Eric led the group a second time, but there was a more confident stride to every person’s step. The Summoned were no longer as powerless as they had been when they had first arrived. The Paths had imparted knowledge of their use into their bodies, and it was muscle memory that was embedded into them and ingrained into their body and mind.

  Blackflame Mage was a part of Eric’s identity. Using his powers would be second nature. It is what he was, and what he would be known as in Elyndian society once he had shown off in the coming display before the nobility.

  He glanced back over his shoulder to check on his allies. Shannon was still right behind him, but unless he was looking right at her, she seemed to fade from view, and he could barely catch a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision.

  Must be some Trait, he thought.

  Traits were passive abilities that were always active. Sometimes they had ‘charges’ that would be used up, like his safety measure from the hidden Exarch Class, Self-Resurrection. It had brought him back to life a few times in that prior timeline and thankfully refreshed once a year on the anniversary of its last use.

  I need to reclaim that Scroll as soon as I can, then unlock the Class when I qualify to attune another. There were others racing to get to the White Keep once it was discovered . . . but I can’t risk leaving Trok until I’ve set it up for success in my absence. As long as I make it there within seven years before the ice melts enough to reveal the entrance to everyone, I should be good.

  Naomi was right behind Shannon, and was walking almost as if in a daze, her hand on Shannon’s shoulder to keep her steps straight. Eric was familiar with the look—he had seen newly awakened ten-year-olds do the same as they explored all that The Paths could explain to them.

  She’s probably figuring out Sigils.

  Sigils were not mana in and of themselves but rather represented a person’s force of will. It was tied to a person’s level and showed their mastery of their Class. Sigils reset after six hours of light or no activity, and they fueled Skills. Skills cost no mana to use but could only be powered through Sigils.

  When a person was out of Sigils, they had no ability to use Skills. But that also meant if a person had no mana, they could still use Skills. It was an entirely different resource from mana altogether, with no overlap between the two.

  I wonder what some of my other Skills will be? Probably more offensive-focused ones.

  The Paths contained innate limitations. Eventually, Eric would have so many Skills he would not be able to equip all of them. The problem would be exacerbated when he acquired a second Class and third Class at levels fifty and one hundred, respectively. Skills could not be changed on the fly, either; it took one hour to swap them out.

  That was one of the reasons why he’d lost his first real, authentic love in a battle: he’d had the wrong Skills equipped for the situation.

  For a brief moment, his mind went back to that horrible day, when the invasion had begun in earnest. She’d been struck by a ballista bolt that went right through her head. The explosion of gore was permanently fixed in his mind’s eye, and he mustered all of his force of will to push the image away, shoving it back into the Paths Within—a small node of stored memories that took years of meditation and reflection to learn how to tap into.

  It won’t happen again. She won’t be near a fight like that. I’ll make sure she survives.

  Eric glanced at Peter. The man was flexing his arms as he walked, exuding small amounts of red-hued mana from his body. It coalesced around him like a fine mist, which then evaporated into the air like wisps of fog burned away by a sunbeam.

  And he’s using Rotes already. Must be feeling them out.

  Rotes were unlimited-use abilities, but they were fueled by the mana inside a person. They were either activated, which meant they cost mana and then manifested, or toggled, which meant that they would be “on” and cause a permanent mana reduction to a person’s internal reservoir until toggled ‘off.’

  Unfortunately, even though mana permeated the atmosphere, it did not become useable to a person just because they were around it. Even if someone was submerged in a Ley Line, they would not be able to just use Rotes constantly. Their body had to process the mana into their unique ‘flavor’ of mana to utilize, by being absorbed and processed through their innate reservoir.

  Eric’s Rotes were well balanced, with one each of offense and defense. His offensive Blackflame Bolt was an activated Rote, and his Ash Shroud was toggled.

  Mine is definitely a Class meant for killing monsters. Maybe even meant to go on some solo expeditions into the wilds.

  Outside of the cities and heavily patrolled locales like the surrounding farmland, travel was dangerous. Even those who went along the main, paved trade roads would go as part of a well-defended caravan, as the creatures native to Elyndor were powerful. Even animals had access to a more bestial version of The Paths which allowed them their own unique category of Classes, providing a means to expel mana. The ones who became dangerous were called mana beasts, and those are what made the wilds so perilous to traverse.

  The ascent up the stairs finally ended, and Eric took note of how tired he was—his breath came to him in haggard gasps. Seraphine seemed to be struggling a bit as well after the long ascent, as were Shannon and Naomi, but Peter appeared perfectly fine.

  I didn’t keep any of my old stamina, or the Body Enhancements from before. Getting those installed is going to suck.

  Body Enhancements were expensive, as they were sourced from monsters, were refined and crafted by specialist Classes such as Artisans, and then had to be surgically implanted: normally that was done under the care of a Service Class like a Surgeon, or a Warden Class like a Healing Mage.

  All of that combined took a lot of money.

  Because the Enhancements were made out of monsters, they often conferred a change to a person’s appearance. Some locales fostered the diversity in look, whilst other places like Trok only tolerated minor alterations.

  The benefits they conferred were almost always worth the cost.

  Eric had surgically removed them in the past from willing patients. The surgeries were grueling, sometimes lasted days, and without his world-class healing Skills, patients would most certainly have died. Therefore, Body Enhancements were often considered permanent alterations in most parts of the world.

  Eric noted that Seraphine had Body Enhancements. Her ears were very slightly pointed, elfin in a way. Because of those ears, he knew that she had extremely acute hearing—perfect for someone in a court where intrigue ruled.

  I am surprised she does not hide them with her hair and instead displays them openly. That’s interesting. As if she wants people to know that she can hear them if they whisper across the room. A way to instantly make a power play upon entering a room, perhaps.

  They finally arrived in a part of the castle that was more heavily occupied. Servants moved about their business, though they stood to the side as Seraphine led the Summoned with guards bringing up the rear.

  She led them to an armory, and on the farthest wall was a pair of shut double doors. “This is where you may grab equipment if you think you need it to show off your abilities. I will call you each out one at a time. You will have a chance to speak to the crowd, demonstrate what you can do in a variety of ways, and then you will take some inquiries from select individuals. Questions?”

  Eric stepped forward. “I’m ready. Let’s get this done.” He knew what was coming and was eager to feel out his new powers.

  “No questions?” she asked, blinking with some surprise at Eric.

  “Wait a second,” Peter said, walking over to one of the weapon racks and looking up and down at a massive sword. “What exactly are we walking into?”

  Eric noted the tiny downturn at the edges of Seraphine’s lips, and she looked at Peter. “You are walking onto a training yard here at the citadel. There will be people in attendance. Powerful people. This is your chance to show them what you are capable of.”

  Naomi walked over next to Peter and touched one of the swords he was looking at. “You’re not expecting us to hurt anyone . . . correct?”

  “You won’t be asked to harm others,” Seraphine confirmed. “There are training dummies available if you have offensive capabilities to show off, and there are guards who can strike at you with padded weapons if you have defensive capabilities that need to be struck to prove their efficacy.”

  Eric walked toward the double doors. “I’m ready.” He could feel the mana surging through his body, itching for release.

  “Go on out, then. The Castellan will announce you and provide direction.” She gestured to the double doors; one of the guards stepped around the Summoned, opened it, and gestured for Eric to walk through.

  “Good luck!” Shannon said. Then, she turned to ask Seraphine a bevy of questions.

  I don’t need luck.

  Eric gave a brief wave with the back of his hand and strode out of the building.

  The doors shut behind him with a finality that made him feel like a chapter of his life was closing. In a way, it was. He wasn’t the same person as he’d been the last time. The door he had just walked through marked his first step in really making a difference. This time he was not going to just be the victim of circumstances and tossed about by the whims of others. He would be the one making the decisions and moving the pieces on the board.

  Once through the doors, he stood in the training yard utilized by the king’s personal guard. It was a large, football-field-sized location on one of the mountain citadel’s terraces.

  To his left, a large, stone railing looked out over the vast capital of Tenebria. The buildings were carved into and built out of the mountain’s face. As the mountain slope became gentler, it contained buildings erected from stone blocks, and then it flattened out before reaching the main defensive walls. Beyond the walls, a deep river acted as a natural barrier, cutting across the landscape. Across the river were guarded, well-kept fields for crops and pasture for livestock.

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  The skies above were a bright, clear blue with the slight covering of white, puffy clouds rolling across and blocking the sunbeams that came from the sun setting in the west. The entire scene brought a vivid recollection to Eric’s mind of his first time he’d been here, and reminded him of how he had felt fear and awe looking out upon the cityscape.

  This time, it felt like he had returned home.

  This wasn’t a triumphant return to reclaim something once lost. No, this was a return to a place that ultimately cast him out. He kept the dark emotions that raced through him from playing out across his face as he turned to face the waiting audience and held his anger in check as he saw the architects of his demise from his prior timeline.

  A series of stone benches were assembled in an amphitheater style construction. The king was seated with his two Healing Mages on a larger center dais, but surrounding him were dozens of nobles. Below them were lower nobility, and even lower than that sat the upper echelons of merchants.

  Eric took his position at the center of the circle drawn with white paint in the grass, smiled, and crossed his arms, exuding pure confidence. “My name is Eric Mercer,” he said loud enough that his booming voice bounced off the stone face behind the audience. It wasn’t booming from some Skill, Rote, or Trait, but from a lifetime of having to give out orders in high-stress situations where he was the most veteran healer present, and he had to direct those with less experience.

  It was a voice of authority that carried weight that belied the age of the one speaking with it. The audience was taken aback for a moment, judging by their straightened postures and riveted attention. “And I am a Blackflame Mage. A Reaper Class.”

  This caused muttering and confusion among the various attendees, and Eric spotted an annoyed look cross the face of Marcella, the Castellan, who he had taken the opportunity of introduction from.

  Well, I knew that would happen. A few donations to those orphanages you support and we’ll be on good terms again eventually. Taking the initiative to build my public-facing persona is crucial.

  He also observed one other key detail. Based on the tone of the conversation buzzing from the bleachers, the inquiries lobbied back and forth, and the furious scribbling of notes . . . It looked like none of them had heard of his Class before. He could see disappointment in some of their expressions as well.

  Eric knew one reason for their dismay and quizzical looks: they were operating off of knowledge provided by some poor Fortune Mage who had predicted Eric would choose a Warden Class.

  Too bad for whoever they are. They’re going to lose a lot of clients.

  Diviners and other Classes that tried to unveil the mysteries of the future and draw portents of what would be were almost religiously visited by the nobility of Trok, especially here in the capital of Tenebria. They sometimes got it right, and sometimes got it wrong. They only really predicted the most-likely outcomes; many a merchant had lost his fortunes on a bet relying on the words of a Diviner.

  Such was the case of a world with free will. Diviners could only really make educated guesses, but their marketing campaigns were brilliant and made people think they could actually tell the future, when really they were just estimating probabilities. They were like the world’s greatest gamblers, yet they had the nobility eating out of their hands.

  Eric relished the chance to fuck them over just as they had fucked him over in his past life.

  He looked over to one of the training dummies against the far wall. “I will use my Rotes first.” He raised his hand and felt the raw mana surging through his body. It was comforting, moving through him like a sip of hot coffee working its way down his throat to settle in his stomach.

  He activated Blackflame Bolt with a thought. He felt the mana surge into his palm and watched as it formed a pen-sized dart, floating just above his palm, crackling with energy, and radiating a dull heat, like he was holding his hand over a candle. He could feel the tension of it against his palm, waiting for release. Instinctively, he knew he could just will it to fly. But for the sake of the audience, shouted the name: “Blackflame Bolt!”

  He released it.

  The dart of Blackflame shot forth, easily twice the speed of a crossbow bolt, impacted the wooden training dummy, and exploded. Eric winced as the backblast of intense heat rushed past him. The bolt had bored a few inches into the dummy and then exploded—not with force, though. Instead, it had left an intense, black flame, which slowly began to fade.

  The Blackflame Blaze Trait. So if I re-apply it . . .

  He mentally activated the Rote again, firing off another bolt. It rocketed out, hit, and caused a burst of heat. A second fire of a very slightly deeper black burned on the target. The crackling of flame reached his ears just as the burning power flared up.

  Now we’re at two different five-percent applications.

  He raised his other hand and grinned as he rapidly fired Blackflame Bolts. Each time, he felt the mana inside of him draining little by little. But the blaze on the target grew and grew, until eventually the target dummy was nothing but ash. It was a pile of ash that was still burning with the crackling, black fire, with its white outline dancing back and forth. At the center of the blaze, a small, prismatic spark glimmered with the whole spectrum of light.

  He looked to his right, breathing deeply and calmly, as he gauged reactions; he let the fire fade, simply willing it to vanish. Everyone looked impressed, and the conversation was riotous. People were arguing about deals to be made, pooling resources, and proposing joint offers for future introductions and contracts.

  He had stirred up some commotion, and was far from done.

  Eric turned to face the crowd, letting his hands drop. “I have another Rote to demonstrate, which is toggled.” He looked sideways at the finally dying pyre of black ash, then back to the Castellan. “For the Skills that come after, I’ll need some targets.” He pointed to the sky behind him. “I need some distant targets, as well.”

  The whispering redoubled once more, to the point that the king tapped his metal scepter to quiet the lot.

  Marcella the Castellan whispered to a servant nearby, who nodded and left her side. “Please continue, Summoned Mercer,” she instructed.

  Eric nodded. He raised his right hand and brought it across his face in a gesture reminiscent of a wrestler his older brother was a fan of. Once more, he thought of the Rote, and once again spoke aloud for the sake of the audience. “Ash Shroud!”

  The mana surged from his skin, crystallizing into manacules and forming a cloak that clung to him. He turned and sprinted to his left, then his right, leaving behind glimmering, black afterimages. He paused when he had run back and forth three times across the grassy lot, and let the Rote fade. “While this is active, I am much harder to hit.”

  The audience was not as impressed with that display, but Eric had anticipated that. Defensive, evasion-focused Rotes were not normally very impressive.

  I gave you all a taste. Now, I do the more utility-focused Skills…and end with a big bang.

  He saw the servant return, escorting a middle-aged guard. “Pause your demonstration while we set up the distant targets, per your request.” Marcella ordered.

  Eric walked over to the wall next to the destroyed dummies and leaned against it, crossing his arms and smiling broadly. Not just to show off that he was confident, but because he loved the feeling of mana running through his body, and crossing his arms allowed for the mana channels to overlap, allowing him to feel them pulse twice.

  But, he was growing tired. His innate reservoir was fairly limited, so he felt like he’d neared the end of a long workout where he pushed his muscles to a new maximum.

  After a few weeks of draining myself dry I should have a nice innate mana capacity. Plus, I can do circulation exercises every night to grow my channels since I mastered unconscious undulation.

  Mana channels were like muscles. They could be exercised and improved upon. Eric was practiced in performing a mana-based workout while doing a physical one, and thus could improve his innate mana capacity, fortify his mana channels, and build muscle all at once. Plus, he had mastered the unconscious undulation technique from his time spent in mountaintop seclusion with the same person who taught him the memory story of the Paths Within. He could improve while he slept as well.

  The guard that went to the rail must have had some type of Strategist as his second Class, as he used a Skill to manifest phantasmal birds formed of hardened wind. “How many, Summoned Mercer?”

  “Up in the sky at a thousand feet out, and then a cluster of as many as you can bring up within two-hundred and fifty feet—also airborne to prevent collateral damage.” The guard manifested the targets as requested, then left the practice field. Eric looked to Marcella. “Please have some of your servants set up five dummies, in front of the railing, spaced out evenly every five feet.”

  She rapidly issued commands, and the servants placed the targets while Eric turned to the crowd once more, taking his spot at the center. “While they get that set up” —he bent his knees slightly—“don’t blink. Flashstep.”

  One of the five Sigils floating above his hand vanished, and Eric felt an intense heat just under his feet as gouts of flame surged from beneath his boots. Instinct told him to run, and he turned to his left, breaking into a sprint.

  He almost slammed face-first into the wall and only barely stopped before impact, his feet digging into the dirt.

  Holy shit. That’s fast.

  Double-checking The Paths with a thought to confirm his suspicion, he verified his speed. He had just traveled thirty feet in one-hundred milliseconds. The literal blink of an eye. He had almost made a fool of himself with that move, and he was very happy he had not just ruined his first impression here by slamming face-first into the wall and becoming a splatter. Thankfully, the Skill negated some of the momentum at play.

  He walked back to the center of the field and saw the looks of astonishment on the assembled crowd’s faces. All the conversation had ceased, with some mouths fully open in shock. “Next, I will vanish for a moment. Sootshroud.” A second Sigil vanished from his hand.

  A cloud of inky black smoke and ash rose up around him, spreading in a ten-foot radius centered on his location that stuck with him, moving as he walked a few small circles to demonstrate that effect. He could see with perfect clarity despite the haze.

  This is going to be extremely useful if someone gets close and I need to lose them. But if they have a non-vision-based form of detection, this won’t help much. Against monsters or mana beasts? Definitely a nice defense. Plus, this is great against anyone who might be trying to shoot at me.

  To test, he ran to the edge of the cloud, and willed it to remain in place. To his delight, it did so, and he poked his head out of the edge of the cloud, waved at the audience, then moved to the other side and replicated his feat.

  I can easily use this to evade ranged assailants, and lose melee attackers in the smoke.

  He sniffed the air and found it to have a bitter scent.

  And it’ll be good against olfactory detection. No wargs will sniff me out this time around.

  The memory of the wolf-like monstrosities ripping his legs and one of his arms off brought a sour taste to his mouth; he swore he could taste copper as the recollection of blood pooling in his throat. Just one of a few near-death experiences he had collected in his past timeline.

  Yeah, no, I’m not getting ripped apart by those again. Fuck that.

  He let the Skill fade, and once more the muttering began. “And of course the best for last,” he said as he swept the small covering of the mage robe to the side with a flourish of the arm. He turned to face the set-up practice dummies and raised his left hand. “A Reaper deals death, and these Skills will do just that. This might be loud, so if you have sensitive hearing, cover your ears.” After giving them a moment to do so, he shouted, “Backblast!”

  A bead of dark, black mist appeared in his hand, condensed down to a tiny speck, flared with white light, and then exploded outward like a shotgun blast. An enormous bang surged out across the landscape, echoed down the mountains, and reverberated off of distant buildings. The dummies were singed and began flickering with a little bit of Blackflame thanks to his Trait that applied damage over time. The concussive force blew them flat onto the ground, having completely ripped them out of the ground, and the flames continued to flicker for a few seconds before dying out.

  Next, he looked at the farthest target up in the skies. He held his left hand up, saw one more of the Sigils floating above it flicker out, leaving one more. “Blackflame Beam!” A ray roared from his palm with the sound of a rocket launching and lanced forward at the speed of a bullet. It impacted the wind-elemental bird and left the flickering damage-over-time effect for a brief moment. The magic construct exploded in a burst of green light, which was quickly consumed by the black embers.

  And now for the finale.

  Despite the energy of the moment, Eric felt tired, on the edge of exhaustion. Sigil use did not cause that. The workout high was gone, and his body was experiencing the crash that hit afterwards. “Cinderburst!” He watched as his last Sigil faded from the back of his hand.

  A sphere of roaring Blackflame appeared in his palm and rocketed out like a missile. The orb shot forward at the same speed as his earlier bolt, impacted the center target, and then exploded. It was an oddly quiet detonation, with a very insubstantial shockwave compared to his earlier Backblast use.

  The sphere of Blackflame expanded outward from the initial impact point, a fireball in the sky that washed over the wind elementals, igniting them before they popped and faded from existence. Even the shards of hardened wind they were formed from were ignited by the Blackflame, and the very air itself was set ablaze before Eric willed it to fade.

  Eric turned to face the now-stunned audience. He bowed, then stood up straight, smoothed out his robes—as a mage should—put his hands on his forearms and let his sleeves cover them. “Let’s get into the questions.”