Veyne finds himself in a vast, shadowy plain. Black fog coils around him, swallowing every sound. Calling out is useless; no words leave his mouth.
He walks for what feels like an eternity, convinced the fog is moving around him. He drops to his knees, desperate to understand. What is this?
A metallic, echoing voice cuts through the darkness.
"Look at you! Powerless! Hardly the man you used to be."
Thousands of shadowy silhouettes materialize in the fog. His previous body's ghoul-like face emerges first. Behind it, Balgorth and Necrothix, along with the arms of the undead he once commanded, slowly march toward him.
"I'm still in there somewhere. You just need to let me out!"
His old self grabs Veyne by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
"So pathetic!"
With its other hand, it stabs straight through Veyne's stomach. Whispering with venom:
"I'M STILL HERE!"
"Ahhhh!"
Veyne bolts upright in bed, confused and dazed.
"Mister Veyne, are you alright?"
"Who are you?! How did you get into my castle?!"
Silence. Nifily steps forward, and Veyne reacts instinctively, clicking his fingers as if to strike.
"Ha! I'd hardly call this a castle. You're acting weird. Are you okay?"
Veyne blinks, coming back to himself. He sits, holding his head.
"Y-yeah kid. I'm alright. Just a bad dream."
"Well, whatever it was, take it easy today. You were out cold. What happened to us?"
"Mana depletion. You only have so much magic inside you, and if you use more than you have, you pass out. Training and experience will increase your capacity."
"Well, that sucks! But on the plus side… you were able to use magic, right?"
Veyne looks down at his arm, slowly unwraps the bandages, and pulls out the wand.
"Yeah, kid. Here—take this. We'll start training again in a few hours."
"So soon? Shouldn't we rest more?"
"Normally, yes. But something in the woods could easily kill us right now. I need you at your best if we're going to take them down."
"Take them down? How?"
"We'll do what Realmforgers do—prepare for a raid."
Two days pass in rigorous training. Nifily practices her mud whip spell while Veyne works to strengthen his arm. Progress is steady: he can now use it for an hour daily, and Nifily's spell succeeds once in every three attempts.
"Alright, Nifily. Time to step up our game."
"A new spell? More runes?"
"Something better… a laboratory."
"A laboratory? What's that?"
"I'll show you."
They walk a few meters from the camp to the hole leading to the lab entrance.
"Ah, yeah. I remember you digging this out. Wait—you're telling me there's really a lab down there?"
"Indeed. But the entrance is blocked by hard rock. I need you to blast it apart so we can work."
"Leave it to me, mister Veyne!"
Without hesitation, Nifily casts her mud whip at the rock.
"Hahaha, wait up! That won't get through. You'll need a projectile… a mud bullet."
Her eyes light up.
"Hell yeah! Just tell me how!"
Veyne spends the next two hours explaining long-range magic: materials, condensing energy and aiming.
After countless attempts, both collapse to the ground, near total mana depletion. Out of breath, Veyne asks:
"Say, Nif… does Mudbree have any protection? Likeguards?"
"Well, officially yes, but they rarely come. The monk Kiastu is the main help."
"I'll keep that in mind."
They rest under the stars. Veyne dreams again—shadowy fog, face-to-face with his old self.
"Reclaim me! With my help, you'll be back on top and those who killed us will be dead!"
"I know, but I see potential in Nif…"
"Nif?! Already giving her a nickname? Pathetic. People betray and use us."
"She's different."
"No one is different. They all become corpses in the end."
A swarm of zombies crashes down on Veyne like a tidal wave. He wakes, wide-eyed and cautious.
The sound of crashing rock echoes through the forest. Rushing to the hole, he sees a muddy, puffed-up Nifily standing proud.
"I-I did it, mister Veyne! L-look!"
Shaken from the dream, Veyne looks around and sees the lab entrance open. A surprised smile spreads across his face.
"You did it! The lab's open!"
Sliding down the tunnel, Nifily examines the space: a ten-meter square room, stone bench/bed, bookshelf, a small cupboard next to wall pockets filled with dark liquids. By the fireplace sits an anvil and grindstone, both worn.
"Wow, Veyne… did you make all this?"
"Yeah, a long time ago."
"Well, that explains the state of it."
"Haha, I was young then. But never mind—we have work to do."
They clear dust and rubble, taking stock of the remaining equipment.
"Twenty-four flasks, mostly with dried blood, a broken cauldron, various monster parts, and a grindstone."
"So what's first?"
"A fire. A really hot fire. For that, we need wood… and an axe."
Veyne fashions one from a boar's shoulder blade and a branch.
"Axe acquired. If you chop down the trees, I'll start the fire."
"Yes sir! Veyne sir!"
Nifily rushes off, axe in hand. Moments later, a scream pierces the air.
"VEYNE!! HELP!!"
Veyne bolts, spear ready, to find Nifily on her knees, blood dripping from an arrow in her arm, the axe lying beside her.
"It's the goblins."
Three goblins emerge from the bushes: one with a spear, one with a knife, and one with a short bow—a scouting party has found them.