Adam stepped through the shattered doors of the palace, his thoughts drifting back to a quote from his previous life on Earth: "Suffering was never about the conditions one deals with. Humans will always find a way to suffer, for that is the way of life." It seemed truer here than anywhere else, especially as he wandered through the once-regal halls, now teeming with townsfolk who had stormed in to seize whatever they could carry.
The opulence of the castle, even in its pillaged state, struck him. Gilded furniture lay askew, rich tapestries hung half-torn from the walls, and the scent of old incense still lingered faintly in the air, an elegant remnant amidst the chaos. People rushed past him, some carrying paintings, others hefting candlesticks, mirrors, or anything that glittered. He watched them without judgment—survival took precedence now, and who was he to deny them their spoils?
He wandered into the grand dining hall, where golden chandeliers hung low over a table that could seat fifty. Plates of untouched food lay scattered among broken glasses, remnants of a royal life hastily abandoned. Adam moved on, trailing his hand along the smooth, polished wood of a massive door as he entered a royal bedroom. There, among the silks and satins, a couple had taken over the king’s bed, fucking each other as if this were their palace. The man noticed Adam and shouted, his face a mixture of indignation and alarm, but Adam merely laughed, unbothered, and continued to survey the room. He searched for hidden doors or concealed passageways but found nothing, leaving the couple to their stolen throne.
"I’ll check the lower floors later," he muttered as he left. There has to be tunnels , that’s probably how the king escaped.
Passing through various chambers, each as lavish as the last, Adam found himself at a heavy wooden door that opened into the castle’s study. Inside, the aroma of old wood mixed with the faint scent of leather-bound tomes. The room was dark, lit only by a single flickering lamp casting shadows over the bookshelves lining the walls. His eyes swept the titles quickly, searching for anything related to magic, but at first, the books seemed to be histories, politics, religious texts—nothing remotely close to what he sought.
Then, a particular book caught his attention, its position slightly askew. He reached out, gave it a push, and heard a subtle click. A panel in the wall swung open, revealing a narrow passage. He scoffed. "A classic."
Entering, Adam found himself in a hidden chamber, its wood-panelled walls exuding a rich, earthy scent that was oddly soothing. A single lamp illuminated the small space, casting a warm glow on a modest selection of books lined neatly on a low shelf. He picked one up, flipping through it eagerly, his heart racing as he absorbed the contents. Here were the secrets he’d suspected, hints of a ritual, arcane symbols, descriptions of a potion—a potion that, when completed, would allow humans to wield magic.
The writings detailed that the king had been working on this potion for years, meticulously gathering souls to fuel its power. Yet it was incomplete; it needed roughly eight thousand more souls to fully activate. Adam’s mind raced as he connected the pieces. It all made sense now—the revolution, the elven interference, everything. The elves hadn’t incited rebellion out of any empathy for humanity’s plight. They wanted to ensure that humans could never complete the potion. The notion was clear: if humans gained the power of magic, it would tip the scales, like a smaller nation acquiring nuclear capabilities.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“If humans wield magic, they’re a threat, they become rivals,” he mused. Just as the world’s superpowers back on Earth did everything to keep nuclear power out of other’s hands, the elves had to prevent humanity from obtaining magic.
Lost in thought, Adam was startled by footsteps approaching the hidden room. He turned to see one of the former royal guards standing in the doorway, his uniform disheveled and his face worn from sleepless nights. The guard froze, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the room and the strange potion in Adam’s hand.
“What is that?” the man demanded, his gaze flickering with greed. "Is that… magic?”
Adam met his gaze with a cold, calculating look but said nothing. The guard’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his tone growing bolder. “I’ve heard whispers about the king’s secret potions. It’s my duty to protect this… now hand it over,” he ordered, extending his hand, his grip tight on the sword at his waist.
Adam made no move to resist as the guard advanced, roughly pushing him aside and seizing a vial from the shelf. His hands trembled with anticipation as he uncorked it, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a greedy swig.
Watching with a calm intensity, Adam asked, “Do you feel anything strange… boss?”
The guard chuckled, wiping his mouth. “Not yet, but… hold on.” His smile faltered as his eyes shifted, unfocused. “I… I can see… strange shapes…”
In that instant, Adam lunged forward, driving a small knife deep into the guard’s neck. The blade sliced through flesh and muscle, and a hot spray of blood splattered across his face and hands. The guard’s eyes widened, a choked gasp escaping as he instinctively reached up to clutch at the wound, fingers slipping in the thick, pooling blood. He staggered, struggling to breathe through the gurgle that rose in his throat. His hand fumbled for his sword, but Adam was faster, twisting the knife deeper, forcing the man to the ground in a brutal collapse.
The guard’s sword fell from his grip, clattering to the floor. Adam seized it, his fingers slippery with blood, gripping the hilt as best as he could despite his inexperience. Raising the blade with both hands, he brought it down in a clumsy, forceful swing aimed at the guard’s chest. The sword tore into flesh with a sickening crunch, sending another spray of warm blood that coated his arms and face. He hacked again, each stroke uneven and jagged, the blade ripping through skin and sinew in a mess of crimson.
The sword’s edge was far from sharp, so Adam set it aside, driven by a gruesome desperation. Dropping to his knees, he plunged his fingers into the exposed wound, ignoring the viscous warmth as his hands sank into the guard’s abdomen. His nails bit into the slick flesh, pulling and tearing as he searched, his fingers coated in the thick, sticky blood that clung to his skin. His hands came away dripping, stained a deep red, but he continued, undeterred, his gaze fixed on the gruesome task.
First, he unskinned the stomach, his fingers trailing through the coils of intestines he found there, their pale, bloated forms coiling like thick, fleshy ropes. Disgusted but resolute, he moved higher, his hands squelching as he forced his way toward the chest cavity, fingers scraping against bones. Blood pooled beneath his nails, turning his fingertips a dark, viscous red. His hands ached, drenched in the warm gore, but he ignored it, his mind consumed with a singular focus.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers brushed against something hard nestled near the guard’s heart. Pushing aside muscle and tissue, he saw it—a small, milky white crystal, dull yet faintly pulsating with a weak glow.
"A mana core..." he breathed, his voice a whisper filled with awe and grim satisfaction. He reached out, his blood-soaked fingers trembling as they touched the core’s fractured surface, noticing with fascination how it oozed a thin trickle of white liquid, a strange contrast against the deep crimson that surrounded it. The cracked core seemed fragile, incomplete, but to Adam, it was the reward he sought, a promise of untold power buried within this horrific scene.