The first mage I encountered in this life left the cell with a grimace, replaced by two guards squeezing their way in. Judging by their power level, they were roughly at the Apprentice rank—not full-fledged mages yet but clearly on the path, unlike the others who had been watching over me until now.
Outwardly, the two guards looked almost identical, their features so typical that I mentally nicknamed them "Private Gut 1" and "Private Gut 2." Despite their potbellies, they had considerable strength, easily lifting me off the ground in a single motion. I wasn’t about to complain—it saved me the trouble of walking and gave me a chance to feed on the necrotic energy I'd stored in my seal.
Drawing out as much of the cursed energy as I could from my seal, I felt an unpleasant sensation as the link was severed. It was like plunging from warmth into freezing water—water I then had to drink. Luckily, this body had been slightly developed, allowing me to endure for a while without my primary source of power. For now, though, I was essentially empty, as my body couldn’t handle a greater reserve of cursed energy.
One small relief was that my foundational core continued functioning autonomously, converting necrotic energy in the background even without my active control. At least when I returned, I'd have something to replenish myself with.
Meanwhile, the Guts duo dragged me across the floor with no regard for my comfort. I didn’t resist. Instead, I relaxed and continued to stimulate my core using cursed energy, activating my absorption ability. With the addition of my new, albeit weak, spells, I needed more energy than ever. Natural regeneration was laughably slow since I had only managed to open the most basic pathways in my hands. Mana trickled in like drops of water from a leaky faucet.
No matter, I thought. With plenty of "donors" around me, this wasn’t a critical issue.
I kept observing the surroundings and mentally mapping the path in case I needed it later. But the corridor stretched on endlessly, even after several turns. Giving up on keeping track, I focused on studying the local technology instead.
And there was plenty to see. Mounted on the ceiling at each bend were cameras—actual cameras, not the ones with doors. Cameras monitoring other cameras. Amusing. That chicken Nanoris would’ve loved something like this; she always had a fondness for strange trinkets.
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Finally, the corridor ended, leading to a staircase. Climbing it was anything but pleasant, and by the end of it, I was sure my knees were thoroughly bruised. No matter—I’d already siphoned off enough energy from my two escorts to heal myself and still have some left over.
Five minutes after leaving the cell, the two guards were no longer just huffing and puffing—they were practically roaring like wounded moose. Their faces were red and drenched in sweat, their bellies jiggling with every step. Yet under their superior's watchful eye, they pressed on without complaint.
“We didn’t feed him, did we?” wheezed Gut 1, wiping the sweat off his face. “How’d he get so heavy?”
“No clue,” Gut 2 spat to the side. “Feels like he’s been eating stones. He didn’t weigh this much earlier!”
No, Gut 2, you're not imagining it. Your mana reserves are nearly empty. But there's no need for you to know why.
At the top of the stairs, we entered what looked like some sort of infirmary. Gray, stained walls, rows of closed doors, and an overall horror-movie vibe—only the bloodstains were missing. Amused, I let my thoughts wander. It seemed humans of this time had grown so bored they invented ways to scare themselves for fun. How pathetic. Clearly, one of the gods was behind this.
I instantly recognized our destination. At the end of the corridor stood a set of double doors reminiscent of an operating room, their round windows practically opaque. Necrotic energy radiated from inside, so much that I wouldn’t have been surprised if it were a morgue. But clearly, it wasn’t.
The doors swung open dramatically, and an older man in a white coat stepped out, leaning on a cane designed to look like human bones. He grinned, showing all 32 teeth. Judging by the aura he exuded, this was a true Warrior—a fourth-rank mage by local standards.
This was bad. In a direct confrontation, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Even with cursed energy, I was barely at Apprentice level, perhaps bordering on Adept. And that was being generous.
“You’re late,” the "doctor" said coldly, his grin never faltering. The guards flinched.
I glanced past him into the "operating room." My initial impression wasn’t far off, but the room’s bizarre decor caught me off guard. It resembled a typical medical ward: a stretcher in the center, stark white walls, no windows. Yet standing in the middle was a statue. Not just any statue—it was divine. I could feel the familiar energy radiating from it.
The statue itself was almost comical: a fat little gnome, complete with a pointed hat. Not a short human or a miniature figure—a literal gnome. I didn’t recall any gods looking like this. Was it a newcomer? Had conspiracy theorists finally pooled enough faith to manifest an actual deity in the form of a gnome? And the thing was grinning. Definitely one of Ashshuhatt’s spawn, feeding off others' suffering.
“My apologies, Lord Marcus,” the sergeant muttered, scratching his head.
“We hurried as much as we could!” Gut 1 added, trying to sell his stone-eating theory again.
“This half-dead whelp?” Marcus snorted, eyeing me skeptically. “What were you doing—groping students on the way?”
“Lord Marcus, you assigned them to your quarters yesterday,” the sergeant coughed.
“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Marcus said, pleased with himself. “Good work. I’ll check on them later. Now bring him in before he keels over.”
I was unceremoniously dropped onto the stretcher. My escorts fled immediately, clearly afraid of Marcus. I couldn’t blame them. A Warrior of his caliber could easily reduce them to ashes.
Turning to the gnome statue, Marcus muttered something under his breath, bowing slightly. Then, with a predatory smile, he turned to me.
“Well, my dear boy, shall we begin?”