A Few Seconds Earlier

Emma couldn’t quite gauge what to expect from the man standing before her. She had cast the inspection spell, confident that it would reveal the truth. As the magic took hold, the man’s body began to emit magical particles, his aura slowly expanding, dark and foreboding.

The aura began as a small, ominous veil, barely extending beyond his form. Then, without warning, it exploded outward, expanding several hundred meters in every direction, as if consuming everything around him. The sheer force and magnitude of the aura sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. Just as quickly as it had swelled, the aura contracted, shrinking back into the form of a typical Tier 6 magician.

Emma blinked, startled by the intensity of what she had just witnessed. Internally, she was confused, almost unnerved by the brief but terrifying display of power. Composing herself, she re-entered the carriage, but her thoughts remained fixated on the mysterious man. What was that phenomenon? And what did it mean?

Inside the carriage, her nephew and niece waited. The boy remained silent, lost in thought. The niece, however, looked at Emma with wide eyes, clearly having overheard the commotion.

“What happened out there?” the niece asked with a mischievous grin. “I’ve never seen you smile at a man like that. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him,” she teased.

Aunt Emma reached over and playfully pinched the girl’s cheeks. “Oh, what do I hear from my niece? You’re getting bold, I see. If you keep up with such remarks, you might even challenge your grandfather’s authority one day.”

The smile on the girl's face faltered. She knew she had gone too far, though teasing was her nature. Despite the light-hearted exchange in the carriage, Emma’s mind drifted back to the strange man. His disheveled appearance—dressed in rags, covered in dirt as though he had rolled in mud—did not match the raw power he had demonstrated. She was determined to get answers once she reported this to her family head.

…

Meanwhile, Mr. F strode through the city gates, his mind focused and unbothered by the curious gazes cast his way. Phalanx had changed since his last visit, nearly fifty years ago. The vibrant streets were now bustling with new shops and merchants, selling wares and shouting about discounts.

Mr. F couldn’t help but reflect on the passage of time. Fifty years ago, he had left this city behind, teetering on the brink of death, knowing that without a breakthrough to Tier 10, his days were numbered.

Back then, he had been forced to retreat into the wilderness, where he’d spent decades studying soul magic in isolation. The life-extending medicines had bought him some time, but now the effects were wearing thin. Time, as it always does, was catching up.

He needed to address his appearance before he could do anything else. In his mind, he recalled a modest tavern near the city gates. It had been a good place to rest in the past, offering baths and a quiet respite—ideal for him to clean up and formulate his next steps.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

As he walked, his senses sharpened. He felt it—multiple pairs of eyes observing him from the shadows, ever since he passed through the gate. A faint smile tugged at his lips. Being watched wasn’t new to him, and he knew that simply being observed was not a crime. However, the intent behind those watchful eyes would determine whether or not action was necessary.

Before long, he arrived at the tavern. It looked more run-down than he remembered, but something about it reassured him that it was still operational. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

At first glance, the tavern appeared deserted, but a closer look revealed small details that contradicted the neglected exterior. The floors had been freshly swept, the tables wiped clean. Despite the eerie quiet, the place had clearly been prepared for customers.

He walked to the counter and rang the small brass bell resting atop it. The once-bustling atmosphere was now replaced by the solemn quiet of a forgotten inn. After a short wait, hurried footsteps approached.

A young woman appeared, no older than 18. She wore a slightly soiled apron and a headscarf, her hazel-brown hair tied into a ponytail. Her athletic build spoke of a life of physical labor—likely raised in this very inn. She stopped when she saw him, her eyes widening slightly with surprise.

Mr. F smiled, a friendly, disarming gesture. “Good day, young lady. I’m called Mr. F, just passing through. I’d like a room and a bath, if possible. Could you accommodate me for the night?”

Lily, taken aback by his humble tone and appearance, hesitated but quickly collected herself. "Yes, we have rooms available. And a bath can be arranged too."

For a brief moment, her voice faltered as if she was unsure about something. Mr. F, ever perceptive, reached into the pouches he had taken from the guards and produced a handful of coins.

“I think this should be enough to cover the cost,” he said, his voice even, though there was a gentle weight behind his words.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the money, but something within her shifted. After a moment of quiet reflection, she gestured for him to take it back. “Let me show you to your room first,” she said with an almost resolute tone.

Intrigued, Mr. F followed her through the tavern. Despite her youth, there was an air of responsibility about her, a determination not often seen in girls her age.

Lily led him to a simple but well-kept room. The linens were fresh, the air clean. Mr. F took in the surroundings, nodding in approval. "Could you prepare a bath for me and perhaps find me some fresh clothes?" he asked.

Lily agreed, disappearing down the hallway to make the necessary arrangements. A short while later, she returned, announcing that the bath was ready.

Mr. F entered the bathing room, greeted by a tub of warm water and a clean white robe draped neatly over a chair. The worn robe he had been wearing for years was set aside as he methodically washed the grime from his body.

His aged, scarred skin—etched with the battles and centuries he had endured—began to feel clean again. Once the worst of the dirt was scrubbed away, he stepped into the tub, sinking into the warm water with a deep sigh of relief.

After a few minutes of peace, a soft knock echoed through the room.

"You can come in," he called, his voice calm but alert.

Lily entered with a steady composure, unfazed by the vulnerability of the situation. She had been raised in this inn, witnessing travelers of all kinds. "Shall I wash your robe?" she offered.

Mr. F smiled at her consideration. "That would be kind of you, thank you."

As Mr. F soaked in the tub, he allowed his mind to wander. The city held many memories for him, both good and bad. But now, his focus was on survival. He knew that time was running out, and the ritual he had performed had come at a great cost.

He needed to regain his strength, harness the new powers within him, and prepare for whatever lay ahead.

The bathwater grew cooler, and Mr. F finally decided it was time to get out. As he dried off and dressed in the clean robe that Lily had left for him, he felt a renewed sense of purpose.