"Okay so, let's go through this again. Hey, are you even listening?"
Sanguine was now walking back and forth down in the hall, looking at the painting of the man the golden plate called the 'The King of Men.' It was a little simplistic. He would have liked to know the name of the man, whom he assumed was probably the past king of this place and whose corrupted vessel was the source of that vile moss. He had been here for a week now, and the isolation was starting to get on his nerves—so much so that he was talking to a painting.
'As if I didn't use to normally talk to myself.'
"So as I was saying—man, it's such a waste you can't talk—it seems that at my level, I need to use long incantations, taking my time in battle away. The easier the task—meaning the less I have to go against natural laws—the shorter the incantation can be. And there is a limit for now as to how much I can twist reality. There is also a second catch to that. It doesn't seem to work based on some mana or some aspect of magical currency I have to spend. My will seems to be the sole factor when twisting the world. That generally means the more confident I am, the more I could do, assuming I have the corresponding number of circles."
He had used the incantations he developed to slowly heal his wounds over the past four days, to such an extent, that they were now almost fully healed. He also experimented with the precise wording of the spells. He managed to get the healing incantation all the way down to:
"Let the flesh heal, wound close, blood flow once again. Sanguine commands: heal."
But what he was most proud of was the next incantation he developed. He had expected it, but the spell couldn't permanently fix his ripped tendons. So, he developed an incantation to partially, and for a limited time, put them back together, using his will as glue.
"Be whole once more; to the cross shape yourself. By my will, hold together."
It was clear he didn't have a poetic heart.
He walked into the library on the second floor, now unbothered by how he distributed weight. In the time he spent there, he managed to go through the books, but found the majority simply destroyed and the rest to be cookbooks. Why the hell were there so many cookbooks? But he wasn't idle. In his explorations of the building, he found a master bedroom with some old rags. From them, he fashioned himself a makeshift rucksack, so now his carrying capacity was greatly increased.
His next idea was even better. It had occurred to him very late considering how early he encountered the vile red moss—maybe because of the agony it caused him—but he had never tried to cut it. Well, now he did, and his conclusion was that the moss was stronger than it looked, but it was possible with a few nicely aimed slashes to truly sever it. Three vines of it were now fixed to his weapon of choice—well, his only weapon, really—the umbrella. It was truly a fearsome match, and Sanguine now felt more powerful than ever. He had the basics of magic, a weapon that was durable, sharp, and caused indescribable agony, and his tendons felt tight and functional when he enchanted them. His whole body seemed to be lighter, stronger, and faster with the first circle unlocked.
He had survived level 0 and now ascended the heavenly stairs toward level 1 and closer to greater power. In the past day, by coincidence, he had seen another wolf amalgamation enter a building just 70 meters away from his own. He was prepared. It was time to hunt.
He stood before the lair of the monster in no time, slowly crawling inside and looking carefully for its location. He felt truly mighty and was confident enough to think he could defeat the wolf without the element of surprise, but it was better if he was the one to see the wolf first. That was exactly what happened. The wolf was lying down in one of the rooms on the first floor. Sanguine had been entirely silent up to this point, but now he silently whispered a spell to tighten his tendons. When he felt the effect, he made himself mentally ready for the fight. When he was set, he slowly whispered another incantation—one he had developed and tested in the master bedroom of his previous accommodation.
"As we were born, we will die. A gift to humanity and a curse to its enemies: form in my hand in a bright flash and destroy what I want to be dead. By the will of Sanguine: Burn."
He lifted his feet and sprinted toward the amalgamation. It saw him and started to get up, but as it did, the flesh of Sanguine's left hand started to burn and turned into a ball of fire approximately 10 cm in diameter. It was unfortunate that he had to burn his own flesh, but adding fire protection to his hand simultaneously while casting the fireball proved to be too difficult for his current level of Shaping. For now, he had to be a masochist.
He straightened his left arm toward the wolf's face, and the fire made contact with the beast's skin. It was immediately distracted by the light and the pain, producing a howling scream. Sanguine wasn't waiting for anything; when the monster blindly chose to attack where it thought he was, he had already sidestepped. His umbrella, covered by the vile moss, now descended into the side of the wolf as Sanguine slid under the beast to emerge on the other side. He immediately delivered a horizontal cut to the nearest of its two extra legs, and the monster, already in great pain, failed to support its weight and collapsed. Sanguine raised his weapon and buried it into the skull of the creature.