The mercenary's hoarse growl reverberated, and the cruel glint in his eyes fixed on me confirmed my worst suspicions.
These men weren't there to loot randomly; I was the target.
As a player, Baelen Jean-Klerk was one of the starting characters, and his backstory, known to every player, was that of a talented commoner accepted into the prestigious Lumina Academy—a stain on the honor of the noble families who had funded the institution for generations.
The presence of the Mist Raiders, a group known for taking dirty contracts from anyone with gold, only confirmed what I already knew: the noble families wanted to eliminate me.
"So it's you, the little rat who infiltrated the lions' den," hissed the mercenary leader, a brute with a scar tearing across his face.
"Hired to clean up the mess. Don't take it personally, kid. It's just business."
I instinctively recoiled, my heart pounding in my chest. The smell of smoke and the icy sensation of the wind on my face were overwhelming, but the mercenary's voice was even more real.
There was no respawn here. This was my only life, and I needed to escape.
I turned, sprinting through the smoking ruins of the village. The ground, once muddy, was now frozen in many spots, and my feet, unaccustomed to the uneven terrain, stumbled. The heavy footsteps of the mercenaries echoed behind me, an ominous chorus of boots on ice and shouts of pursuit.
"He's heading for the frozen creek! Surround him!"
The leader's voice was a whip in the air. I knew where I was going. The forest around the village led to a winding creek that would be completely frozen. A shortcut, perhaps, but also a trap.
As I ran, my mind, previously flooded with panic, began to work, processing the information with the coolness of an RPG player.
I was an Ether Weaver, a reality manipulator, one of the rarest types of mages in this world, and also one of the most challenging to start using my powers.
I didn't have fireballs, but I could change the rules of the environment. The problem was that I, the player, had barely mastered the class's complex mechanics, relying more on trial and error than on a deep understanding of physics.
I stumbled again, nearly falling, and one of the mercenaries hurled an axe that buried itself in the wood of a nearby house, dangerously close to my head.
"Wretches!" I hissed, running faster.
I needed a trick. Something to delay them. The icy environment, the ice, the snow. And the properties of reality.
Friction, I thought. If I could...
I instinctively stretched out my hand, trying to concentrate my will, trying to manipulate the surface of the ice under the mercenaries' feet.
I remembered one of the few basic abilities: "Friction Adjustment."
In theory, I could make the ice more slippery, or even create points of almost zero friction. The force of friction, which opposes motion, depends on the coefficient of friction between surfaces and the normal force. If I could reduce the coefficient, even for an instant...
Good thing I was interested in physics in school and almost finished college...
A faint, almost imperceptible, pale blue light pulsed at my fingertips, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Nothing happened. The mercenaries continued to pursue me, with steady steps.
"Damn it!" I cursed, desperation mounting. I tried again, focusing on the image of the ice beneath the leader's feet. I visualized the molecules, the coefficient of friction, trying to bend reality to my command.
Once more, a faint, ephemeral glow. Nothing.
I reached the edge of the frozen creek. The surface was a slippery, treacherous expanse, with thin cracks adorning the thick ice. The mercenaries were approaching.
I launched myself onto the ice, slipping and almost falling. I could feel the hot breath of the pursuit on my back.
"Get him!" a mercenary shouted.
I needed to try again. Ignoring the panic, I focused on what I knew.
Friction. A force that opposes motion. If I could decrease that...
I concentrated energy at my fingertips, and the world around me vanished.
The ice in front of me transformed into a translucent mesh of numbers and vectors, each crystal reflecting a variable. In the center of my vision, the formula pulsed in blue light: 𝐹𝑎 = 𝜇 ⋅ 𝑁
The value of N fluctuated with the weight of my body, but 𝜇... 𝜇 was my target.
0.32... The cold intensified, as if the ice were reacting.
0.25... The edges of my vision darkened, and I heard my own heart louder than the footsteps behind me.
0.12... The molecules beneath my feet danced, vibrating like violin strings about to snap.
0.01... The ice ceased to offer resistance, an absolute silence took over my feet — but the instant it lasted was cruelly short. The blue glow vanished, and the ice remained firm.
"Shit!"
However, one of the mercenaries, the most corpulent, unexpectedly slipped on a small ice protrusion I hadn't noticed, falling flat on his face with a dull thud. It wasn't what I expected, but it was a welcome pause.
I'm not Baelen, but my gamer's mind and the vast library of knowledge that he, the real Baelen, had devoured about Arcane Theory, the physics of this world, gave me an advantage.
I knew I needed to go beyond intuition, to delve into the fundamentals the character already knew.
I hadn't had classes at Lumina Academy yet; the invitation was still in my pockets, but the theory was there, in my mind, the fruit of countless hours of gameplay and Baelen's readings.
The two remaining mercenaries continued the chase, one of them leaping over his fallen comrade. I ran, the icy air burning my lungs.
I spotted a fallen tree, covered in snow and ice, that formed a natural bridge over a narrower part of the creek. It was risky; the trunk was slippery. But it was my only chance.
I dashed towards the tree, the mercenaries close behind. I jumped onto the trunk, slipping dangerously.
The friction of the tree's surface! I thought, trying a new approach.
Instead of focusing on the ice, I would focus on the damp, frozen wood. I couldn't make the tree less slippery for myself, but I could try for them.
If I could increase the friction... I visualized the wood fibers, imagining them bristling, maximizing the coefficient of friction, creating an almost sticky surface where the force of friction would become an insurmountable barrier.
I extended my hand again, my fingertips burning with a familiar "almost there" sensation. The blue glow pulsed more intensely.
The first mercenary to jump onto the trunk, the same one who had thrown the axe, suddenly froze. His feet seemed to stick to the wood's surface, and he stumbled, losing his balance. He fell into the soft snow beside the creek with a roar of frustration, unable to push himself forward.
I looked back, stunned. Did I do that?
My heart pounded. I had done it. I had bent reality.
The second mercenary hesitated for a second before attempting to jump as well, but the sight of his trapped comrade made him stop. They didn't seem to understand what had happened, only that the tree had suddenly become impassable for them.
I had succeeded. Not in the way I expected, nor with the control I dreamed of, but reality had bent, even minimally, to my command.
The tips of my fingers still glowed faintly with a strange blue, as if the power was calling me to a domain I did not yet possess.
I didn't stop to think. I ran into the forest on the other side of the creek, the mercenaries' shouts fading as I moved away.
I didn't know where I was going, but I knew that, somehow, I had activated my Reality Weaving.