The alleyway was littered with trash and filth, its stench permeating the air. Michael carefully picked his way through, avoiding the worst of it as he hurried along. Even the beggars tasked with collecting garbage avoided this area, leaving it in squalor.
Those beggars, under orders from Michael's grandfather Alfred, spent their days lounging in the shadows, gathering rumors, and their nights cleaning the town square and main streets. They knew everything—who beat their spouse or children, which shopkeepers rigged their scales to cheat customers. Nothing escaped their watchful eyes.
Finally emerging from the mire, Michael arrived at his destination: the home of Hannah, the midwife.
Hannah was one of the town's skilled midwives, known not just for delivering babies but also for her expertise in brewing potions. She crafted remedies to prevent unwanted pregnancies, potions for terminating them, and even aphrodisiacs marketed as "love elixirs." Her proficiency in herbal mixtures and sharp business sense made her a prominent figure in the market.
"Ah, young master! It's been a while. How are you feeling? Come in, come in, and warm yourself by the fire. Goodness, you've lost so much weight!" Hannah exclaimed, her chestnut curls bouncing as she ushered him inside. She was a plump, motherly woman who radiated warmth.
A former apprentice magician who had been dismissed for a lack of talent, Hannah had instead honed her skills in potion-making, carving out a comfortable niche for herself.
"The herbs you brought last time were excellent," she said, examining the pouch Michael handed her. "I've been struggling to keep up with demand lately, so this is perfect timing. I'll pay more if you keep supplying me. Dried or fresh—either is fine, as much as you can bring."
"That's good to hear. I'll keep bringing more," Michael replied.
Hannah meticulously inspected the neatly dried and sorted herbs, nodding approvingly. "Excellent quality as always. I'll give you three gold coins for these. Keep up the good work, alright?"
Three gold coins—more than Michael had expected. He silently congratulated himself for selling directly to Hannah instead of going through the general herbal merchants.
By the time Michael returned home, it was late at night. He slipped through the door quietly and bolted it behind him, but as he headed toward his room, a deep voice stopped him in his tracks.
"You're just now getting back?"
His heart sank. Alfred sat by the fireplace, his dark, penetrating eyes seeming to see straight through Michael's soul.
"Still awake, Grandfather?" Michael asked, trying to keep his voice even.
Alfred tapped the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace. "Don't stay out so late. The forest is dangerous."
With that, Alfred gave a slight nod, dismissing him. The firelight cast shadows over the deep scar on his cheek, making him look like a predator lurking in the dark.
Forcing a polite smile, Michael retreated to his room, closing the door behind him. Interacting with Alfred was still a daunting experience.
Counting the coins in his possession, Michael now had 30 gold—enough for one mana stone. Tomorrow, he decided, he would head into the forest to hunt.
The forest was dense with history, its ruins telling tales of a bygone era. Michael stood before a moss-covered, crumbling tower, remnants of an ancient castle scattered around him. He climbed a collapsed stone staircase, its vines clinging to the broken walls.
These ruins were once part of the domain of House Barclay, a family that ruled over five territories 300 years ago. As a descendant of the vassals who betrayed the Barclays, Michael couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine.
From his vantage point atop the staircase, he spotted a stag grazing beneath the trees. It was the same elusive creature he'd been tracking for hours—quick and vigilant, always staying just out of range. Its majestic antlers sprawled like the branches of an old tree. A fine trophy that would fetch a handsome price.
Michael steadied his breath, raised his bow, and pulled the string taut. The arrow flew true, striking the stag's neck. A triumphant smile spread across his face.
As he hurried down the stairs to retrieve his prize, Michael froze. In the growing shadows of the ruins, a blackened hand reached out from the gloom.
The oppressive malice in the air was unmistakable. A malevolent spirit.
The skeletal knight stepped forward, its hollow eye sockets glowing with fiery light. Its gaze locked onto Michael, hatred emanating from its very core.
"Damn traitor Gregory Crassus! Unforgivable!" the spirit bellowed.
Michael cursed under his breath. Why had he chosen this place to hunt? His decision to seek higher ground had inadvertently lured him into danger.
Desperately, Michael drew his sword, though he knew it would do little good. As a novice knight, his aura was still weak, and he lacked the precision to wield it effectively against such a foe.
The skeletal knight lunged, its movements erratic yet relentless. Michael barely evaded its grasp, scrambling to put distance between himself and the spirit.
Thankfully, the spirit appeared bound to the ruins, unable to leave its domain. If Michael could escape, he might survive.
Despite its lack of intelligence, the knight's fury was unrelenting. Michael's attempts to strike back only chipped away at the creature's bones, causing no significant damage. Exhaustion began to set in, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Realizing he had no choice, Michael decided to use his aura. If he could land a single decisive blow, he might shatter the spirit's core. But if he failed, he'd be defenseless, an easy target for the enraged specter.
He needed a moment to focus. As he maneuvered to create an opening, Michael's foot slipped on a vine, throwing him off balance. The knight's bony hand reached for him, its skeletal fingers brushing his skin.
Is this how I die? The thought raced through Michael's mind as a flood of memories flashed before him.
But then… something unexpected happened.
The moment the spirit's hand touched Michael, it let out an ear-piercing scream.
Michael stared in shock as the knight recoiled, its fiery eyes dimming.
[Activation conditions met. Absorbing mana.]
A smirk spread across Michael's face as realization dawned. The spirit was no longer an enemy—it was a convenient source of mana.