I was back.
These days, I genuinely believed that my steadily strengthening Willpower actively accelerated the resurrection process, allowing me to bounce back faster than ever before.
According to my sparing partner's spatial position and the general flow of the environment, not a significant amount of time could have elapsed since I perished under Arum's psychic-assisted onslaught. I slowly pushed myself back up into a sitting position on the trampled grass. I still felt a lingering trace of dull soreness clinging to my muscles, but I knew instantly it was nothing more than phantom psychological pain. Mechanically and spiritually, I was already back in absolute top shape.
"Are you alright, kid?" The gravelly, resonant voice of Arum broke through my fleeting daze.
Recalling the last terrifying glimpse I caught right before blacking out, I looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
"I'm fine—honestly, better than before," I replied, and I wasn't exaggerating in the slightest; I could already feel another subtle, qualitative surge in my overall baseline power. "I actually saw some pretty bizarre things right before I 'passed out'... Care to explain what those were?"
"You actually saw them?" Genuine, unadulterated surprise colored his deep voice.
By that point, the rest of the strike team had sauntered over to form a loose circle around us. Thankfully, it seemed that the excessively violent, bone-crunching sparring session had officially concluded. Even though I had lost—and lost quite badly at that—I felt zero bitterness or frustration. If anything, getting pulverized had forced me to stumble onto something crucial regarding the practical combat applications of my Willpower.
I believe I was fundamentally mistaken about my pacing. If my current working assumptions hold true, I should see my Willpower abilities skyrocket exponentially in the short term.
Arum had already completely deactivated his monstrous Valken form. The heavy, suffocating aura of aggression had bled away from his frame like dirty snow melting beneath a bright spring sun. He offered an explanation with the exact same peaceful, easygoing demeanor he had worn before our spar ever began.
"Those were purple ghosts—ethereal specters born entirely from the concentrated blood and lingering spirits of a warrior's defeated foes," Arum explained casually. "Valken, the primordial spirit of the blood-spilled earth, derives his terrifying title directly from this specific biological and spiritual harvesting ability. Much like how the decaying corpses of ordinary living beings serve as excellent soil fertilizer, the remnants of fallen enemies fuel that particular aspect of his domain."
"Now, that being said, I have a counter-question of my own: exactly how on earth were you capable of perceiving them?" He leaned down slightly, narrowing his eyes with curiosity. "Most supernaturals cannot perceive those spectral ghosts with normal vision. That restriction includes high-tier mages as well—though, to be fair, a select few specialized arcanists can manage it if they concentrate hard enough." He cast a brief sideways glance toward Chloe and Lorn as he spoke.
"I certainly couldn't perceive them with ordinary physical senses," I admitted. Though, privately, I strongly suspected that I would merely need a few more cycles of dramatic death and resurrection to unlock that sensory tier natively.
"I managed to perceive them because, similar to when I first tracked down the hidden Fae prince Eric earlier, I deliberately channeled an alternate esoteric faculty—the exact same unique ability that managed to send you hurtling across the garden during our match. I must say, you possess quite the impressive repertoire of hidden tricks, Mister Samsara."
"I see. Well, I suppose I will simply have to be satisfied with that vague answer," Arum chuckled softly, nodding in appreciation. "Indeed, it's a remarkably handy trick to have in your back pocket. Because of those spectral purple ghosts trailing in my wake, most of my historical enemies stubbornly believed I was some sort of supreme, ancient mage wielding absolute mastery over temporal manipulation."
Chloe gently clapped her hands together twice, easily reclaiming our collective attention. "An exceptional exhibition from both of you. I believe Mister Samsara's initial tactical worries have been thoroughly put to rest. Furthermore, I trust that everyone else has now obtained a concrete measure of his baseline competency."
"Indeed, Miss Chloe. Mister Samsara possesses formidable resilience and strength," Arum rumbled affirmatively. "I firmly believe that no ordinary, mid-tier supernatural could ever hope to stand as his match."
Well, thank you very much, Arum, for the generous vote of confidence. If Arum is already operating as such a broken, cheated existence, I have zero doubt that the rest of this strike team are absolute savages as well.
Though, in my internal estimation, I suspected the most dangerously unpredictable member of the crew wasn't Lorn—the stern, clinical mage-geek—nor was it the blood sorceress Kalia, or even the identical shifter twins. Without a doubt, the single most dangerous individual in the group was the perpetually smiling Prince Eric.
At least, that was what my gut intuition whispered to me. Well, my intuition combined with the strange, cautious undertone of respect that inevitably colored Chloe's words whenever she addressed him directly. Furthermore, whenever she spoke to him formally, she invariably used his royal title. While I didn't necessarily think he possessed greater raw destructive output than Chloe herself, he easily sat as the closest competitor to her tier of power within the collective unit.
"Yes, Miss Chloe, we have directly witnessed his exceptional hardiness in active combat situations. We are thoroughly impressed," the shifter twins chimed in together, speaking with an eerie, synchronized cadence that made it sound as though they shared a single vocal cord.
Kalia merely offered a slow, silent nod. However, I intuitively sensed her quietness didn't stem from casual arrogance or social scorn; it was simply her default operating setting. In all likelihood, there were very few things existing in the physical universe that warranted an overt emotional reaction from her.
"A truly fascinating biological and metaphysical specimen. I must confess, I would dearly love to run a series of controlled studies on him..." Lorn muttered aloud, his eyes lingering on me with scholarly intensity.
I can literally hear you talking, you know! Tsk... What a genuinely terrifying guy.
"Since we are officially finished with this impromptu demonstration, we should head back inside the manor. The fresh refreshments must be properly prepared by now," Chloe stated, looking thoroughly satisfied with how the resolution of our tension had played out.
Everyone universally agreed. Lorn stepped forward, executing a series of rapid, fluid hand seals. Instantly, the severely pitted, torn soil where I had traded heavy blows with Arum began to shift and churn, rapidly filling in. The uneven ground leveled itself out smoothly, and the shattered flower beds that had been torn to shreds during our collateral exchanges seamlessly knitted back together as if untouched. With a final wave of his hand, Lorn completely dispelled the heavy protective ward encompassing the garden.
As we strolled leisurely back toward the grand manor house, Lorn quietly drifted over to walk directly beside me. Driven by a lingering curiosity regarding his unusual fighting style, I decided to break the silence and initiate a conversation.
"I can easily wrap my head around what the others bring to the table, but you remain an outlier. I'm well aware that you're a trained master mage, but I sincerely doubt you're an ordinary one—primarily because I've never encountered a spellcaster who casually carries a heavy medieval longsword into active combat." Granted, my personal exposure to diverse mages was still relatively limited, but the point stood.
A heavy silence stretched between us for a couple of seconds. Just when I mistakenly assumed he was going to ignore my inquiry entirely, he finally spoke:
"There are vastly different classifications and specializations of mages operating in our world," he murmured evenly.
I simply kept my gaze fixed on him, waiting for him to elaborate.
He let out a soft, resigned sigh before continuing. I honestly couldn't tell whether he was talking because of unspoken social deference to Chloe or simply succumbing to my undeniable, magnetic personal charm.
Most likely the latter. Definitely.
"Mages span a wide, highly diversified spectrum of professions," Lorn explained, his tone shifting into that of an academic lecturer. "There are enchanters, elementalists, seers, conjurers, creators, witches, warlocks, arcanists, and so on... Naturally, a large number of spellcasters utilize physical weapons to channel or focus their reserves."
"However, I happen to be the sole remaining practitioner of a rare discipline that relies entirely on a close-quarters melee weapon during a firefight. My bloodline was historically comprised exclusively of glyph warriors. I don't suppose you are familiar with what a magical glyph actually represents?" He paused, casting an inquiring look in my direction.
I shrugged lightly, lacking formal arcane education, though I felt confident I could hazard a decent operational guess.
"I'm guessing they are specialized, symbolic words carrying inherent semantic meaning that can be actively invoked to produce magical, environmental phenomena?" I offered with mild uncertainty.
"Close enough to be accurate," he conceded. "In our foundational origins, my family operated purely as traditional enchanters. We utilized complex glyphs to imbue mundane weapons or magical trinkets with localized enchantments. That status quo persisted uninterrupted until one of our distant ancestors successfully invented a revolutionary, lineage-altering spell."
"That single breakthrough fundamentally restructured the entire foundation of our family. From a moderately wealthy, comfortable clan of quiet enchanters, we rapidly evolved into an overwhelmingly powerful, feared lineage of glyph warriors."
"The historical creation of that specific combat-oriented profession is naturally attributed directly to my ancestors."
"Glyph warriors possess the rare biological and magical capacity to permanently tattoo or imbue specialized glyphs directly into our physical muscle tissue and skeletal structure. Can you even begin to imagine the terrifying offensive prowess we can detonate with simply through their rapid activation? Can you visualize the sheer tactical versatility of the applications?"
"Consequently, our lineage became horrifyingly adept at brutal, close-quarters hand-to-hand combat. We reached a point where our baseline threat level was directly comparable to naturally gifted, physically overwhelming supernaturals like high-tier vampires or aggressive werewolves... Still, all of that remains a bygone, fading glory."
"I am currently the final living member of this once-glorious family line."
He fell entirely silent after that final, heavy declaration, wearing a distant, clouded gaze as his thoughts drifted backward into history.
He was the last surviving member of his entire lineage. I could easily presume that his family members hadn't quietly passed away from peaceful, natural causes in their sleep.
After all, this was the cutthroat supernatural underworld we were constantly navigating. Additionally, Stella had once casually mentioned to me that powerful mages could theoretically live indefinitely, provided they maintained continuous progression and mastery within their arcane practices.
I knew all too well the hollow, lingering agony of losing one's family prematurely. Recognizing that there was nothing I could offer that would serve as adequate, comforting consolation, I chose to remain respectfully silent while he quietly reminisced.
Glyph warriors, huh? So traditional mage-hood can be subdivided into a massive, convoluted hodgepodge of distinct professions depending entirely on their individual philosophical approach to the manipulation of magic. It genuinely makes me wonder what specialized path Atticus tread to achieve his status, and just how terrifyingly powerful he currently is...
The exact second that stray thought crossed my mind, an involuntary shiver of cold dread raced down my spine.
For a terrifying split-second, the piercing, ancient eyes of Atticus flashed vividly into my psyche. I was badly startled, to say the least. Even reduced to a mere memory format tucked away in the back of my mind, the guy was genuinely, profoundly frightening.
I abruptly paused in my tracks. A massive, brilliant insight had just flashed across the periphery of my consciousness, but before I could mentally grab hold of it, the thought slipped away and evaporated entirely into the deepest recesses of my brain.
It felt as though I was missing several critical logical links required to anchor and sustain that elusive insight.
"Samsara, are you coming?" Chloe's voice pulled me back to reality. At some point during my internal musing, we had successfully reached the heavy wooden door leading back into the interior lounge we had vacated earlier. Chloe was standing halfway inside the living room threshold, turning back to wait for me.
"Yes, sorry. I was momentarily distracted by a stray thought," I replied, forcing a casual tone as I hurried to catch up.
A heavy, gloomy feeling settled uncomfortably at the pit of my stomach. Somehow, deep down in my bones, I instinctively knew that whatever crucial realization I had failed to grasp just moments ago carried immense importance.
Well, whatever. Time will tell.
Since I lacked the capacity to forcibly dredge the lost thought back to the surface, I saw zero logical point in wasting energy worrying over a variable completely outside my immediate control.