The two robe-wearing skeletons might have been powerful apprentice mages in life, but in undeath, they were nothing more than animated bones clad in tattered finery.
Punk didn't waste time—two precise secondary catapult spells shattered their skulls, snuffing out the last remnants of their soul flames.
Their restless existence finally came to an end.
Despite their weakened state, Punk was cautious. Mages, even after death, often left behind deadly protections on their belongings. Many unfortunate thieves had met gruesome ends by triggering curses hidden in a wizard's possessions. Punk had no intention of joining their ranks.
Ever since he had learned Secondary Mage Armor, that shimmering layer of magical energy had never once left his body.
A proper search required the right tools.
Chanting softly, he wove a spell. Atop his staff, a translucent, violet-glowing hand—sharp-edged and crystalline like a diamond—formed in midair. The incantation of Lesser Mage Hand resonated through the clearing, light and clear as a lark's song.
With his summoned construct standing guard, Punk directed the spectral hand to seize the skeletal remains and shake them free of their robes.
Bones clattered to the ground in a loose pile, while the garments drifted lazily in the night air.
A quick scan with his analysis spell confirmed his suspicions—these robes had once been enchanted, but the corrosive undead energy had long since stripped them of their magic.
Now, they were little more than remnants of what had once been spellcaster's attire.
Even so, such remnants still held value; a worn-out apprentice robe could fetch a hundred or two gold coins. Not a fortune, but enough to invest in more knowledge.
Sifting through the debris, Punk uncovered scraps of boots, belts, and three magic rings, all stripped of power.
In total, the haul was worth about 700 gold coins—hardly a great find, but sufficient for his immediate needs.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.
"I go through all this trouble, and what do I get? Junk. Meanwhile, others stumble onto legendary artifacts, ancient spellbooks, or at the very least, a damn treasure map. But me? I get to play scavenger."
He stuffed the remnants into the torn robe he was using as a makeshift sack and let out a quiet sigh.
"Sure enough, those adventure stories were nothing but lies."
After marking a teleportation coordinate just outside the undead forest, Punk set off, his bag of salvaged scraps slung over his shoulder.
With his prophecy magic, he had no fear of getting lost, even in the barren wasteland.
His plan was simple: return to Konola City, sell off these secondhand goods to the Mage Guild, use the money to secure a quiet residence, and dedicate himself to studying alchemy.
It was far better to craft his own future than to take on unpredictable and dangerous tasks. A single mistake in the wrong assignment could entangle him in unwanted conflicts.
It was late—past the 25th hour.
The three moons of Faerûn once again adorned the sky, casting their silver glow over the tranquil landscape. With no industrial smog to cloud the heavens, the stars shone vividly.
Unlike the monochrome night sky of Earth, the celestial display here was a tapestry of color. Elemental planes bled their hues into the void, scattering streaks of blue and crimson across the firmament.
Every point of light above was not just a distant star but a plane unto itself, orbiting the vast world of Faerûn like shimmering gemstones.
For a moment, Punk found himself mesmerized.
The sheer beauty of the cosmos, the vast unknown stretching endlessly above—this was the true frontier of knowledge.
His cold, indifferent expression softened as he gazed upward, moonlight casting pale illumination on his face. The starry expanse reflected in his eyes, a kaleidoscope of twinkling lights, as if the brilliance of the universe had seeped into his very soul.
A faint whisper echoed in his mind, an elusive sound just beyond the threshold of understanding.
A sensation of clarity surged through him, as if the vast cosmos itself had unlocked a hidden door within his being.
Power stirred.
His soul, once a steady trickle of magic, now surged with newfound energy.
The world around him sharpened into crystal-clear focus, every breath of wind, every subtle shift in the earth beneath his feet now as perceptible as the beating of his own heart.
He had broken through.
The transition had been seamless, yet the leap was profound.
With his soul ascending to a higher state, his mastery over magic had reached a new height. Even his lowest-tier spells would now carry far greater force.
More importantly—
He was now qualified to wield true magic.
Memories of the priestess's unyielding armor, the sheer destructive force of his Firebolt spell, and the brutal efficiency of higher-tier magic flashed through his mind.
A small, satisfied smile formed on his lips.
His path as a mage had just taken a significant step forward.
"Still, power is meaningless without control," he reminded himself.
Before returning to Konola City, he would study his newly acquired spells to ensure he could wield them with precision. The old mages at the guild would be less condescending if he demonstrated real combat ability.
Expressionless once more, Punk retrieved his makeshift bag of salvaged gear and resumed his journey under the luminous night sky.
The brilliance of the three moons intertwined, casting an eerie yet mesmerizing glow over the land.
His path had only just begun.