“No need to dwell on it,” I waved dismissively, rubbing my eyes. “Too many revelations from a single fight with a bunch of measly goblins. For now, I need to process all this,” I chuckled. “The bodies of the critters, the shattered equilibrium... How hasn’t the world fallen apart yet?”
Having said that, I got to work. Absorbing the entire horde of goblins wasn’t an easy task. Even with the focal core, the process took around six hours, mostly because suppressing divine energy required significant effort. By the time I finished, the sky had darkened once more. Winter days were indeed brief.
In any case, there wasn’t much urgency. After draining the walkers down to bare skeletons, I managed to replenish a considerable amount of energy. Furthermore, my focal core had returned to its pre-injury state and had even started to grow again. It wasn’t without reason I called it my fortress—once it reached the first level, it would be the size of a small house. Naturally, I didn’t forget to share this tidbit with Dima.
“Sounds like we have a long way to go,” he remarked with a strained smile. “Thirty walkers for just one brick in your fortress…”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” I reassured him. “The growth of my focal core happens geometrically, if I’m using the term right. The closer it gets to a pure first level, the faster and more noticeable the growth becomes. Reaching the second level will come much sooner after that.”
“That sounds almost too good to be true,” Dima frowned. “What’s the catch? That gnome also had a first-level core, but his body was much smaller.”
“It was also far tougher,” I admitted. “My fortress is more of a resource than a tactical weapon. Losing up to half of its mass in a single battle isn’t uncommon, but regenerating it is much easier for me than for almost any deity. And it’s just convenient! I was one of the few who could live directly inside their focal core, under its reliable protection. Too bad it didn’t help me much last time.”
As we discussed this, we turned to the task of evening hunting. While energy was crucial, filling our stomachs was just as important. It also gave Dima a chance to practice using possession. As a fighter and mage, he still had a long way to grow, but he could already serve as effective backup.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Before venturing into lenses or other anomalies of this strange new world, testing our abilities against local animals seemed prudent. If these anomalies were distorted versions of reality, it was more likely they contained mutated animals rather than people—at least outside urban areas.
After a hearty meal and some basic magical exercises—like creating a steady flame—we finally allowed our body to rest. This time, I took the role of sleeper, while Dima, in his ghostly form, kept watch and practiced generating ash.
The night passed surprisingly uneventfully. By morning, we set off without delay. The nearest town was likely still far, so we couldn’t afford to waste time. The car’s energy was running low, as Dima had warned. The chase earlier had drained a lot, and even the heater was sapping resources.
“Well, there it is. Spoke too soon,” Dima sighed, pulling over to the side of the road. “That’s it, Vulkan. End of the line. We’re on foot from here.”
I monitored from above, keeping an eye on the road, and had recently spotted signs of habitation ahead. Oddly, we hadn’t encountered many other vehicles, so asking for directions wasn’t an option. Forcing someone to stop wasn’t appealing either—I was a demon, not some petty thug.
Up ahead, a truck stop with a roadside café and motel came into view. Perfect for a break.
The car had to be abandoned, a decision we’d have made eventually. The laws in this era were strict, and driving a stolen vehicle was risky. While there were likely no gendarmes in this remote area, entering a city in a stolen car without papers or licenses would invite trouble.
After thoroughly wiping the car of our prints and taking anything valuable—including mundane metals—we continued on foot.
We reached the motel, called *“Breeze”*, by evening. Despite using my volcanic core to generate controlled lava for warmth, we were still somewhat chilled. I took a seat at an open table inside the café—a modest two-star establishment at best, bolstered by the charm of its waitresses.
The truck stop was bustling, filled with drivers discussing news and sharing stories. Perfect for eavesdropping. Neither of us felt like talking much; we just wanted to eat.
Spending the cash taken from a confiscated wallet, we filled the table with simple but hearty dishes: fried omelets with onions, rich pilaf with adjika, and borscht with sour cream, washed down with cranberry juice.
We lingered until most patrons had left, then approached the receptionist, a woman of a certain age with a rather distinctive demeanor. Clad in a greasy XXL blouse, oversized beads, and makeup screaming *“still got it!”*, she stood in stark contrast to the waitresses. Her name tag read *“Galina Alekseevna E.”*, completing the picture.
Upon seeing us, she reluctantly tore her gaze from her tablet and gave us a once-over before asking in a curt tone, “What do you want?”
“A room for the night, any kind will do,” I said with a warm smile, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Just one thing—I don’t have any documents or a phone. Long story short, I was attacked and robbed. I’m hoping you’ll understand. Just need a night’s rest before I report to the gendarmes in the morning.”
“There’s a landline phone in the room,” Galina smirked. “Only economy rooms available. Fifty rubles for the night…”
“Fifty?!” Dima erupted. “That’s five times what it should cost, if not more! Vulkan, let me take over—I’ve got a few words for this toad!”