolent," Elena chided, though the corners of her mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. She finished adjusting her hair and gave him a sharp look. "You are back early. Is Oakenhollow secure?”
Nick’s smile faded. “Yes, I got the proof I needed, and now the witch is bound and chained beneath the manor. The townsfolk are cleansed of the charm, though they are reeling from the damage it left behind and will likely need some time to fully recover.”
Eugene let out a gruff sigh, rubbing his forehead. "Armand Poules rode out at dawn. I kept him buried in logistical reports as long as I could, but the man was desperate to see his wife. At that pace, he will reach the town by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
"Tim will deal with him," Nick said. "He asked for the chance to handle his father alone. With Candra’s aura sealed, her passive influence is nullified. He believes he can break the worst of the compulsion by forcing Armand to see the truth.”
"It is a risk," Eugene noted, his gray eyes darkening. "Armand is a seasoned killer. If the charm holds strong enough to blind him to reason, he might kill his own heir.”
"Tim knows the risk, and I’m inclined to give him a chance,” Nick replied, even though he wasn’t quite sure things would go that smoothly. "If he wants to rule that town one day, he must prove he can manage his own house.”
"I agree," Elena said smoothly, linking her arm through her husband’s. "But trust has its limits. I have already dispatched three outriders to follow Armand at a distance. If blood is drawn, we will know and can step in before it becomes a massacre.”
Eugene nodded. "If the boy fails, I will ride out and deal with my knight myself. Now, go wash up, Nicholas. You look like you slept in a ditch.”
Nick bowed to them both and left the gardens, walking through the manor’s quiet stone corridors. He intended to find his quarters and perhaps sleep for an hour, but the sharp clack of blades striking each other drifted in from the training yard’s open arches, drawing his attention.
He altered his course, stepping out onto the packed dirt of the sparring ring.
Rose stood in the center, facing two of the manor’s seasoned guards. The morning air was cool, but she was drenched in sweat. Dust coated her arms and face, clinging to the fabric of her tunic.
Nick leaned against a marble pillar, watching her move.
It was a painful display. Her mind clearly retained muscle memory, and she anticipated the guards' strikes perfectly, her eyes tracking their shifting weight. But when she commanded her body to pivot, the blue mana of her [Adept Swordswoman] class failed to deliver the supernatural speed she expected.
She overextended on a parry, and the first guard batted her wooden blade aside, allowing the second to step in and drive the blunt edge of his practice sword hard into her ribs.
Rose gasped, stumbling backward. Her boots tangled in loose dirt, and she fell hard, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Yield," the first guard called out, lowering his weapon.
That was a fight she would have won on sheer force alone, once. The guards are good and experienced, but she should have had the edge with her higher level.
Rose let out a wordless yell. She hurled her wooden sword across the ring, where it bounced off the far fence with a loud crack. She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with bitter frustration.
The guards exchanged an uneasy glance, unsure how to handle the situation.
Nick pushed off the pillar and waved a hand at the guards, silently dismissing them. They bowed quickly, then retreated to the weapon racks, leaving the ring empty.
He crossed the dirt, making sure to make noise, then paused beside her.
“I see you are still struggling,” he noted.
Rose looked up, her face streaked with dust and tears of anger. “I hate it. I see the openings; I know when to strike, but my body just… doesn’t follow. It feels like fighting underwater.”
“It was never going to be easy, but if you manage to overcome this, you’ll be much, much stronger when you’re released from the shackles,” Nick told her, offering his hand.
She stared at it for a second before grasping his forearm, and he hauled her to her feet.
“Having royal mana spoiled you," Nick explained, keeping his tone matter-of-fact to ensure she didn’t think he was mocking. "It covered your mistakes. It gave you speed when your footwork was sloppy and power when your leverage was off. You have lost the luxury of that. Now you must learn the economy of motion.”
Rose wiped her face with the back of her wrist, her jaw set in a stubborn line. “How?"
“The same way everyone else does. Experience, failure, and eventually, victory. I certainly didn’t start out able to cast the way I do now, but with time and effort, I got better.”
"A sound lesson.”
Having sensed his approach, Nick turned as Arthur stepped into the training yard, clad in leather armor, a practice sword resting easily on his shoulder. The old man’s gray eyes were sharp, fixing on Nick with a measuring intensity.
"Theory is well and good, young Lord," Arthur rasped, stepping into the ring. "But true understanding is forged here. You have grown by leaps and bounds since the north. I would see this new power for myself.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. "You want to spar?”
Given what Devon told me, I should have anticipated this.
It wasn’t a terrible idea. Nick himself was curious about where he stood, and it would give Rose something to work toward. She already knew she was little more than nothing compared to the true powers of this world, but seeing her grandfather fight would give her a more immediate goal to aim for.
A spar with someone like Arthur would be dangerous, but he sensed the challenge was genuine, born of respect and curiosity.
“We’ll have to set rules," he said at last, shrugging off his dark coat and tossing it over the wooden fence. He stood in his linen shirt and trousers. “I’ll set barriers around the ring to prevent spillover, but we’ll avoid overly destructive skills. We stop at first blood or a yield. I have no desire to pay the earth mages to rebuild the courtyard.”
"Agreed," Arthur said, dropping into a loose, balanced stance and unsheathing his sword.
Nick closed his eyes. He reached into the ether for power and shaped a layered dome of spiritual and kinetic force over the sparring ring. The air shimmered, warping the morning light like a heat haze. He knew the barrier would absorb the shockwaves of their clash, keeping the manor safe.
It wouldn’t last long without runes to anchor it, but there was no need to go that far for a simple spar.
"Whenever you are ready, Arthur," Nick said, opening his hands to make it clear he’d fight without a focus. There was little the Shard would do for him in matters of control with the spells he intended to use, and too much power would violate the rules.
Arthur vanished, and Nick threw himself backward, fading into the ether the moment his instincts screamed.
A blade coated in crackling lightning sheared through the space he had occupied a fraction of a second earlier. The strike was so fast that the air itself tore with a screech.
Even on the spiritual plane, Nick felt the sting. Prestige-tier lightning was not confined to the physical realm, and the sheer intent behind Arthur’s strike bled through the dimensional barrier, shocking Nick despite the distance.
Unwilling to let the momentum slip, Nick snapped back to reality ten paces away and slammed his foot into the dirt.
A pillar of stone erupted beneath Arthur, who vaulted off it, spinning in midair, and swung, launching a crescent arc of pure electrical energy.
Nick met it with a wall of solidified air. The lightning slammed into the vacuum barrier, shattering it with a deafening crack that rattled the kinetic dome.
Arthur landed lightly on his feet and lunged again, forcing Nick to give up trying to match the swordsman's speed. He shifted his tactics, turning the ring into a hazard zone. He warped the gravity around his foe, forcing the old man to drag his weight for a crucial half-second.
Taking advantage of the opening, he thrust his hand forward, unleashing a concussive blast of kinetic force.
Arthur twisted his torso, letting the invisible battering ram graze his shoulder, and closed the distance. The wooden sword swept upward, aimed at Nick’s ribs, as he clearly expected him to vanish once more. He prepared to turn and redirect the charge at a moment’s notice.
However, Nick caught the blade between his palms.