Chapter 27

Nick stirred as sunlight filtered through his curtains, landing precisely on his eyes. He groaned softly, his limbs aching with a dull throb that seemed to echo through his entire body. His head pounded in time with his heartbeat, and for a moment, he lay still, seeking comfort in the weight of his blankets and the softness of his mattress. The aches reminded him of the morning after a night of heavy drinking. Not that he had done it many times, what with his grandfather breathing down his neck for most of his life, but the sensory overload he experienced as he got up to attend a lesson or work on a brew was remarkably similar to that of recovering from two death matches in a row.

But unlike then, there was no urgency to rise immediately. He let his eyes wander lazily over the ceiling’s wooden beams and listened to the faint sounds of the house stirring. The distant clatter of swords outside told him that his mother was likely helping his brother prepare for his apprenticeship. His father, ever the early riser, was already at work.

The warmth tempted him to stay longer, but the faint tug of responsibility gnawed at him. With a reluctant sigh, Nick pushed the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, grimacing at the sharp pang in his ribs as he moved.

He grumbled silently, rubbing his side.

Dressed in comfortable clothing, he descended the stairs for breakfast. The table was set with fresh bread, a plate of cheese, and a steaming pot of tea. He ate alone, savoring the quiet and letting the simple meal soothe the soreness.

Once back inside his room, Nick locked the door and approached the small desk by the window, where he’d carefully arranged the spoils from his outing. Each item would have been impossible to get his hands on on Earth, yet they were considered barely worth notice here.

He started with the herbs, meticulously wrapped in a damp cloth to keep them fresh. Most were common varieties: moonwort, ember leaves, and a small pile of silverbark’s scrapings. Useful, if not particularly valuable. He could use them to fuel minor rituals, saving his money for rarer components. Nick smiled faintly; even small victories added up, and he knew better than most just how limiting having a budget was.

Next, his gaze fell on the ghostgrass pouch. He untied the strings, making sure not to disturb its contents. Peering inside, he saw the faint, ethereal glow of the nightcaps. They glimmered softly with bioluminescence, radiating enough mana to be worth a house in his old life.

“These alone made the trip worth it,” he murmured, tying the pouch shut again with reverent care. Nightcaps were notoriously delicate, their effectiveness easily compromised by mishandling. He was fairly certain these specimens were exceptional—large, vibrant, and untouched by rot. He’d have to decide whether to use them all himself or trade them for something equally rare soon. He was finally starting to build a stock of ingredients, and earning some coin to spend when the caravan came might be worth considering.

His attention shifted to a small wooden box holding the mana cores he’d collected. Most were small, thumb-sized shards with jagged surfaces. These were the cores of lesser creatures they had encountered in the Green Ocean—he hypothesized they’d be useful for fueling basic spells or rituals but that they didn’t contain enough essence to be worth using as ingredients.

Then there was the centerpiece: the golf ball-sized core from the wyvern hatchling. It sat at the center of the collection, its deep emerald hue catching the light. Nick picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It felt smooth and warm, almost as if it had its own heartbeat. It didn’t, of course, but there was enough power within it to cause an involuntary reaction from his own, causing the sensation.

He was reasonably sure it held far more mana than he could muster on his own. It would be invaluable for powering high-level rituals or experiments if he didn’t use it for something more specific.

But he hesitated. Something told him that this core wasn’t simply a larger version of those he got from the other monsters. He wasn’t sure if it was just the residue of the wyvern’s essence or something more. He was usually eager to experiment, but wasting such a valuable resource would sting. He set it back in the box, resolving to study it further before making any decisions.

Lastly, Nick turned to the scales. A few were spread across the desk, shimmering with a faint metallic sheen. Most were damaged, their surfaces marred by burns and cracks—collateral damage from Rhea’s concoction, which had also ruined the monster’s organs. He didn’t blame her; they might not have survived the encounter without her actions, and though the girl hadn’t said it, Nick was sure she had used something truly valuable.

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Still, some scales were intact, with sharp edges and smooth surfaces. Nick picked one up, pressing its cool surface against his palm. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to sense if his hunch was correct.

A subtle whisper brushed against his mind, faint and fleeting, like a distant breeze through a canyon. He frowned, concentrating harder. The sensation grew stronger—a distinct impression of air currents swirling around him.

“So it did have a wind affinity,” he murmured, opening his eyes. He suspected it was the case, as he couldn’t understand how the wyvern had survived Elia’s foxfire unscathed otherwise, but it felt good to confirm it.

This was the biggest catch of the day. He could have found the mushrooms on his own, and he felt confident that he’d have managed to substitute them with a few more ingredients if it came to it. Still, now that he had several objects containing a wind affinity, he could proceed with the ritual he had developed to finally conquer the Stalking Gait.

Satisfied with his survey, Nick leaned back in his chair, the morning sunlight warming his face.

His body still ached, reminding him how close they’d come to disaster. But as he gazed at the treasures before him, Nick couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride.

It wasn’t a conventional path. Indeed, he hadn’t heard anyone even mention the possibility of going against the System so openly. Vicar Alexander said it was rigid, and its architecture was designed to reinforce specific strengths while punishing attempts to deviate. For an Occultist like him, martial skills were prohibitively difficult to acquire, let alone master. But Nick wasn’t willing to let the System dictate the terms of his growth.

Leaning back in his chair, he let the pieces of his plan settle in his mind. The scales and nightcaps were a strong foundation for the ritual, but Nick was no fool. The System’s limitations were deeply embedded, and rituals—no matter how fine-tuned—were not guaranteed to override them. He needed more.

His gaze flicked to the box of mana cores. Cracking them open would flood the ritual with raw energy, possibly enough to force the transformation. Yet the thought felt like a waste. The cores were versatile, their potential extending far beyond this single attempt. Using them all at once would rob him of valuable resources for future endeavors.

Nick drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to think through the lingering headache. He needed an alternative power source—something potent enough to bridge the gap between ambition and reality.

His mind wandered, sifting through the lore he’d studied in both lives. At its core, Ritualism was about exchange: energy for transformation, sacrifice for power.

Sacrifice.

The word lodged itself in his thoughts. The most primal rituals demanded offerings, and the more significant the sacrifice, the greater the effect. Inanimate objects worked, but living beings were infinitely more potent. Their essence, their connection to life itself, could fuel a ritual in ways no mere herb or crystal could. This was especially true for human sacrifice.

Nick’s jaw tightened. The idea carried a heavy moral cost, one he didn’t take lightly. Yet there were two individuals he couldn’t ignore. The adventurers they’d encountered in the Green Ocean were violent, malicious, and unquestionably dangerous. If left alive, they were a threat. Not just to him but to Rhea, Elia, and anyone else they crossed paths with.

A grim resolve began to take shape. It wasn’t just about the ritual anymore. This was an opportunity to solve two problems at once: eliminate a lingering threat and ensure his future success.

Nick crossed the room to a small chest tucked beneath his bed. Inside were supplies he kept for situations like this, though he had meant them to experiment on monsters—bindings, tools, and a set of potions designed to keep the target asleep. He checked each item meticulously despite the tension coiling in his chest.

The plan was simple, at least in theory. He would locate the adventurers before they could recover or alert anyone to what had transpired between them. Their injuries from the Green Ocean encounter gave him a narrow window of opportunity. If he struck quickly and decisively, he could capture them without risking another fight.

This was only the first step. Once subdued, he would bind them to the ritual circle and use their essence to feed it. This was an ancient practice steeped in taboo, but Nick had long since abandoned any illusions of moral purity. This world, just like his previous one, demanded pragmatism.

The next few hours were a blur of preparation. Nick worked tirelessly, inscribing runes into several planks of wood. He kept them inert, as his mother would notice a significant buildup of mana. This was a poor substitute for the inscribed star-iron his grandfather had left him, but the availability of magically charged wood allowed him to tailor the runes to his needs without excessive waste.

Finally ready by midday, Nick took a moment to carefully place everything in a sturdy rucksack and prepared to commit murder.

Leaving the house, he nodded to his mother and brother as they worked through a particularly demanding sequence, getting a distracted wave back.

The two were lowlives, but that didn’t mean much when healing cost as much as a fancy meal.

Nick did a one-eighty and began walking away from the Guild. Instead, he aimed for the southern fields, which he knew to have been recently harvested. It would be some time before anyone needed them, giving him a convenient spot to prepare his trap.

It was still a risk, but Nick felt he had already wasted enough time, and any more could have unfortunate consequences. He did not want the two to find Elia or Rhea before he reached them.