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Energy Bolt
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Red Globe
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Veil (The Red Veil)
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Mark: Sensing
Looking at them all together, I nodded to myself.
These four spells had become the core of my arsenal.
Compared to them, the spells I had learned in the past were basic, barely useful against competent mages, let alone higher-level adept mages or expert mages.
But I didn’t regret learning those weaker spells.
What I had learned from my old spells had allowed me to alter and personalize the ones I used now—like how I had renamed Bleeding Eyes into Blood Veil and made it into something uniquely mine.
With that thought, I dipped my quill in ink and wrote down the name of the second spell I had purchased:
“Wraith” or “Wraith Soul”
I exhaled slowly as I stared at the name.
This spell wasn’t an attack spell. It wasn’t for scouting.
It was for movement and escape—a last resort, a tool of survival, a way to turn myself into something untouchable.
I reread the spell’s description, burning the details into my mind:When cast, I would turn into a Wraith, increasing my speed by five times.
I would gain flight, allowing me to move freely through the air.
I could pass through walls and solid surfaces—not magically reinforced ones, but any ordinary material like wood, stone, or metal.
The duration of the transformation was one hour per day.
After every use, I needed to perform a ritual, sacrificing 1% of my magical energy
That last part…
I frowned.
Permanent sacrifices were rare in magic. Most spells consumed replenishable energy, but this spell demanded something deeper—a tiny fragment of my very essence.
It wasn’t a spell to use carelessly.
But at the same time…
If used correctly, it could be the ultimate escape tool.
A spell that could save my life at the cost of power.
I stood from my chair, stepping into the center of the room.
Closing my eyes, I focused on my mana flow, feeling the spell take form within my body.
Then, with a single whisper, I cast:
"Wraith Soul."
For a moment, I felt nothing—then, suddenly, a powerful chill ran through my entire body, like I had been submerged in ice-cold water.
My vision blurred, and my hands trembled as my form shifted.
Then…
I became weightless.
Looking down, I saw that my body was now translucent, surrounded by a faint, misty aura.
I reached for the wooden chair, and instead of feeling its solid surface… my hand passed through it effortlessly.
A slow grin formed on my face.
"This is… incredible."
I took a step forward.
In an instant, my body glided instead of stepping.
I barely needed to exert any effort.
I moved faster, testing my control—sliding through the room with unnatural swiftness, my form flickering like a phantom.
Then, I turned to the wall.
This was the real test.
I braced myself and moved toward it, hesitating for a brief second.
But as I reached it, my body phased through the wood like passing through smoke.
On the other side, I found myself in the hallway of the inn.
The corridor was dimly lit, empty except for the faint sounds of footsteps from downstairs.
I looked back.
The wall behind me was solid, untouched—yet I had moved through it like it was never there.
My heartbeat quickened with exhilaration.
I had become something untouchable.
Returning to my room, I let the spell fade.
As soon as I did, my body snapped back to normal—and I staggered, feeling the heavy weight of exhaustion.
I gritted my teeth.
The spell was powerful, but it came with costs.
One hour a day was generous, but not unlimited. If I wasted time, I could be caught in the worst possible moment.
And finally, reinforced walls and magical barriers would still stop me. It wasn’t a perfect get-out-of-jail-free card.
I sat back down, rubbing my forehead.
This was a spell I would have to use wisely.
In combat? It could let me outmaneuver enemies in ways they wouldn’t expect.
For assassinations? I could phase through fortifications and bypass security.
For survival? It could let me escape any situation where death was certain.
But the cost made it clear—this spell was not for casual use.
Only when absolutely necessary.
I sighed and stared at my hand.
Mark: Sensing was my eyes.
Wraith Soul was my escape.
I leaned back in my chair, resting my head against the wooden frame as my mind wandered.
I had tested Wraith Soul, and its potential was undeniable.
If I used it wisely, it would become my greatest survival tool.
There would come a time when I’d find myself in a deadly situation, perhaps outnumbered or facing an opponent beyond my level.
When that happened, Wraith Soul would be my way out.
But mastering it wouldn’t be easy.
I closed my eyes and focused.
Transforming into a Wraith wasn’t just about casting magic—it was about forcing my body to accept a different existence.
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Unlike Red Globes, which were just external constructs of magic, Wraith Soul altered my very form.
My body became ethereal, weightless, unbound by the usual rules of physical reality.
It wasn’t just learning a spell.
It was training my body and mind to function while existing in that unnatural state.
I clenched my fist.
I’d need to practice:
Phasing through solid objects without hesitation.
Moving at five times my normal speed without losing control.Understanding the limits—what I could pass through and what I couldn’t.
Reacting instantly in battle, transforming into a Wraith at a moment’s notice.
This wasn’t something I could afford to fumble.
A single mistake—losing focus, misjudging a movement, or failing to exit Wraith form at the right moment—could lead to disaster.
But I would master it.
Because I had to.
I tapped my fingers against the desk.
Combat? I was confident in it.
With Red Globes and Energy Bolts, I could fight at both short and mid-range.
Information gathering? I had that covered too.
With Mark: Sensing, I could track movements over a wide area, giving me an advantage over my enemies.
But there was one thing missing.
Defense.
I frowned.
No matter how powerful I became, there would always be stronger mages.
If someone attacked me suddenly, I had no instant protection.
That was why I had chosen the third spell.
I turned to the book I had bought and flipped to the page that contained the spell.
The original name was something overly complex and lacking character—so I had renamed it:
Hearthsphere.
The name felt right.
Because this spell wasn’t just a shield.
It was alive—a shield fueled by the caster’s blood, emotions, and soul.
It wasn’t like ordinary barrier spells, which simply blocked attacks.
Hearthsphere was different.
It pulsated like a heart, expanding and contracting around me.
The more my heart raced, the stronger the shield became.
If I was calm, it was weak—barely able to withstand a simple attack.
But if I was excited, frightened, or enraged, it became exponentially stronger.
It was a shield made for battle.
I grinned as I thought about it.
This spell fit me perfectly.
I wasn’t a mage who stayed calm and emotionless in fights.
I felt every moment—the thrill, the tension, the life-or-death intensity.
If my heart pounded in the heat of battle, Hearthsphere would respond, growing stronger in sync with my emotions.
The more danger I was in, the more powerful my defense would become.
It was exactly what I needed.
But mastering Hearthsphere wouldn’t be easy either.
Unlike Wraith Soul, which required me to adapt my body, Hearthsphere required me to control my emotions.
I had to train myself to activate it at the right moment, without hesitation.
And more importantly—
I needed to test how far I could push it.
How much excitement did it take to make the shield reach its peak?
Could I deliberately manipulate my emotions to strengthen it?
What were its limits—could it block a high-level attack, or just weaker spells?
The only way to learn was through battle.
I exhaled, already making a plan.
I would find an opponent—someone strong enough to put me under real pressure.
Someone who could push my emotions to their limit and force Hearthsphere to evolve.
I stared down at the parchment where I had written my spells:
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Energy Bolt – My basic attack.
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Red Globe – My explosive offense.
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Veil (Blood Veil) – My stealth tool.
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Mark: Sensing – My awareness and scouting spell.
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Wraith Soul – My escape and mobility spell.
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Hearthsphere – My defense, my shield.
With these six spells, my combat style was starting to take shape.
I had offense, mobility, information gathering, and now—defense.
But learning them all properly would take time.
At least one month to fully master each of them so that they became practical in battle.
And I would not waste a single moment.
Because the war between Morningstar Act and Freedom of Amber was escalating.
And in a world where mages fell like leaves in the wind—
I would not be one of them.
-
Felix - Pov
The news was grim.
The war had only been raging for a month, yet our magic stone production had already dropped by 20%.
I exhaled sharply.
This was not sustainable.
The battle between Freedom of Amber and Morningstar Act wasn’t just about numbers on the battlefield.
It was about resources—about who could maintain their war machine longer.
And if things continued this way, we were going to bleed out before Morningstar Act even reached their peak strength.
I tapped my fingers against the armrest.
Everything boiled down to two things:
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Mages – The number of battle-ready mages we had under our control.
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Resources – Specifically, magic stones that powered our spells and weapons.
If either of these two collapsed, we would lose.
We were already suffering heavy mage casualties, and now, with the magic stone supply dwindling, we couldn’t even fully support the ones still fighting.
I needed to fix this.
And I needed to do it fast.
Every day, more and more mages died.
Some from direct combat.
Some deserted, realizing that this war was turning into a long, drawn-out slaughter.
We had started strong, but Morningstar Act’s forces were not breaking as easily as I had hoped.
I needed to increase our numbers, but recruiting new mages wasn’t easy.
The options were:
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Train and recruit more apprentices – This took too long. I needed fighters now, not months from now.
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Press-gang or force weaker mage groups into service – This could work, but it would require intimidation, threats, and bribes.
I clenched my jaw.
That last option might be necessary.
Some of the neutral mage organizations in the region wanted to stay out of the war.
But I wouldn’t give them that choice.
Either they joined us, or they would be crushed when Morningstar Act gained too much power.
I made a mental note:
Send envoys to the neutral guilds. Make them choose—fight for us, or suffer the consequences later.
If they refused?
I had other ways of persuading them.
The war was consuming more magic stones than our miners could extract.
With every passing day, our forces drained our reserves, and our mining operations kept slowing down.
Why?
Because many of the miners and transport workers had either fled or not enough them were capable of working to make a difference.
I needed a solution.
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Secure the mines at all costs.
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I would need to station guards at every major mining site to prevent further disruptions.
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This meant less mages on the front lines—but we couldn’t fight without resources.
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Find new sources of magic stones.
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Our current mines weren’t producing enough.
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There were unclaimed deposits further east, but they were in dangerous territories.
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If I sent mages to secure those areas, it would be a risk—but a necessary one.
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Take stones from others.
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Some independent factions had large stockpiles of magic stones.
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They weren’t participating in the war, but their resources could be useful.
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If we couldn’t buy the stones, we could steal them.
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I cracked my knuckles.
I wasn’t above taking what I needed by force.
If these factions thought they could hoard magic stones while we bled for the future of this continent, then they were fools.
I would take what was necessary.
And if they tried to resist?
They would be eliminated.
Freedom of Amber was powerful—but we weren’t the only major force in this war.
Other mage organizations were watching from the sidelines, waiting to see which side would emerge victorious.
I needed to ensure that they aligned with us, not Morningstar Act.
There were three ways to do this:
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Diplomacy.
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Convince them that siding with Morningstar Act would be suicidal.
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Offer them power in the new world we were creating.
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Bribery.
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If words failed, gold and resources could make people change their minds.
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Some groups didn’t care who won—they only cared about profit.
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Fear.
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If neither diplomacy nor bribery worked, there was always fear.
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A few high-profile assassinations could remind everyone what happened to those who refused to fall in line.
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I exhaled, leaning back in my chair.
I already knew which method would be most effective.
Some guild leaders could be persuaded—but others needed a reminder of their mortality.
This war was a long-term investment.
And I was willing to spend as many lives as necessary to ensure that investment paid off.
I stood up, pushing the reports aside.
Everything was clear now.
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Increase mage numbers. Force neutral mage factions to pick a side—or eliminate them.
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Secure and expand the magic stone supply. Station guards at mines, claim new deposits, and take from others if needed.
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Ensure that other mage organizations align with us. Diplomacy where possible—bribery or force where necessary.
I smiled coldly.
Morningstar Act thought they were gaining power.
But they had no idea what was coming.
I would make sure that when this war truly escalated, Freedom of Amber would be the only force left standing.
The yellow-colored paper appeared in the air beside me, pulsing faintly.
My brows furrowed.
“An Amber Document.”
The highest form of communication spell used by Freedom of Amber.
It was never used lightly.
If one of my commanders or high-ranking officers sent this to me, it meant only one thing—something serious had happened.
I reached out and touched the floating document, whispering the activation words—words so ancient that even I barely understood their origins.
The moment the spell recognized my voice, the paper unfolded in the air, revealing its contents.
I scanned the message.
And then I froze.
“The Amorans are on the continent. They have encountered both Morningstar Act’s mages and our own forces.”
My heart skipped a beat.
Amorans… here?
That could only mean one thing.
The Amorans were not human.
They weren’t from our cities, our kingdoms, or our factions.
They were something else.
Something worse.
And if they were here, on our continent…
I clenched my fists.
This was turning into a full-scale invasion.