The mercenaries' shouts had faded, but not ceased. They had turned into the distant baying of hunting dogs, the sound carrying on the frigid air and echoing among the trees of the snow-covered forest.
I had bought myself some time, but I knew it was just a temporary reprieve.
They were persistent, and I was an amateur in this body.
My mind, once a virtual battlefield, now processed the intense cold that bit at my skin and the exhaustion that weighed down my muscles.
I ran aimlessly for a few minutes, the invitation from Lumina Academy heavy in my pocket, the irony of being hunted before I even set foot there palpable.
Each step in the soft snow sank my feet, stealing my energy, and the cold air cut into my lungs. The trees grew denser, forming a dark, white labyrinth.
Suddenly, I heard it. They were no longer distant barks. They were voices. Closer.
"The trail is fresh! He didn't get far!"
I stopped abruptly, my heart pounding like a war drum. My body, Baelen's body, was exhausted.
The blue glow on my fingers had completely vanished, and I felt a strange tingling at their tips, as if the energy had been drained away.
I tried again, reaching out my hand, searching for the knowledge of Arcane Theory that floated in my mind.
If I could manipulate sound, perhaps create a distraction, or even an echo to throw them off. I thought about frequencies, sound waves, dispersion. The knowledge was there, but the application...
Nothing. Not even a blue flicker.
"There!"
The voice boomed right behind me. I turned, and there they were. The two remaining mercenaries, the same ones who had been trapped in the tree, now with fury-injected eyes. Their weapons were raised, and the leader, the brute with the scar, carried a crossbow, the bolt already nocked.
My gamer mind screamed for a mana bar, an energy meter that would tell me how much I had left to use. But there was no mana bar. No HUD.
Then, it happened.
A notification appeared in my vision, translucent and pulsating, as if projected directly onto my retina.
[WARNING: Critical Mana Level. Skill Usage Disabled. Mana Depletion: Acute Pain]
The exact moment the message appeared, a sharp, icy pain pierced me.
It wasn't the physical pain of a cut or a blow, but a feeling of vacuum, of something vital having been ripped from within me.
It was as if the very magical essence, the mana that powered Reality Bending, had been sucked out to the last drop, leaving a cold, painful hole in its place. My legs faltered, and I staggered.
"Critical mana?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.
Shit. How could I forget?
Baelen Jean-Klerk. The Ethereal Weaver with unlimited potential, but with the worst set of starting stats in the game.
High knowledge of physics, yes, but terrible attributes for Vigor, Health, Strength, and, crucially, Mana. That was why he was considered a "challenging" character in the game, a choice for players who loved a good hard mode.
I had exhausted all my mana. The luck of having escaped the tree wasn't mana saved; it was just luck.
The mercenary leader advanced, the crossbow aimed at my chest. The other two took their positions, one with a sword at the ready, the other with a dagger. I was surrounded.
And then, I noticed.
Right behind me, the snow stretched to the edge of a cliff.
The wind hissed, revealing a dark, deep abyss, punctuated by sharp, ice-covered rock formations. The sound of the wind there was a lament, a silent invitation to fall.
Life and death. A frozen cliff at my back, mercenaries thirsty for my blood in front of me.
My mind, once focused on game mechanics, now screamed for survival. I had no mana, no powers, and Baelen's body, though agile, was not that of a trained warrior.
Two options screamed in my head:
A fall that would almost certainly be fatal, but maybe, just maybe, would give me a chance to escape. Or to smash myself on the rocks.
Three trained mercenaries, armed to the teeth, against an exhausted, mana-less commoner. Suicide.
The mercenary leader let out a cruel laugh. "It's over, rat. No more tricks now, are there?"
He drew the crossbow string, and I heard the "click" of the mechanism. The bolt was about to be fired.
The icy cold of mana depletion ran through my veins, mixing with panic. I could feel the sharp tip of the bolt in my mind, the imminent pain.
My new reality. No respawn.
My gaze swept over the abyss, then to the cruel faces of the mercenaries.
Jump or fight.
The decision, I knew, had to be made now.