The cycle always left me with the memories — all of them. Every scream. Every burn. Every scar, both on my skin and carved deep into my mind.
Afterimages of plague mask flickered in and out, empty glass eyes staring me down, unblinking. My breath hitched, my vision tunneled. I was drowning in filthy water. Scars disappear, but traumas don't.
The door crashed open.
"ORIEN!"
I jerked, my heart launching into my throat.
Darius stood there, framed by the morning light, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face.
"What the hell are you doing in bed? Dress up properly — let's go for a stroll, then hit up the Bazaar before your inauguration ceremony."
My hands still trembled beneath the sheets. I forced a smile but my voice cracked."Go first. I'll catch up later."
Darius squinted, his grin fading."Everything good?"
"Yeah! Yeah." I faked a laugh.
He studied me for a bit longer, then shrugged."Fine. Don't keep me waiting."
"Oh! Wait."
Darius turned again. "Give me one of the daggers hidden inside your robe."
He pulled out a plain dagger. "I'll give you a better one if you come with me to the Bazaar as a gift."
"Yeah, maybe later."
"Well, suit yourself then, I'll wait for you at the Orange Haven — the soup house."
The door shut behind him, and I was alone again.
Well, not really.
My house was still under surveillance by Shadow Footmen. I could feel their presence lurking in every shadow outside my home. They were the city's watchers — the lower-level soldiers who kept tabs on everything and everyone in Auremir. Messengers, spies, and when needed, silent killers.
If that ceremony today went well, if my first mission didn't end up in betrayal, I would be one of them. Another blade in the dark. Another faceless pawn for Auremir. It must be a blessing in disguise that I didn't become a faceless killer their hunting dog.
I stood up. This time, I dressed properly. I pulled on the worn leather chestguard — old, scratched, but mine. I slid my borrwed dagger into the belt strap. There were still empty slots for more throwables, for potions I didn't have.
I gathered the few coppers left on my table. Pathetic, but enough for now.
First, I needed to check something.
I used the one with the shadow and made my way toward the Bazaar — the same place where my fate had first changed.
The display case was empty. My chest tightened.
The dagger.
It was gone.
I scanned the shop until I found the old man behind the counter, rummaging through every nook and cranny.
"Why is this case empty?" I demanded.
He jumped, then narrowed his eyes at me. "It wasn't. I left a dagger inside last night. This morning it's gone. You have something to do with that, don't you?"
"Why would I come here if I stole it?"
He shrugged. "They say the perpetrator always returns to the scene of the crime."
"Stop croaking, you old frog." I opened my palm, showing the coins. "What can I get for this?"
"For that?" He snorted. "I wouldn't give you a slice of cheese. But—"
Before I could react, he snatched the coins from my hand and shoved a weapon at me.
It was a broken curved dagger. The hilt wobbled, as if it could snap under the slightest pressure. In a real fight, it would be just as likely to kill me as my enemy.
"It's a curve sword," the shopkeeper said, like it was something to be proud of. "Tribals make. Used in the Kasperan wars. Cuts deep. Bleeds fast."
"It's broken."
"Shoo, shoo, before I call the guards."
I left, fitted it inside my belt the hilt wobbling, but my mind stayed behind.
On that dagger. The one that was gone.
It hadn't come back. When it broke something inside that came out. And i consumed that alien thing. Maybe that's why it didn't return.
I appraised both of my daggers.
[Dagger]
Type: Standard Dagger
Condition: Fair
Damage: 15–20
Effects: None
[Sandfang]
Type: Curved Dagger (Tribal Relic)
Condition: Damaged (Hilt unstable, blade chipped)
Damage: 8–12
Special Effect:Bleed — When succesfully connects 50% chance to add bleed status.
I'm getting good at this witchcraft.
Orien kept strolling through the dusty streets, connecting dots only he could see. The task before me is impossible. Like trying to move a mountain with my bare hands. But if you dig long enough… chip by chip, stone by stone…
One day, even a mountain could collapse.
My next step was clear — I had to get stronger.
There was no point in returning to the past if I died like a fly getting swatted.
This curse, this time loop that bound me, was a double-edged sword. I didn't know what waited at the end. Could I use it forever? Were there any side effects killing me slowly as each time i die, wearing me down?
Did every action I took ripple out and destroy someone else's life — like a butterfly flapping its wings and causing a storm?
So many questions burned inside me, but none had answers.
How many secrets did this city hold?
That's what I was about to find out.
The Grand Wizardry of Auremir.
The place every mage in the nation dreams of visiting at least once.
But entry wasn't easy.
Only trained, approved mages from the empire were granted access to the library. The royals, and the gifted few who graduated from the Empire's Grand Imperial Academy of Magic, held the keys.
And even then, access was layered — a hierarchy of levels, each locked tighter than the last.
Each floor housed vast of books on the history of magic, ancient magical beings, spell discovery, alchemy, and forgotten arts.
At the very top — the highest level — only a select few were allowed: the royal family, the emperor, grand wizards, and the most elite graduates.
Here rested national treasures: ancient books and scrolls capable of killing gods instantly.
Scrolls weren't rare, but the powerful ones were priceless — sold in magic shops for hundreds of gold coins.
The library held god-level spells, but it was no sanctuary.
I needed power — enough to make an entire assassin guild my enemy.
And all of it lay within those heavily guarded walls.
Royal paladins patrolled every corridor, and rumors whispered of deadly traps that tore thieves apart.
Every week, three or four thieves die inside the library — some to traps, others at the hands of paladins.
Who in their right mind would trap a library?
There was one more problem: mana.
Magic without mana was useless.
Young mages cultivated their mana over years, building it slowly.
I didn't have that luxury.
Mana don't grow overnight.
And I didn't have a single drop.
The Bazaar was stirring, but it wasn't the usual chaos. A swarm of hooded figures moved like shadows weaving through the crowd, searching for someone.
It had to be them.
They must've been alerted by my absence.
I quickly slip past them using the crowd as my advantage. I know where to go next, its the mines.
After Few hours....
The air shimmered with magic, and as I approached the entrance to the mines, a soft glow spilled from the cavern's mouth — faint, almost mournful.
The mines looked majestic in their own way: towering walls carved with ancient symbols, veins of glittering mana stones pulsing like faint stars trapped in rock.
But beneath that beauty, there was a deep sadness — the hollow ache of a thousand broken dreams and endless toil.
I slipped inside, moving like a whisper.
There she was — my mother, bent over the jagged stones, sweat pouring down her dirt-streaked face.
Every Thalri over the age of twenty-one was required to work these mines unless they paid a special tax, a cruel price few could afford.
Of course, the wages were meager.
And they had to spend forty hours a week down here, inhaling dust, breaking their backs.
This was my fate too — the chains I'd sworn to break.
That's why my brother and I tried to run, to become killers — to carve our freedom with blades instead of pickaxes. But when I think of my brother, all the good memories slip away, replaced by sharp, bitter pain.
My chest tightened. I watched my mother working, her hands rough and worn, and I knew I had to free her. I never knew who was my father, all my yers my mother took care of me.
I melted into the shadows once more, slipping past the guards with silent ease.
I grabbed a handful of freshly mined mana stones — their soft light pulsing faintly in my palm.
Clutching the precious stones, I slipped back out, moving to a secluded spot where I could examine them without fear.
The mana stones pulsed softly in my palm, their faint glow a promise of power I desperately needed.
I focused, used the skill detect, the familiar shimmer flickered before my eyes.
[Mana Stones: 5]
Consume mana stones?
Yes / No
My fingers hovered over the prompt. I can consume them. I needed power. But I didn't know what the stones might do to my body, or if using them hastily could cost me death. but slowly and steadily i'm learning to unfear death.
Still, I couldn't wait.
I pressed Yes.
A surge shot through me. My veins burned as if fire had replaced my blood.
[Mana: 0 → 50][Permanent Mana increased: +10]
A notification blinked.
[Tip: You will gradually increase your natural mana capacity after using your mana to full.]
I staggered, clutching my chest.
Without the system, cultivating mana was a slow, grueling process, years of meditation and training. This is almost like cheating. well, this is cheating.
But this… this system was force-feeding me power. I could feel it — mana pulsing inside me like a second heartbeat, heavy and suffocating.
My body wasn't used to it. Every breath felt sharp, my chest tight.
I needed to learn to tolerate this, or it would tear me apart.
But that was one hurdle crossed.
Only one thing remained now: scrolls. Studying magic the traditional way took years. Years I didn't have. If I wanted to fight — to live — I needed scrolls. Fast.