Darkness. All consuming darkness. Powerful, crushing, darkness.

Nothing existed. Not even Alaster.

He didn’t exist, but at the same time, existed everywhere. Time was frozen. The mere concepts of time and space didn’t exist.

His thoughts themselves had no time nor order. They came to him unbridled and violent. Alaster lost himself in those thoughts.

Calculations about Magic, Monsters, Armor. Theories about the System, Levels, and Abilities. Possibilities thought through and planned. Ideas about new designs for Undead Minions.

Alaster was losing himself to his own mind. Losing who he was.

Yet his roaring plans brought him back to his source. His sister. His revenge. Alaster clung to it. Using it to center himself. As Alaster found himself again, he began to find structure.

He had fingers again. Hands again. His body was returned. He floated around the nothing. Weightless. Alaster closed his eyes, slowly feeling a pull, starting from his feet. A moment later, he was standing upright.

Alaster opened his eyes. Stretching endlessly, for as long as he could see, with no horizon, a light gray, slightly transparent plane. He held up his hands, studying them.

They were not his own, and yet, they unmistakably were. Instead of the pale skin, caused by months of winter sun and numerous weeks within the Hollow Tunnels. His hands were replaced with pale blue, slightly transparent. There was no bone, no blood, no veins. It was strange.

It should have unnerved him. Yet he wasn’t. It wasn’t comforting, but he didn’t feel off. In fact, he felt nothing. That was what concerned him. He felt absolutely nothing. Not happy, not sad, not hot, nor cold. But there was something there. He didn’t feel it, but he knew it was there, though he didn’t know what it was. Looking down at himself, he found his entire body was the same, slightly transparent blue.

Alaster turned around and saw the Blackguard he had sent through first. It stood there, motionless. Upon an order, it responded just as it should have. He noted that while he now had a body and a sense of location, his thoughts had only gained a slight sense of order. They still buzzed through, uncontrolled. It was overwhelming.

Contrary to his chaotic and racing mind, his strange blueish body calmly raised its hand, opening a portal before him. Its sickly green film rippled as it formed. Alaster calmly walked forward. As he did so, a spike of pain ran through his mind, causing the area to ripple. But he ignored it and stepped through.

Alaster fell to his knees in the snow, panting heavily. The portal closed behind him. The migraine was fading, his vision returning. His steamy breath helped warm his skin from the cold sweat.

“What the hell? What was that?” Alaster panted, as he sat down in the snow and leaned back, staring up at the night sky.

‘Night?’

Alaster looked around and saw his Undead standing resolutely where he had left them. Except, they were covered in snow. It had piled up around and on them. Snow drifts several feet thick.

“How long was I in there?” Alaster muttered, concerned.

“Four months.”

Alaster spun around, casting [Necrotic Bolt] in the direction of the voice.

The man calmly held up an armored finger. The bolt that had melted the flesh off Bugbears and Ogres exploded against the finger harmlessly. The [Necrotic Bolt] was weak against armor, but it still had an impact. It had even made the Dungeon Ogre stumble.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Having drawn his sword even while the [Necrotic Bolt] was midair, Alaster was stunned, but didn’t allow that to affect him. Upon his order, all his Undead turned to face the man, readying their weapons as snow fell off.

Most Adepts would shiver at the sight of even one of the armored Undead. Alaster had stylized the armor to be intimidating. Most people would be frightened, at least until they realized the Undead were not as strong as their living counterparts. Yet, even surrounded by over a dozen, the armored man didn’t even spare them a glance.

“Slow.” He commented, lazily sitting on a rock, his helmeted head propped up on his arm.

“Who are you?” Alaster demanded, ready to jump on his Undead Stallion and flee while his Undead delayed the man.

“I’ve been known by many names. Most of them, quite rude. However, the name my mother gave me is Richter. You may call me that, if you need to call me at all.” The man’s tone was bored, like he didn’t even register the Undead as even an inconvenience.

“What do you want?” Alaster didn’t dare to lower his sword.

“To be left alone, primarily.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Cause I owe an old man a favor, and he called it in.”

“To do what?”

“Train you.” The man sighed, his armor plates clanging together as he deflated a little.

Alaster relaxed slightly, but kept his sword raised, “Why?”

“No idea, and quite frankly, don’t give a shit. That old geezer has been holding that favor over my head for decades. I’m glad to be rid of it.”

“What did you mean by four months?”

“You have been in that portal for four months. I got here a few days after you had already entered, so I just relaxed.”

“I just entered that portal a few hours ago.” Alaster countered, lowering his sword. If the man wanted to harm him, he would have by now.

“Don’t contradict me boy. Lesson number one. And no, you have been gone for four months. It will be spring in a couple of weeks. The reason it only felt like a few hours is because that was your [Soul Domain], wasn’t it?”

“...Yes.”

“And it was your first time entering?”

“Yes.”

“And you had no prior knowledge or experience with Souls?”

“No.”

“Natural mortals aren’t supposed to see their Soul, let alone enter it. It is jarring, confusing, and painful. It took you months to finally come to your senses enough to ground yourself enough to leave. Luckily, because your physical body entered, it didn’t grow tired or hungry. But that's all I’m saying. It's unnatural. Should never be tampered with. I won’t teach you to break the natural laws. If you want to know more, go find some other freak to teach you.”

“So then what are you going to teach me?”

“A couple of things, really. How to fight. How to kill. And how to die.” The man stood up with a groan, though Alaster wasn’t able to see his face, as the man wore a helmet similar to his own Undead.

Alaster ordered his Undead to stand down, and they returned to their observation of the forest. Now that he was standing up, Alaster was able to examine the man before him. He was tall, easily six feet. His armor, which covered his entire body, was unable to obscure the man’s lithe muscles. The presence of the man was powerful, likely the reason the Undead had not needed to combat Monsters while he was away. The man had scared them away just by being there.

Despite his obvious power and no doubt wealth, the armor the man wore was ordinary, dull steel. Scratches and dents marred the surface and told of great use. The armor wasn't enchanted nor made of a special material. The armor was layered, providing great mobility, without sacrificing protection. And yet, all armor had gaps, there needed to be to move. Most would wear chainmail under these gaps to reduce the vulnerability, yet this man seemed to only wear thick wool.

The Man’s armor had no decoration, markings, or emblems. The Helmet was a flat, closed faced, visor. Alaster was unable to see the man’s eyes. Behind the man, impaled through the snow and earth, was a large, similarly ordinary and dull, great sword. All in all, Alaster would have glanced over him in a crowd. Nothing about him drew attention, nothing, except his presence.

A presence of blood, violence, and death. Alaster was still a novice in such terms, but even he could feel the power of this man, and his senses were telling him that if this knight wanted to, he could kill him with a single finger.

The man was here to train him due to a favor being called by an old man. But the only old man Alaster knew that could possibly compare to this knight, was the old man that had given him the Summoner’s Ring. But he had told Alaster he was retiring. Why would he use a favor from such a powerful individual to train a boy he had only briefly spoken to?

Logically, it had to be someone else, yet none came to mind. Alaster was missing some crucial information. Information directly pertaining to himself. That only made it much more irritating.

“Before we start, there are a few things you should know about me. First, I detest magic. Second, magic won’t work on me. Third, I am a brutal teacher, the last brat I tried to teach died before the first week. And lastly, I am better known as the Manaless.”