In my mind's eye, the intricate patterns of magic danced and swirled, revealing the array of spells I had at my disposal: Time Stop, Invincibility, Summon Monster Any, and the most potent of them all... Meteor. With a flick of my wrist and a chant on my lips, I began to weave the intricate threads of magic, bringing the spell to life.

As I spoke the incantation, my hand traced out the complex gestures of the somatic components. I could feel the raw power of the spell surging through me, as if I had tapped into the very essence of the arcane itself. And with a final flourish, I cast the spell.

"For the next six hours," I thought to myself, "my body will be shielded by an invisible barrier, impenetrable to any weapon-based physical attacks or magic of Rank 3 or below."

The spell was a masterpiece of enchantment, a complex web of interwoven magic that would protect me from harm. It was not unlike a finely crafted computer program, with every detail meticulously laid out, describing the target and the effects of the spell.

My hands were still bound, locked in wooden stocks, a symbol of my captivity. But as I surveyed my body, my eyes caught sight of the faint, misty layer enveloping me, my barrier. It was so subtle that I had to squint to see it, and I doubted that anyone else would be able to detect its presence.

Curiosity piqued, I reached out to feel the barrier near my abdomen, the cool touch of the ethereal substance sending a shiver through my body.

The spell was activated, and a rush of elation surged through me. "I really was able to cast a spell," I marveled. It felt like an eternity had passed, as if I had spent an hour trying to weave the intricate threads of magic. But I knew that it couldn't have taken more than six seconds. The rules were crystal clear, and even if I tried to rush, I couldn't shorten the casting time.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the knowledge settle upon me. It made sense in the context of a game, but the fact that casting a spell rendered me completely defenseless for six seconds meant that I would have to be cautious in how I wielded my magic.

Lost in thought, I spent a few minutes staring into space, basking in the quiet of my cell. But my peace was abruptly shattered by a cacophony of footsteps and voices, growing louder with each passing second.

"Hey, you! Get up. You're coming with us!"

"It's time for your questioning, pal! You're gonna talk!"

I turned to face the bars of my cell, where three men clad in dirty leather armor were shouting at me.

My thoughts raced, taking in the details of their appearance and the situation at hand. They were all white, I noted, but that was hardly important. What mattered was that they were bandits, and I was their prisoner.

And yet, even as they shouted insults and threats at me, I realized that I could understand every word they said, despite the fact that they spoke in a language I had never heard before. It was as if God had downloaded knowledge of their language into my mind, an unexpected gift in the face of danger.

"I said get up!" one of the bandits bellowed, his voice grating on my nerves. "Come on out of there!"

"Hurry up, idiot!" another snarled.

"Snap out of it!" shouted the third, his face twisted in anger.

The three men on the other side of the bars made a ruckus, their blond or brown hair and European features marking them as bandits. They were armed to the teeth with axes and swords, and their unkempt appearance spoke of a life on the fringes of society.

In my experience, gleaned from games and manga, these were the kind of men who thought nothing of killing and plundering. In a story, they might have been dismissed as small fry, but up close and personal, they exuded a bloodthirsty aura that made my blood run cold.

I remained silent, unsure of what to do. Violence had never been a factor in my life before, and I felt completely out of my depth. The bandits approached, unlocking the cell door and barging in.

"Can't do anything by yourself, can you?" one of them taunted, before landing a vicious punch to my stomach. The pain was blinding, and I gasped for air.

It was then that I realized my mistake. Invincibility was useless against bare fists; it only protected against weapon attacks and low-ranked magic. I had been caught off guard, and now I was paying the price.

As the bandits dragged me out of the cell and down a short hallway, I caught a glimpse of another prisoner, a young woman locked in a nearby cell. Her eyes met mine, and I could see the fear and desperation in her gaze.

"Don't worry," one of the bandits crowed, "we'll get to you once we're finished with him! We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other then! Ha ha ha!"

The sound of the woman's scream echoed down the hallway, a gut-wrenching sound that made my blood run cold. I knew that I had to act, but my mind was in a state of panic. How could I help her when I couldn't even help myself?

"Over here!" the bandits shouted, taking me through a door at the end of the hall and into a large courtyard. Thick stone walls surrounded us, and in the distance, I could see a towering stone tower.

As we made our way to the center of the courtyard, I could hear the jeers and taunts of another group of bandits who were already waiting for us.

"Hey! It's the fake Weaver!"

"Show us a trick, why don't you try and weave your way out of this?"

"Or maybe you could Earth-Weave and dig your own grave!"

The insults stung, but I tried to focus on the task at hand. I had to find a way out of this place, to protect myself and anyone else who might be in danger.

But first, I had to understand what was going on. Fake Weaver? What did that mean?

Forced to my knees in the center of the courtyard, I groaned, taking in my surroundings. This was clearly some kind of fortress or castle, the bandits' hideout. It was just the kind of place you would expect to find in a game, but the stakes were all too real.

"Karyon, sir!" one of the bandits called out, addressing someone who I could only assume was their leader.

For what felt like an eternity, the bandits held me down, their rough hands digging into my flesh. I could feel the bruises forming, the pain radiating through my body.

But then, a man in robes appeared from the tower, wielding two staves in his hands. He had the air of a powerful mage, his sunken cheeks and high-bridged nose giving him an aura of annoyance.

"Who are you?" the man, Karyon, screeched. "Who are you to have such an incredible staff as this?! Who did you steal it from?!"

One of the staves he held was my own Staff of the Arcane, a powerful magic item that I had crafted to commemorate reaching Level 20. I had poured half of my fortune into its creation.

"I, uh...I am but a humble magician," I stammered. "My name is Emberus Blazeus Xandros. That staff is a personal possession of mine."

But Karyon wasn't convinced. "Magician? Do you mean to say you're a Weaver? Don't you try to fool me! You have no mana! There's not a drop of mana in your veins! You could never be a Weaver."

Confused, I tried to protest, but before I could, one of the bandits kicked me in the stomach. I doubled over in agony, the pain nearly overwhelming.

"Ha ha ha! What a pathetic little wimp!" the bandit sneered.

The pain was unbearable as another of the bandits kicked me in the stomach, leaving me gasping for breath. But the sound of their laughter was far more sinister than any physical harm they could do. I had never encountered such callousness in my entire life.

Karyon's voice cut through the commotion, but there was a hint of doubt in his tone. "While I sense no mana in this staff, it is clearly an Artifact."

My heart raced as Karyon lifted my staff and a blinding flash of lightning erupted, followed by an explosion of thunder that knocked the bandits off their feet. I realized that my staff had discharged the lightning spell that was embedded within it, but Karyon's statement about sensing no mana in the staff made no sense. My thoughts were muddled with pain and fear, and I couldn't focus on the matter.

Karyon's voice boomed with rage. "How can there be an Artifact without mana?! Did those fool Arcanists develop this?! Tell me what you know!"

"I have no idea what you're—ugh!"

I couldn't even finish my sentence before the trio of bandits resumed their assault. Their actions made it clear that Karyon and his henchmen shared a sickeningly similar disposition.

"Hmph... You underestimate me, the great Frost-Weaver Karyon? Insolent fool."

"No, I just... Gurgh..."

I struggled to withstand the barrage of kicks and punches from the three attackers. But my words had clearly struck a nerve. Karyon ordered the bandits to drag me to my feet, and then

raised his own staff, beginning a strange motion.

"Glacies Saggita!"

As he spoke those words, something shot out from the end of his staff and plunged into my shoulder.

"G-gyaaahh!!!" I cried out in agony.

A thick shard of ice protruded from my shoulder, and I realized with horror that Karyon had used magic to shoot an ice arrow at me. But how had he broken through my Invincibility spell? It was supposed to nullify magic below Rank 3! Had he used a higher-ranked spell?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"How do you like the taste of an authentic Frost-Weaver? If you don't want to be turned into an icicle, you'd better start telling the truth!"

"That's our Karyon!"

"Show him who's boss!"

The taunts from Karyon and his minions echoed in my ears, but the pain of the ice arrow drowned out their words. It was an entirely different level of agony compared to the blunt force of the bandits' physical attacks.

I was consumed by pain and fear as the gang continued their onslaught. But then, as if awakened by a familiar voice, my mind cleared. I'd faced countless trials in games and knew I could handle this. My focus sharpened, and everything around me came into crystal-clear clarity, likely thanks to Emberus's natural aptitude. I knew I had to cast a spell that would immobilize Karyon and threaten the bandits enough to make them think twice about attacking me. However, Karyon had likely taken my spellbook, so running away with a spell was not an option.

Ignoring the pain, insults, and everything else, I began to cast the spell, determined to see it through to the end. The bandits thought I had lost my mind, and they continued to jeer and laugh at me. But after the worst six seconds of my life, my spell was cast.

"Petrify," I whispered.

"As a consequence of this spell, one target will be turned to stone," played in my mind.

Karyon and the bandits didn't seem to realize what was happening, but I watched as Karyon's feet turned to stone, the discoloration spreading mercilessly upward through his body. Once it reached his waist, both Karyon and the bandits understood what was happening.

"It's stone... Karyon's turning to stone!"

"I can't move! I can't move my legs!"

As Karyon's lower half transformed into stone, his screams filled the courtyard, and the color drained from his face. The rest of the bandits were not faring much better, and their panicked cries echoed through the air.

"What are you doing?! Kill him! Kill him!" Karyon screeched.

Feeling something touch my back, I spun around to face the source.

"What is this?! What are you?!" cried one of the bandits, frozen stiff in a stabbing motion. His sword had been blocked by my Invincibility spell.

"You damned freak!"

"Why can't I stab him?!"

The gang of three charged at me with their axes and swords, but Invincibility protected me from their attacks. If they had tried to strike me with their bare hands, I might not have been so lucky. But they were too panicked to think of that.

"No!!! Stop! Stop it! Somebody help m—"

Karyon's petrification continued its ruthless march, the stone creeping up from his feet to his chest, then his throat, and finally his head. In less than twenty seconds since I had finished the spell, he had completely turned to stone, his face etched in terror. The T&T rules stated that the spell should have been instantaneous, but I couldn't expect everything to be exactly the same. Though I felt a twinge of guilt for using such a spell on a human, I felt no remorse for Karyon.

A wave of pain rippled through me, but I fought to keep my cool. I couldn't afford to lose my focus, not now. For a moment, all was quiet, save for the sound of my labored breathing. Then, one of the bandits stepped forward, cautiously approaching Karyon's statue.

“H-hey…”

“K-Karyon… Sir, can you hear me?”

As the bandit reached out to touch Karyon's petrified form, the statue lost its balance and toppled to the ground with a resounding thud.

“He’s really turned to stone…”

“W-was it that guy who did it?”

Their collective gaze turned toward me, and the fear and anxiety on their faces was a satisfying sight. But I couldn't afford to bask in it. I needed to deal with these bandits and fast.

The pain in my shoulder made it difficult to think clearly.

“What’s your next move?”

I heard the voice of my game master, urging me on.

As I struggled to collect my thoughts, the bandits began to understand the gravity of the situation. Slowly but surely, they started to edge away from me.

“That guy really turned Karyon to stone, didn’t he?”

"But Karyon claimed he wasn't a weaver..."

"Indeed, and observe the fate that befell him!"

"Sh-should we just end him? For safety's sake?"

Regardless, several of the bandits clutched their weapons, unwilling to make the first move. If I were to flee or if one of them lost patience, the delicate balance that held us all in place would shatter.

Driven by the moment's intensity, I began to weave another spell. It wasn't a calculated decision; I simply couldn't endure the mounting pressure. I longed to do something—anything—to break free.

"By the power of this spell, I call forth one to six ogres from the void, who shall obey my command for three days. Summon Ogre," the words formed in my mind.

Summon Ogre, a spell of the seventh tier.

The arcane energy released by the incantation distorted the space around me, sending ripples through the air.

"What's he doing now?!" a bandit cried.

Their reaction time was limited. Soon, six towering humanoid monsters—ogres with a brownish-red hue to their skin—materialized from the warped space. Each stood an imposing three meters tall, their visages a horrifying sight. Their initial action was to form a defensive ring around me.

"F-FIENDS..." one of them gasped.

"He's summoned fiends! He has fiends on his side!" another exclaimed.

The impact on the bandits was profound. One choked back a scream, while the others were visibly paralyzed with fear.

The ogres, each brandishing either an axe or a club, possessed a Challenge Rating (CR) of 2. CR is a metric used to gauge the threat level posed by potential adversaries. A quartet of adventurers, in theory, could dispatch a foe with a CR equivalent to their level without incurring severe difficulties. Considering the highest possible CR in T&T capped at 30, these ogres weren't necessarily formidable.

However, a single ogre could readily engage a party of six Level 1 adventurers, with Level 1 denoting the average infantryman.

I was unsure how closely the strength of Dravus' humans corresponded to the T&T level system, but it didn't seem far-fetched to presume that six ogres could effortlessly massacre a group of ten to twenty bandits.

The bandits appeared to reach a similar consensus, their fighting spirit visibly wilting. Could I fault them? Several of those closest to the exit seized their chance, flinging the gate open and fleeing.

So, in Dravus, they refer to ogres as "Fiends"? I mused. The term the bandits had used intrigued me. While I believed I had a grasp on the language, the exact meaning of "Fiend" remained elusive.

"Hrgh… Hyaaah!"

As I was distracted by the throbbing pain in my shoulder, one of the bandits—part of the original trio—gave a yell and charged at an ogre, axe swinging.

Had the ogre remained stationary, the axe might have inflicted harm. But with a swift swing of its club, the ogre expertly disarmed the bandit, sending the axe flying.

"Eep!" The first bandit squeaked in terror.

"What in the world are you doing? You imbecile!" the second bandit protested.

"Storms take it! Let's get this over with!" the third bandit bellowed, and like a dam breaking, the tense equilibrium shattered.

Some of the bandits squared off against the ogres in disarray, while others turned tail and ran. The ogres maintained their protective circle around me, ensuring that I remained untouched, but...

"Spare them! Just drive them away!" I commanded.

In response to my directive, the ogres roared. My request was perhaps unnecessary—these ogres were bound by my command, after all—but the social manners instilled in me growing up in the Southern US didn't fade easily.

Each time the ogres swung their axes, clubs, or rock-like fists, bandits were sent sprawling. Each offensive further depleted the bandits' resolve, yet none of them died. It seemed the ogres were indeed heeding my command. Yet even in their restraint, the bandits barely scratched the monstrous entities.

The ogres' sheer dominance likely resulted from the bandits' combat capabilities aligning more closely with Level 1 or 2 characters.

"We can't even land a single hit!"

"Flee! We have to flee!"

"W-wait up!"

Those bandits who'd dared challenge the ogres quickly had their spirits crushed and retreated. The remaining brigands, their spirits dampened, followed suit. None were so injured they couldn't walk, allowing me to exhale a sigh of relief.

As I observed the last of the bandits attempting to squeeze through the side entrance, the notion of apprehending them crossed my mind. I could then hand them over to the law enforcement, whoever that might be in this realm.

If I wasn't so intent on conserving my readied spells, I might have pursued that course of action. But my spellbook was still missing, and the thought of potentially depleting all my spells without a means to restore them swiftly quelled any heroic ambitions.

Regardless, the courtyard soon emptied of bandits, their echoes fading not long after. Moments earlier, this place had resembled a battlefield, and now, silence reigned. The contrast was almost surreal. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, turning my attention next to securing my safety.

"Three of you," I instructed the ogres, "patrol the perimeter to ensure no bandits return. Two, comb through the fort and remove any potential threats. The last one, you're on guard duty for me."

A chorus of grunts answered me as the ogres followed my directives, leaving me with my personal guard.

"God this hurts..." I groaned, clutching my wounded shoulder in the now-quiet courtyard.

The icy projectile was no longer there, but a considerable wound marred my shoulder. The ice-based nature of the attack had left the wound eerily resembling frozen meat, with minimal bleeding.

My spellbook was still at large, but I recognized the risk of lasting damage if I didn't attend to my injury. Besides, the sight of it was unsettling.

Summoning my energy, I cast Heal. This wasn't a typical spell in a Mage's arsenal, but due to a blessing from the god of healing in T&T, I was uniquely equipped to wield this Rank 5 spell.

In accordance with T&T's governing rules, Heal held the capability to remedy any injury or affliction, with the singular exception being death. Having invoked spells three times already, the initial anxiety had largely dissipated.

"It truly worked…"

Heal was a Rank 5 spell, and while I shouldn't have been taken aback, watching my shoulder mend itself was akin to viewing footage in reverse. It healed flawlessly, leaving no trace of a scar. It was a startling glimpse into the profound capabilities a Level 20 Archmage held.

"All right then, best get to it."

Feeling revitalized, I resolved to explore the remainder of the fort. First, I had my guardian ogre free my hands from the stocks.

"So, my inaugural dungeon is a forsaken fortress, eh? I should be mindful of any unexpected surprises concealed behind the doors the ogres break down…"

T&T had clearly defined character classes – Fighter, Cleric, Rogue, Mage, Paladin, and Ranger – each possessing unique strengths and weaknesses, and each playing a distinct role in an adventuring party.

The encounter with the bandits had made it abundantly clear that despite a Mage's lofty level, they were fundamentally at a disadvantage in close-quarters combat.

Magic was formidable, yes, but it wasn't without its limitations. Most spells demanded a single action – approximately six seconds – for casting, leaving the mage vulnerable during the process. Healing magic was primarily a cleric's domain, not a mage's, making the Heal spell an outlier rather than the norm. While a mage could invoke spells to unlock locks or disarm traps, they didn't possess the unbounded proficiency in those tasks that a rogue did.

The longer I mused on it, the more evident the drawbacks became. I needed to tread carefully if I wanted to survive in this place.

I wasn't brimming with confidence that all would go according to plan, yet with my guardian ogre at the forefront, exploring the fortress went without a hitch. There were no traps in sight, and any locked doors we encountered were promptly dealt with by the brute strength of my ogre.

The fortress was relatively uncomplicated in its design, composed of a primary tower, an isolated living quarters building, and a surrounding elliptical stone wall. Guard towers dotted the main gate and various points along the battlements, suggesting a design intent on function over aesthetics. The jail compound, where I was previously held, was adjoined to the living quarters. The main tower spanned three stories above ground and a single basement level. Generally, the basement served as storage, the first floor was a largely open space, an office occupied the second floor, while the third floor housed additional living quarters.

In Karyon's room, located in the tower's living quarters, I found my pilfered Bag of Holding, along with the remainder of my belongings. The first action I took was to upend the bag, ensuring the presence of my spellbook. Indeed, there it was, thick as a hefty tome, emblazoned with "Archmage Emberus Blazeus Xandros’s Spellbook" in golden filigree on its cover. Once I was satisfied that I had indeed reclaimed the genuine article, I exhaled a sigh of profound relief.

I also managed to recover my robe and other gear. Although it was my first time donning them, both the robe and boots felt well-worn and comfortably broken in.

Regrettably, my Staff was currently petrified along with Karyon, who was undoubtedly becoming one with the moss back in the courtyard. I made a mental note to retrieve it later.

"It appears we're nestled on a mountain..."

Upon gazing out of the window in Karyon's chamber, I realized that the fortress was nestled on the flank of a precipitous mountain peak. A dense forest encircled the fortress, with only a narrow, winding path offering a means of descent. I surmised that if I followed the path, it would eventually lead to a town or village.

"How could it have slipped my mind?!" I exclaimed.

As I exited the tower and surveyed the courtyard, my eyes were drawn to the jail compound. A crucial detail resurfaced in my thoughts.

"I must rescue that young woman!"