Chapter 8: Nightmares

With the allocation of skill points complete, Roland felt no obvious change within himself. Apart from a noticeable increase in the small source magic circulating inside him, there seemed to be little else.

Opening his status panel again to check the details, Roland soon found himself speechless.

[Host: Roland]
[Rank: Mid-level Second Circle Mage (2213/10000)]
[Spell: Blink (Lv9/Lv10), Progress: (1/5), requires four more skill points.]

Roland: "..."

Well, at least it wasn’t a total loss.

He comforted himself with this thought, then turned to the system’s assessment of his strength.

Mid-level Second Circle? This was the first time he had seen such a classification.

The power hierarchy in this world was not particularly rigorous. Before stepping into the seventh circle of the transcendent rank, the first six levels were essentially a measure of how much magic power one could accumulate within their body.

Having enough small source magic to complete one cycle of starfield mapping meditation equated to the first circle. Two consecutive cycles signified the second circle, three cycles the third, and six cycles the sixth.

It sounded easy, but in reality, it was far from simple.

If the meditation cycles were spaced apart, even a novice magic apprentice just beginning to learn meditation could complete six cycles in a day. But to do so consecutively required exponentially more magic power.

Generally speaking, a second circle mage possessed more than ten times the magic power of a first circle mage.

This meant that mages judged solely by their mana bar length gave Roland opportunities to overcome stronger opponents by exploiting weaknesses.

Luckily, Roland specialized in fragile mages. As long as he could prevent them from casting protective spells, even a first circle mage stood a chance against a sixth circle.

However, if facing those reckless melee warriors who abandoned resonance casting to solely strengthen their bodies with small source magic, Roland’s little tricks would be ineffective.

A few landmines were nothing; a fourth circle warrior-type could easily endure them with sheer physical toughness.

How could mere landmines compare to a body hardened by countless battles?

Warriors, after all, first learn to stack armor and take hits—this is what defines a qualified warrior.

Among mages, there were those like Roland who specialized in close-quarters combat, but usually, such mages chose this path because their magic lent itself to melee. In terms of raw physical resilience, they could never match those brawny fighters.

Roland was different, and his path was largely thanks to the great kindness of old Lancelot.

As an experienced adventurer, old Lancelot knew well that merely casting spells wouldn’t see one to retirement.

So from a young age, as a fourth circle mage himself, Lancelot’s first lesson to Roland was neither meditation nor magical resonance techniques.

Instead, it was swordsmanship and physical training.

Later, Roland, leveraging the extraordinary wisdom unique to a transmigrator, developed the Blink spell—a flexible teleportation spell for both offense and retreat—based on a portable directional teleportation device issued by the military.

It was this very Blink spell that convinced old Lancelot to go all out supporting his ill-fated son, and it was also this spell that earned him the right to take the Royal Capital’s Magic Academy entrance exam.

Unfortunately, Roland had originally thought one skill point would suffice to level up the skill.

He believed he had nearly perfected Blink, a short-range instant-cast spatial movement spell, whose flexibility and utility were self-evident.

But under the system’s detailed breakdown, Roland discovered that Blink still had room for improvement.

He wondered what it would look like at maximum level.

“System, your mission rewards aren’t very generous, are they? Even a consolation prize should be more than this, right?”

“Huh?!!!”

Before Roland could react to the strange sensation around him, it was too late.

His attention had been completely absorbed by clue deduction and system rewards, leaving him oblivious to the changes in his surroundings.

The room had plunged into complete darkness.

Even the cold moonlight streaming through the open window was swallowed the moment it entered.

Before Roland’s eyes was only blackness.

The next moment, his vision suddenly brightened—unnaturally bright.

He found himself standing on a grassy lawn, sunlight filtering down through dense leaves, casting warm, scattered patches of light upon him.

Before him stood a treehouse built from a giant tree, where a naturally formed hollow had been decorated into a door. From within the treehouse came faint, melodious singing.

Roland looked around; apart from the clearing near the treehouse, tall trees densely filled the area.

The wind rustled the leaves gently.

Instinctively, Roland wanted to relax, to stay here, to lie on the grass and bask in the sunlight, to let this moment stretch on forever...

“!!!”

Roland snapped back to full awareness, rallying his consciousness.

He instinctively reached for his waist—his anti-magic stone dagger, once hanging there, was gone. Not only that, his longsword had disappeared as well.

Empty-handed, he looked toward the treehouse. After a moment’s thought, he decided to enter.

“Hmm~ hmm~ hmm hmm hmm~~~”

An unknown, lilting tune hummed from the lips of a young girl clad in a coarse black robe.

Her blue hair was tied up neatly behind her head as she stirred a cauldron before her, adding unknown ingredients.

Before Roland unfolded a stereotypical scene of a witch brewing potions.

“Karia?”

Roland spoke tentatively, stepping closer.

There was no doubt this was Karia.

Apart from her attire and spirit, her appearance was unchanged.

“Huh, a visitor?” Karia seemed flustered upon seeing Roland, slowing her stirring. “Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone... just wait a moment, I’ll get you—”

Roland didn’t hear the rest of her sentence.

At the moment she spoke, he seemed to hear murmured nonsense, then jolted awake.

When he broke free from the illusion—or dream—a horrific, indescribable monster composed of shadows was opening its massive maw, ready to devour him.

“Flashlight spell!!!”

Thinking quickly, Roland summoned all the magic he could muster and unleashed a burst of light brighter than sunlight.

Under the blinding flash, the shadow and monster dissolved—though perhaps they vanished for other reasons.

Karia woke up.

“Ahh!”
“My eyes!”

She screamed, leaping off the couch, then tripped on the hem of her cloak and crashed to the floor.

Rubbing her bruised parts, she turned her head and looked at Roland with a half-complaining expression: “What kind of flashlight spell do you cast in the middle of the night, you jerk!”

But she soon grew anxious upon noticing Roland approaching her with the anti-magic stone dagger in hand.

“What do you—what do you want?”

Karia pulled out her staff, clutching it defensively, clearly frightened.

Though she held a rank above Roland, facing his fierce demeanor—and considering all the help he had given her—she couldn’t help but instinctively take a submissive stance.

“Do you really have no idea what just happened?” Roland’s expression was serious, but he sheathed his dagger.

He didn’t need Karia to answer; her expression told him everything.

It seemed she truly had no recollection of what had just transpired.