Constantine sat cross-legged beneath a tall tree, sighing as the chilly wind brushed past him. Having spent most of his old life indoors and much of his second life trapped in dirty slums, he savored the fresh, cold wind against his face, the tranquil silence, and the calmness of the forest. Warm mana circled within his stomach, purifying it with scorching heat. Thick, murky sweat soaked his tunic and glistened on his forehead. He opened his eyes, his irises dilated with hunger and impatience. His fingers twitched, reaching for the core resting in the grass before him.
“Core absorption experiment number one. Implant, record it,” he muttered, breaking the serene silence. Feeling the slightly warm core in his hand, he hesitated. Although the manual didn’t mention any risks besides addiction if overused, and the bestiary on monsters he had read mentioned beasts devouring cores of their prey without side effects, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to test it on himself.
His heartbeat quickened, the warmth within him stirring, urging him to absorb the core.
‘I want to form my own core. Maybe absorbing one might give me some insights. A man of knowledge must accept risks when the potential gain far outweighs them.’ The warmth within him stirred, urging him to absorb the core. Each beat of his heart matched the rhythmic pulse of mana flowing through him, surging into his arm grasping the core.
He recited the instructions from the manual. ‘Melt the core with my mana.’
The air visibly shimmered, like heatwaves above a summer road. He watched as the tiny orb seemed to dissolve, absorbing into his skin like water into a sponge.
A gasp of pleasure escaped his lips as the warm, ticklish sensation entered his veins, akin to hot chocolate on a winter day or an icy cocktail in summer. His mind blanked out, pleasure threatening to overwhelm his senses. He bit his tongue, the sudden pain anchoring him back to reality.
Mana coursed through him, his heart pounding with excitement. ‘It is liquid! Liquid mana truly exists.’ Just as his joy peaked, the new mana diluted, turning into vapor, then gas, joining his own swirling vortex of mana, nourishing his body, pushing it slightly above its capacity.
The flames within him burned brighter and hotter, dissolving impurities faster than ever. What should have taken hours was accomplished in seconds. Gasping for air, sweat gleaming on his forehead, Constantine jumped to his feet. Energy overflowed within him, and he felt like running several laps.
‘This… this!’ His pupils dilated; he understood how it could become addictive. Even now, his fingers itched, reaching for a second core. ‘I can’t become addicted; my will is strong—’
He slammed his hands together, determined to resist the urge. He felt powerful, filled with more mana than ever before. However, it quickly began to drop, the air shimmering around him as his body ejected the excess mana.
He already itched to consume another core, eager to test the effects of liquid mana outside his body. That would be the moment to finally disprove or prove his theory about mana stability. ‘No, I mustn’t get addicted. I will consume only one every day at most.’
Sitting back down on the soft grass and dry leaves, he calmed himself with deep breaths. ‘Chip, show me the spike in my energy after the core was consumed compared to before.’
<<------------>>
The amount (calm): 0.124
The amount (spike): 0.19
Maximal capacity: 0.124
Energy concentration (calm): 0.91
Energy concentration (spike): 5.5
<<------------>>
Constantine stared at the values before him regretfully. If he had known the results the consumption of the core would bring, he would have done it a long time ago. He sighed. ‘If a core from the most pathetic of the common monsters could do this, then what about the precious resources used by the sects and nobles?’
The thought scoured his mood; while he was forced to work for everything, some spoiled young masters were spoon-fed cores. ‘Can I ever catch up?’
Frustrated, he looked up at the sky peeking through the gaps between the tree’s branches. ‘If I can’t compare to them and their endless resources, that is just another reason to create my own path.’
The shimmering air around him stopped, the last excess wisp of mana evaporating, dissipating into the world. The heat within him still burned slightly warmer, slightly larger than it used to be—he couldn’t be sure. Closing his eyes and focusing, his spiritual senses heightened. Then, after a few moments, he opened them and nodded. ‘The change is there, albeit a tiny one. So the manual was correct on this one. Chip, show me the changes it brought.’
<<------------>>
Maximal capacity: 0.124 → 0.125
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
<<------------>>
‘The growth is small, but it is there,’ he noted, aware that he would need many more cores to both fuel his experiments and accelerate his growth. Standing up, he glanced at the hole not far away, where a ladder protruded and dirt was piled around it.
He sighed. ‘Time to get back to work.’ Constantine grasped the shovel beside him and climbed down into the pit, the damp earth yielding slightly under his boots. With each thrust of his shovel into the wet forest soil, he unearthed dark, rich earth. The rhythmic motion of digging calmed his overexcited mind.
Chuckling, he laughed at the irony of an educated man digging like an archaeologist, or worse, a geologist. Nostalgia washed over him as he recalled his mother’s words: ‘Learn well if you do not want to dig holes for a living.’
He chuckled again, tossing another shovelful of dirt out of the hole. ‘Mum, you lied. Look, I learned well, yet here I am, still digging a hole.’
Time passed, and the hole widened and deepened. As the sun dipped lower, shadows lengthened, casting an eerie twilight over the forest. Crickets began their cacophony.
‘The forest is too dangerous at night,’ he thought, memories of the terrifying shadenwolves surfacing. Climbing out with ease, he admired his work, feeling satisfied. The pit was now deep enough to swallow an adult man, but he knew it needed to be deeper. ‘Another day’s work will make it perfect.’ He didn’t want to catch a mundane beast; he aimed to trap a monster, and for that, he would leave nothing to chance.
Throwing his shovel over his shoulder, he took one last glance at his work before marching off. Dry leaves rustled under his shoes as he briskly walked through the darkening forest.
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The next morning:
A small core dropped into a bowl of water. It sank briefly, paused midway, then resurfaced, gently floating. Constantine observed it closely and noted, "Core dissolution experiment with water. For now, the core shows a surprising level of buoyancy. The core seems to not react or dissolve in the water. Longer observation is required for a definitive conclusion.”
Constantine's mind raced through possible explanations. Could the core contain air bubbles in its structure? Or perhaps the mana that formed it was lighter than water but heavier than air.
Dozens of questions flooded his mind as he studied the core with intense fascination. There was no steam, no bubbles; it simply floated. ‘Does mana have weight? It must; everything has weight. Is it energy, substance, both, or something else entirely?’
A sudden knock on the door tore him from his thoughts, making him jump slightly. The sound reverberated in the quiet room. A familiar childish voice followed, “Tax collectors are here.”
With a frown, he hurriedly fished the core out of the bowl, its cool surface slick against his fingers. He rushed to open the door and found Salvia standing there, her toxic green eyes staring at him. Seeing her, his frown deepened, a knot of exasperation tightening in his chest.
“If you are messing with me, then—” Constantine threatened, narrowing his eyes at the girl, his voice low and menacing. He knew very well how the twins loved to mess with him.
“No, no!” Salvia raised her hands in surrender, her eyes wide. “They are really here! Grandma sent me to get you.”
“How much?” he asked, frustrated at being forced to part with his coin to a government that never did anything for him. He already cursed his bad luck for arriving just in time to get taxed. He would never get any peace.
“Three large silvers per house! Once every six moons!” The girl showed on her fingers.
‘Taxes now? It isn't the harvest yet.’ His frown deepened as shock passed through him. It was senseless to collect taxes before the end of the harvest. Three small coppers were enough to make a loaf of bread. Two small coppers made one large copper, ten large coppers made one small silver, and two small silvers made one large silver.
Doing a quick calculation, he furrowed his eyebrows, feeling it was a bit too fair for how bad this world was. The tax was low, very low.
“Let’s go.” Constantine took the coins with him and stepped out of his house. Salvia skipped down the field, her feet crunching on the grass as she hopped toward the houses in the distance. He sighed, quickening his steps. As he approached the village, the difference became apparent. The fields lay empty, the farmers’ tools abandoned in haste.
‘Such haste to not even collect the tools. They must fear those collectors.’
A crowd had gathered downhill in the village center. He hastened his pace, trying to catch up with the girl running ahead. Cautiously, his eyes scanned the surroundings, his muscles tensing in case of an ambush. He halted, slightly unnerved at the sight before him.
Men in rough clothes, with swords and maces hanging from their waists, stood in the center. Their faces were hard, and their beards and hair were unkempt. Lines formed around them, each villager placing coins into awaiting chests below their feet.
“Come, hurry up! The boss wants to see the coin! Remember, we are here to protect ya!” The man standing in the center yelled, wearing an eye-catching horse skin sleeveless vest.
‘Those do not look like state officials,’ he noted, a surge of unease making his heart pound. Curious and worried, he turned to Salvia, “Who exactly is collecting those taxes?”
The girl put her fist under her chin, squinting her eyes as she thought. She squeaked and raised one of her fingers. “The lord of the manor sends collectors once every harvest for allowing us to live on his lands,” she continued, raising a second finger, “Every six moons, the boss comes to collect tax for protecting the village and the roads from baddies.”
Constantine kept nodding, but inwardly he was frowning at her words; it was just as in the city. ‘Good old protection fees.’ It was obvious those collectors before him were the latter. He hesitated and took a moment to think before acting rashly, ‘This must be a different group. There is simply no way that some random gang could control so much territory.’
He walked straight into the closest line, steeling his expression into one of cold neutrality. He would just pay; there was no reason to act out of line over a couple of silvers.
In the meantime, the girl skipping beside him raised her third finger, “Once every twelve moons, the immortals from the frozen peak send their disciples to collect taxes for their protection against monsters, evil gods, and demons!”
He almost tripped over his feet as he abruptly stopped. He faltered, worry squeezing his heart. He could feel the auras of cultivators, and he would be an idiot for thinking they couldn't do it as well.
“When was the last time those disciples visited?”
“Umm,” the girl thought, counting on her fingers, “Five moons!”
‘Alright, that gives me a couple of months before I have to deal with that.’