The stone corridors of Aethelgard Academy had begun to feel less like a school and more like a steam boiler under pressure. Everywhere David Silver turned, he felt invisible eyes watching him.
Headmaster Hallowell was no longer just a distant authority figure sitting in a high chair. He had become a shadow at the edge of David’s vision.
After the Static Shield had essentially deleted a Tier 5 Nullifier, David’s days as a harmless loser were officially over. Now, he was a curiosity.
And in the world of high-tier mages, curiosities were usually taken apart to find out how they worked.
"I need to leave," David whispered to his empty dorm room. "Before the Inquisitors decide that a chat involves truth serum and iron chairs. I am not ready to be a science project."
[System Note: Statistically, your chances of avoiding a Tier 7 interrogation for another week are 3.4%. I suggest a tactical retreat. Or a very good disguise involving a mustache.]
"The mustache is a backup plan," David muttered.
He grabbed a simple leather bagpack and began stuffing it with the few belongings that did not scream Nobility. He needed to look like a nobody. He needed to vanish into the night like a thief.
Taking Rachel’s advice was his only play. The Wailing Maw was a reality-warping mountain range to the north. It was famous for its spatial rifts. Those rifts created a constant static that interfered with long-range mana detection.
To the Order of Solace and their Great Eye, the Maw was a total blind spot. If he could get there, he could grow his power in the dark without anyone watching him.
But he could not just walk out the front gates. He needed a cover. He needed a reason to be on the road.
That night, David slipped back into the the Lower City. He donned his grey cloak and activated the Void-Shimmer. He was returning to the only person who thrived in helping people disappear illegally, Madame Joyce.
The Below Floors were humming with a different energy tonight. The news of the Wraith defeating Julian the Gilded had spread like a wildfire in a dry forest.
Everyone was talking about the ghost who broke a noble sword with a wooden stick. When David entered Joyce’s private lounge, she did not even look up from her ledgers.
Even if one were to ignore the dangerous aura in the room, every man in the building was paying attention to her for two simple reasons, Boobs!
Madame Joyce was sitting behind her desk, her massive chest resting on the huge desk surface to relieve herself. She was a wonderfully blessed woman, and her beauty could be rated a 5/10, but the racks she was carrying instantly elevated her to a 20! David swallowed hard as his eyes roamed that endowed area while her heavy chest moved along with her breathing.
"The Academy is looking for a ghost," Joyce said, her voice smooth and dangerous. "And here a ghost stands in my office. You have become quite expensive to keep, Wraith."
"I am leaving," David’s rasped voice replied from the shadows of his hood. "I need a mission. Something that goes north. To the Maw."
Joyce finally looked up. Her violet eyes were twinkling with a mix of amusement and calculation. "The Maw? That is a death trap for most. But for you, it is a hiding spot. You are smarter than you look under all that shadow-blur."
She slid a piece of black parchment across the desk. Her chest jiggled as she reached forward, and David had to look away to keep his focus. "I have a shipment of Refined Mana-Crystals heading to the Iron Lung Docks.
The path goes straight through the Maw foothills. It is a low-profile caravan. No banners, no noble escorts. Just a few wagons and a team of rough-necks who do not ask questions. They need a rear guard. Someone who can handle surprises."
"I will do it," David said, reaching for the parchment.
"One condition," Joyce leaned forward. Her massive chest once again rested on the desk as she continued her lecture. "When you get back, if you get back, you owe me three favors. No questions asked. No refusals."
David hesitated. A favor from a woman like Joyce was usually paid in blood or worse. But he looked at the Dread-Seal notification flickering in his vision, 5.0% cracked. He was a ticking bomb. He did not have the luxury of bargaining. He was desperate.
"Deal," he said.
The assembly point for the caravan was a muddy staging area near the city’s North Gate. It was two hours before dawn. The air was frigid and smelled of wet earth. It also smelled of the Heanious breath of the pack-beasts.
They were six-legged creatures called Groks. They could carry a ton of cargo without complaining! They were ugly beasts with thick skin and multiple eyes that blinked in the dark.
There were four wagons in total. Their canvas tops were reinforced with lead-lining to prevent mana leakage. This was important because mana crystals were like beacons for monsters.
A dozen mercenaries lounged around a small and smoky fire. They were sharpening axes and complaining about the cold. They looked like the type of men who would kill you for a copper coin.
They looked at David as he approached, but the Void-Shimmer made their eyes slide right past him. To them, he was just a hired shadow.
"You the rear guard?" a man barked.
He was a scarred veteran with a Tier 3 warrior’s build. He had a massive spiked club strapped to his back that looked like it had tasted a lot of blood. This was Gerrard , the caravan lead. He had a face that looked like it had been run over by a wagon.
"I am," David answered.
Gerrard spat into the mud. "Keep your eyes on the road and your hands off the crates. We move in five minutes. If you fall behind, we do not stop for you. We have a schedule to keep and I do not like waiting for ghosts."
David nodded and walked toward the back of the line. At the very last wagon, he saw an old man slumped on the driver’s bench. He was wrapped in a wool coat that had clearly seen better days.
He was currently nursing a wooden flask that smelled strongly of cheap and fermented rot-gut ale. The smell was enough to peel paint off a wall!
The old man had messy grey hair and a beard that looked like it could be home to a few birds. His eyes were tired and red, staring at nothing in particular. He looked like he had not been sober in years.
"Right," the old man chuckled. His voice was rough and shaky. "Another shadow for the road. Sit up here if you like, Ghosty. The bench is hard, but the Grok knows the way better than I do. He is the brains of this operation anyway."
David climbed onto the bench, keeping his distance. "You are the driver?"
"Old Man Barnaby, at your service," the man said.
He took a long and wobbling swig from his flask. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve that was more patch than original fabric. "I have been driving this route since before you were a twinkle in a mana-well.
Do not mind the smell. It keeps the wraiths away. Or so I tell myself when the wife complains. Oh wait, I do not have a wife. Maybe that is why I drink!"
As the caravan moved forward, the heavy wagons wheels creaked in the mud. David settled into a cold silence. He watched the spires of Aethelgard Academy fade into the morning mist.
He felt a strange sadness for his parents and for the life he was supposed to have. He wondered if they were safe. But mostly, he felt a deep sense of relief. He was finally out of that pressure cooker.
Hours passed. The road turned from cobblestone to rough dirt as they climbed into the foothills. The air began to change. it was vibrating with a low-frequency hum that made David’s teeth ache. The spatial rifts were close. He could feel them pulling at the edges of his mana core.
"Beautiful, is it not?" Barnaby said suddenly.
He was not looking at the road. He was looking at the horizon. The sky seemed to glitch there. it was flickering with flashes of purple and silver light. "The Maw does not like visitors.
It likes to eat them. One wrong step, and you end up in a dimension where gravity works sideways and the trees scream at you for being ugly. It is a very rude place."
David looked at the old man. Despite the smell of ale, Barnaby’s hands on the reins were remarkably steady. They did not shake at all. "You seem to know a lot about it."
"I know enough to stay on the path," Barnaby chuckled.
He turned his bloodshot eyes toward David. For a split second, the bleariness vanished. It was replaced by a clarity so sharp it felt like a physical weight! It was like looking into the eyes of a predator.
"It is all about the steps, is it not? One step after another. Some people take small steps. Some people, well, some people take a hundred thousand steps all at once."
David froze. His breath hitched in his throat. A hundred thousand steps? Was that a coincidence? Or did this old drunk know something he should not?
"What did you say?" David asked.
His hand instinctively moved toward the Void-Rot venom pulsing in his veins. He was ready to strike if the old man turned out to be an Inquisitor in disguise.
Barnaby just laughed. it was a hacking and wet sound. He took another swig from his flask. "I am just an old drunk, Ghosty. My mind wanders. Like the mana. It goes where it wants, does it not? Even when you try to lock it up in a Static little box. It is a very stubborn thing, mana is."
[Warning! High-Level Observation Detected.]
[Detection Source: Old Man Barnaby.]
[System Note: This individual is masking his power with a Tier 8 ’Drunken Master’ veil. Do not engage. I repeat: DO NOT ENGAGE.]
David’s heart hammered against his ribs. A Tier 8? In a muddy caravan? That was like finding a dragon in a chicken coop! He looked at the old man again, but the clarity was gone.
Barnaby was back to humming a tuneless song. His head was nodding in time with the Grok’s footsteps. He looked like he was about to fall asleep and fall off the wagon.
"Relatable humor, David," he whispered to himself.
His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the bench. "You ran away from a Tier 7 Headmaster only to sit next to a Tier 8 drunk. Your luck is truly legendary. I should have stayed in bed."
[Correction: Your luck is mathematically impossible. It is almost as if the universe is ’overclocking’ your encounters to match your multiplier.]
As the sun began to set, the mountains of the Maw loomed over them like the teeth of a giant. The spatial noise was getting louder now. it was a constant crackle in the back of David’s mind.
He could feel his own mana core reacting to the rifts. The Static sludge was vibrating with a strange and hungry energy. It wanted to reach out and touch the rifts.
Gerrard called for a halt. "We camp here! No fires! The Glass-Wing bats hunt by light. If I see so much as a spark, I will take your hand off myself! I am not dying because you wanted to see your soup!"
David climbed down from the wagon. His muscles were stiff from the cold. He looked at Barnaby, who was already curled up on the bench. The old man was snoring loudly with his flask clutched to his chest. He looked completely harmless.
"Who are you?" David murmured, looking at the old man.
Barnaby did not answer. But as David turned away, he could have sworn he heard the old man whisper under his breath. "Just a wagon driver, kid. Just a driver waiting for the engine to start. Go get some sleep. You are going to need it."
David moved to the perimeter of the camp. His eyes were fixed on the dark peaks above. Tomorrow, they would enter the Maw proper. Tomorrow, he would have to face the Glass-Wings and whatever else was hunting in the rifts.
But as he sat in the darkness, the 100,000x multiplier humming in his mind, he realized he was not just hiding anymore. He was a predator entering his natural habitat.
The Academy was a memory. The Maw was the future. David Silver was finally ready to see what happened when the Static truly broke. He just hoped he would not be the first thing the mountains decided to eat. He closed his eyes and waited for the dawn. The journey was just beginning and he was finally in control!