The instant his fingertips threatened to move, Tom's eyes blinked. Ruzz stumbled and fell due to his awkward posture, and the books that had been suspended in the air now crashed against the library floor.
"Why didn't you fly?" Clinton stepped out from behind the counter and rushed over to his coworker.
"Uh… laziness," the vampire replied from the floor.
Pfft. Both of them laughed at the situation.
Still near the counter, Tom stood with a stunned expression on his face.
Wait. Wasn't that exactly what happened in the middle of my fight against Banjur?
Inside him, a mix of intrigue and fascination took hold.
When he had been in the pit fighting Banjur, at one point he had felt something similar, like everything had slowed down, but it had been so brief he hadn't even managed to react.
They didn't notice anything?
Tom glanced at the vampires, who were now putting the fallen books back onto the shelves.
"Want some help?" Tom offered quickly.
"No need, but thanks," Clinton replied.
"You wouldn't even reach the shelf," Ruzz shot back bluntly.
Tom immediately frowned.
I try to help and still… yeah, okay.
Both men unfurled a pair of black, bat-like wings and flew a short distance up to the shelf they wanted.
Tom stared, surprised. Even though he had seen vampires in stories and movies back on Earth, witnessing it in person was still impressive.
Returning to his thoughts: "So they really didn't notice anything. Damn."
An involuntary smile crossed his face.
Wait—no. If the vampires didn't notice, did Malivor notice during the fight with Banjur?
His expression turned thoughtful.
So he noticed because he's an ascendant too? Yeah, that has to be it. I can't think of any other way he figured out so quickly that I was one.
"Here, the book, just like we agreed," Clinton said, snapping Tom out of his thoughts as he placed the book on the counter.
"Okay, thanks."
"And don't be late returning it," Ruzz teased.
Man… it almost makes me want to make this book disappear out of spite. Tom simply nodded thoughtfully.
Without wasting any more time, he took the book and left the library, heading toward the carriage that was still waiting for him.
"Same place we came from?" the driver asked.
"Yes."
Anxiety began to grip Tom's chest, and the moment he sat down on the passenger bench, he immediately opened the book he had borrowed.
There is air, gases, atoms, and hods. This is common knowledge, but not everyone can manipulate them. If you are beginning to read this book, you are likely an aspiring mage or wish to become one… Welcome to "Introduction to Magic and the Manipulation of Hods."
As soon as he finished the first paragraph, Tom relaxed, as if strangely he felt a little more at ease now that he was about to open the doors to magic.
Flipping the first page, the content didn't seem extraordinary at all.
Did that librarian screw me over too? Damn it. Why does it feel like everyone keeps taking advantage of me?
His emotions swapped fast.
He still vividly remembered Fox making him pay more than he supposedly owed, not to mention Malivor forcing him to fight in the pit after leaving him broke and in debt at the Bell Tavern.
Turning a few more pages, Tom's patience wore thinner.
Okay, I already know hods are like atoms and are present basically everywhere. But that's not what I want. How do you actually use this stuff?
Grabbing a thick chunk of pages at once, Tom finally landed on something that caught his attention.
The control of hods is often described as a web, in which it is possible to pull specific threads either through the subconscious or through extreme control of one's own body via adrenaline.
For example, think of a part of the body where you wish to manipulate hods within yourself or the environment. Usually, the hands or the mouth are used…
(…) Tom kept reading the passage.
"Wait… so if I use my hands…" Tom quickly shook both hands and looked around.
And… nothing happened.
Huh?
Okay, calm down.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to imagine countless threads beneath his skin and clenched his fists, attempting to "grab" them.
Once again, nothing happened.
Reading further, he reached the end of the section, which mentioned channeling — a way to induce hods into another person or into oneself, possibly making manipulation easier.
Setting the book aside, Tom had an idea.
After watching for a few seconds and closing the carriage curtain, he once again formed a mental image of threads from a massive web covering both the environment and his own body.
"Inrud Zelah Vey—" He didn't even finish the phrase before feeling a sharp pull in his chest.
Holy shit, that's strong.
Letting the air leave his lungs, he tried to react, but all he managed to do was blink. Precisely blink twice within a single second.
When he opened his eyes again, he could see it. Yes, something like crystalline lines projecting from his body, stretched tight as if they were pulling him upward.
Once more, everything seemed to be in slow motion.
Looking closer at himself, thick strands ran through his body, similar to arteries.
It's like my body has a cardiovascular system, but for magic. And these lines are like arteries going straight to the—
Directing his gaze to his chest, there was a greater concentration of threads there, glowing faintly with a cyan hue.
Okay, first I need to stop myself from going to Veyrael's hall.
It wasn't that he didn't want to go. But being inside a moving carriage, he might reappear in the middle of the street on the way back, causing exactly the kind of attention he was trying to avoid.
I still can't really move properly in this state. But what if I blink just once instead of twice?
On impulse, he blinked and finally felt sensation return to his body, regaining control of his hands.
Looking outside, the carriage had picked up speed, but it was still slower than before he'd spoken the magical phrase.
I think I get it. I can slow the environment down, but I can't move. And by closing my eyes just once, I reduce the slowdown enough to move again. Is that it? Did I get it right?
Feeling another pull on his body, Tom remembered he still needed to stop himself from being dragged to the mysterious hall with the floating table. With one hand, he grabbed the threads pulling him upward, but nothing changed. No snapping, no relief from the pull.
"What if I just—" Seeing he wouldn't escape that way, he chose the most obvious and literal solution. "Inrud Zelah."
Immediately after speaking, the threads loosened and thinned until they nearly vanished.
So even without saying 'Inrud Zelah,' I still have a connection to that place.
And… what is that?
One of the lines projected from his face, he couldn't see himself directly, but they seemed to come from his eyes; connecting to his forearms and wrapping around the tips of his middle and index fingers, before extending out of the carriage.
Driven by curiosity, Tom closed the middle and index fingers of his right hand twice.
Instantly, his vision blurred, filled only with flashes of light racing past at incomparable speed.
Oh fuck, what did I dooo—
Then the lights stopped, and everything returned to normal, but.
"Huh?" Tom looked around in disbelief. "What do you mean?"
"Tom, is that you?" a slightly distant voice called out.
Reacting quickly, he moved between the shelves and hid behind one, peeking discreetly through the books.
Unbelievably, he was back inside the Kallivyeski Library — and the one calling his name was the librarian, Clinton.
Okay, calm down. He called me by name, so he knows me. That means I didn't time travel. I just… teleported?!
Looking back at his hands, threads were still wrapped around the tips of his middle and index fingers on both hands. From his left hand, the lines traced a path straight to the librarian's counter.
In front of the counter floated a symbol shaped like an eye with a luminous pupil, and almost instinctively Tom understood: that was the exact spot where he had been standing when he'd accidentally activated slow motion in the library, when Ruzz dropped the books.
If that's the case, then if I close my fingers twice again…
He did it, and once more his vision blurred as streaks of light rushed by, gradually slowing until everything returned to normal.
His chest rose and fell as he panted lightly. He had barely moved, yet it felt like he'd just finished another intense training session with Captain Laylla back at headquarters.
Turning his attention to his surroundings, it was completely dark.
This isn't the carriage. He thought, checking where he had ended up.
Once again, the floating eye symbol with its glowing pupil was there. Step by step, cautiously, he backed away until he bumped into something.
"Hey… this is actually — damn it, yeah. This is the pit."
Completely empty, dark and silent, but it was the same pit where he had fought the 'monster' Banjur. And suddenly, it all made sense.
So wherever I activate my power, I leave behind this eye symbol?
The pit was the first place he had ever used his power, even if only minimally.
Logically speaking, if I close the fingers of my right hand twice again while pulling on the hod threads…
The moment he did it, his vision blurred for the third time as high-speed lights rushed past. Looking at himself, his body remained normal and only the world around him appeared blurred.
Thump!
The back of Tom's head slammed into something hard — wood, to be precise.
"Ow…"
Shifting position and rubbing the back of his head to ease the pain, Tom confirmed he was back inside the carriage — albeit awkwardly, with his feet against the ceiling and his head on the floor. And once again, the eye symbol with its glowing pupil floated nearby.
"Yeah, I need to improve on these teleportations."
Straightening himself, he picked up the book on hods, which had fallen to the floor as well, and kept reading until they reached a point two streets away from the Moonlight headquarters.
…
Vice Commander's Office — SYNC Mercenary Squad
Without warning, the door swung open and Niora walked in, with Emily following close behind.
"Hey Niora, I've told you not to barge in here without announcing yourself," he said, staring incredulously at the swordswoman who entered first.
"Tch." She shrugged.
Reivan, the vice commander, was wearing his black overcoat with blue details. His white hair, usually spiked into a neat crest, is now hung loose and slightly limp, likely from a long day of work.
"You look awful," Niora said, baring her teeth in distaste.
"The commander decided to walk a tightrope, and now I'm the one paying for it…" Reivan huffed before dropping what he was doing and rubbing his forehead. "Yeah… actually, forget I said that. Good afternoon, Emily. Why are you here? Did something happen?"
Emily shifted her blue eyes toward Niora, but the swordsman remained impassive, signaling that the princess herself should make the request.
Yes, Emily was tense, which was nothing new.
She had already met and interacted with some of the main members, but not the vice commander. And considering the pressure she'd felt during her brief conversation with the SYNC commander, she was unconsciously afraid Reivan might be similar.
The request itself wasn't difficult but it might be inappropriate, or even offensive, given her situation as a "special prisoner" of the mercenary squad.
"Sir, I'd like to write a letter," she said simply and directly, though she withheld the detail most important to her.
"Oh, yes, a letter. Alright, and who are you thinking of sending it to?" Reivan's tone was far gentler and calmer than the commander's deep, concise voice.
"…My father." Emily fell silent after speaking and bit the inside of her cheek.
Reivan leaned back in his chair. Her request clearly caught him off guard, and he drifted into thought.
What's the point of this? Sure, she could ask for help— but no, she's asking permission to send the letter. If she wanted help, she'd write and send it secretly, without us knowing.
"I— I just want to let my father know that I'm okay," she said, forcing a smile.
Silence settled over the room. Reivan's expression shifted from time to time, but he still seemed confused by the request. After all, it was almost like a kidnapping victim asking their kidnappers to send out a cry for help on their behalf.
Niora's gaze moved back and forth between Emily's tense, nervous face and Reivan's thoughtful one.
With the commander absent indefinitely, Reivan held full authority — which meant the final decision rested with him. And if any trouble arose because of that letter, it would certainly come back to him.
"Alright. Fine. I'll allow the letter but it will be reviewed before it's sent," Reivan said, smoothing his hair back with his hands.
"Thank you very much," Emily replied instantly, breaking into a relieved smile as she hurried out the door so quickly she even forgot to ask if she was allowed to leave.
No one stopped her.
From the front of her golden hairline, a bead of sweat rolled down Niora's brow. She wiped it away quickly. With raised eyebrows and a slightly dropped jaw, she looked stunned, unable to find words.
Noticing Niora's what the hell? expression, Reivan finally stood up, picked up his blue fingerless gloves, put them on, and stepped toward the swordsman.
"What? Was it really that surprising?"
"Huh? In my head, there was no way you'd ever allow something like that," she said, resting one hand on her sheathed sword.
"After she writes it, review the letter and if needed, rewrite it yourself. Just don't let anything slip through. No visual descriptions, no hints about our location," he said, raising an eyebrow knowingly.
"Ah… right." Niora pursed her lips.
Moments later, Reivan quickly organized the paperwork he'd been handling and walked toward the door until Niora stopped him with a question.
"You mentioned the commander earlier. What's going on?"
He paused before grabbing the handle, took a deep breath, and turned slightly toward her, still weighing his answer. His platinum-white hair began to flutter as a moderate breeze filled the closed room.
"King Noryan has been sending letter after letter to the emperor, pressuring him to force us to return Emily and demanding a hefty compensation for the kidnapping. But the commander is part of the Council in the capital, so even if the emperor wanted to act, he couldn't attack us with military force without essentially attacking his own forces," Reivan explained, his sharp features tightening with displeasure.
"Yeah… I figured there'd be complications. We did kidnap a princess for 'no real reason,' after all," Niora said, letting go of her sword and crossing her arms.
"And Emily's father also threatened retaliation against SYNC. Almost forgot that part."
"What? But wouldn't that provoke a war between the Kingdom of Darcus and the Elsenbein Empire? They'd definitely lose against the emperor."
Now fully aware of SYNC's precarious situation, Niora looked unsettled.
"In theory, yes. But he could hire another mercenary squad — or several — to hunt us down. That wouldn't count as an attack between nations, just a conflict between mercenaries. And neither of us is naive enough to think the emperor would declare war over a mercenary skirmish."
With a snap of his fingers, part of the paper stack slid aside, revealing a sheet filled with notes and questions.
"What's this?" Niora asked, stepping closer to read it.
Scanning the words, she clenched her teeth and sighed.
"Niora… believe me, the commander is holding himself back and trying to be patient with Emily, and he's definitely not happy with the current situation. Somehow, convince her to accept his proposal soon."
The final words carried both authority — he was second-in-command — and an undercurrent of plea. Reivan knew he could simply force Emily, but he also understood that someone coerced would only wait for the first chance to escape.
Still staring at the notes, Niora stopped at a single sentence — or rather, a question.
Who is Emily's Superior?
"I was starting to wonder if I was the only one who thought the commander had been acting strange since we brought the princess in. But now it's beginning to make sense. And it probably has to do with ascendants. I mean… I don't really get it. To me, mages and ascendants are basically the same thing."
"Yeah… there is a difference. But what matters is that we don't pressure Emily too much and risk her Superior reclaiming her key."
After speaking, Reivan snapped his fingers again. A gust of wind swept through the room, returning the papers to their original place.
Holding the side of her golden hair as it fluttered, Niora couldn't resist provoking him.
"So… King Noryan wants to retaliate against us."
"Yeah, that's right," the man in the black uniform with blue accents replied, already smiling ironically in anticipation.
"But who would they even send for that mission — the Moonlight?"
Stepping closer, Niora met his eyes, both of them nearly the same height, and slapped him on the back.
"Nah!" They exclaimed in unison, both feeling a surge of pride in their chests.
Neither of them could hold it in any longer, bursting out laughing.