After two days of rest, we checked the dungeons where they planned to collect materials. The one with the plants and the spider-wolves still wouldn’t let us in, but the dungeon with the black creatures was ready for another round.

“Enjoy,” I told them.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Mahya asked.

“Nope.”

“I thought you liked gold,” Al said.

“I do—when I earn it as a merchant. I’m not in the mood to fight dungeons for gold. I’ve got enough.”

They exchanged a look, looking confused, then shrugged.

“What are you going to do?” Mahya asked.

“I want to explore the city a bit. Sure, most of it’s destroyed, but some buildings are still half-standing. I want to get a feel for this world—what kind of society they had, the residences, industrial buildings, stuff like that. I don’t think the empty castle was a typical example. I’m curious to know more.”

Mahya glanced at Rue. “Are you coming with us or going with John?”

“Rue go with John. Rue protect John.”

They both waved at us. Al said, “Enjoy,” and they entered the dungeon.

The city felt eerily familiar, yet everything was off just enough to set my teeth on edge. The buildings, once proud structures, now slumped and crumbled like old bones. They’d taken thirty years of weather and monster abuse, and it showed. As I walked through the residential areas, I noticed the remnants of homes—chairs, couches, and tables that had a similar appearance to Earth furniture, but with slight modifications. The lines were sharper, the materials denser, heavier somehow. The chairs had these odd sloping backs that seemed made for a posture no human would be comfortable in, and most of the furniture had subtle designs carved into it, like it was standard for even the simplest items to be decorated.

A door hung off its hinge, creaking as it swayed in the wind. Inside, the remains of a family room greeted me—if you could call it that. I found overturned furniture covered in a thick layer of grime. Anything not smashed or gnawed by something big had just rotted or broken down. Picture frames lay shattered on the ground, faces faded and forgotten.

I pushed on through the wreckage, letting the quiet blanket me. We cleared the monsters earlier, but their presence still lingered. Up ahead, a school came into view. The windows were long gone, jagged glass barely clinging to the frames. I stepped inside, careful of the debris scattered across the cracked tile floor. It was full of overturned desks and chairs and crumbled chalkboards, but what caught my attention was the sheer emptiness of it all. There were no signs of life left, just dust and echoes.

I found the library building soon after. It was in even worse shape. The once grand shelves, probably filled with knowledge, were now hollowed-out husks. The books, if you could call them that, had mostly dissolved—mana had done its job there, too. Covers made of wood or leather lay scattered, the sticky, disintegrating material that had once been pages now stuck to them in clumps—just more ruins, like everything else. But then, tucked in a far corner, I found a handful of books with pages made of thin cloth. The ink almost completely faded, but they were still intact enough to make me curious.

I channeled the Restore spell, my hands glowing faintly as I touched the first one. The pages mended, ink returned, and there, under years of damage, lay a history book—though not the kind that would help us now. Other books were about legends and noble bloodlines. Still, it was a glimpse into what this place had once been. They had their kings and queens, wars and peace, all in a world so similar to my own and yet... utterly alien.

Shops lined the next street. They reminded me of Earth’s old towns, but with subtle differences. The storefronts, their signs faded or gone, had more angled rooftops and doors too tall for an average person. Inside one shop, hooks held the remnants of clothes—long capes and tunics made from materials I couldn’t quite place. Another shop seemed to have been a butcher’s; the tools scattered on the floor looked like something out of a medieval nightmare. The glass counter had long since shattered, but the meat hooks were still in place, though rusted and covered in a film of decay.

By the time the sun dipped, the long shadows made the whole place feel even more haunted. I’d seen enough. Turning back toward the hills, the wind picked up, and the city’s ruins slowly shrank behind me. The whole exploration had been a mix of depressing and intriguing. I’d expected more differences from Earth, so the similarities caught me off guard. But simultaneously, the differences made it clear this was another world. That dissonance—familiar yet foreign—was jarring and confusing but strangely fascinating.

Al and Mahya were waiting for me near the hills, both of them looking pretty pleased with themselves. I raised an eyebrow as I approached.

“How’d it go?” I asked.

“Not bad at all,” Mahya said with a grin. “This time was even quicker—fewer monsters. We cleared the dungeon in forty minutes and walked out with twenty-five gold.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, we’re planning to run it every day until we hit a wall,” Al added.

“Good luck with that,” I said, giving them a nod.

The next day, while they headed off to tackle the dungeon again, I buried myself in research on mana pathways and spells. The first book? A total bust. Sure, it mentioned mana pathways and progression, but it only described the basics in vague terms, never explaining exactly how the pathways worked. And, as usual, the language was a tangled mess—confusing metaphors, convoluted phrases, and entire pages that could’ve been summed up in a single sentence. I waded through that nonsense for two days before throwing in the towel halfway through.

Meanwhile, Rue spent his time wandering around, still trying to bond with those cute little creatures we’d met earlier. Every evening, he’d return grumpy and muttering complaints about how they ignored him, his ears drooping in disappointment.

The second book looked more promising, though, of course, it was wrapped in just as much confusing wizard-speak. Honestly, I was starting to believe wizards didn’t go mad from the magic—they went mad from trying to decipher the awful books they had to learn from. I still thought it was the best of all the magical classes, but the fact that wizards had to figure everything out on their own, with tools that were about as useful as a broken compass, was making me rethink my life choices.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Ah, the intricacies of spellcraft, a most delicate symphony of energies weaving in and out of the corporeal form! To even begin to grasp the essence of a spell, one must first consider not merely the spell itself, but the multifarious elements, nay, the very facets that lie within the spell’s ethereal structure—each component a shimmering gem of eldritch resonance. These facets, like the glistening strands of a spider’s web, vibrate in concert with the unseen currents of mana, awakening within the body those dormant pathways—much akin to the roots of a tree gradually embracing the soil, inch by inch, as they find nourishment.

Now, it is of utmost importance to recognize that these pathways are not discovered or created through the mere whim of the practitioner. Oh no, they lie there, curled and coiled in the body’s deepest recesses, awaiting the call of their corresponding arcane resonance. As a musician plucks the string of a lute, so too does the incantation pluck the slumbering fibers of the mana-pathways. Yet, one must not be deceived into thinking that these pathways are singular in form or function—no, they are as myriad as the stars, and as labyrinthine as the forests of forgotten realms. The spell, you see, is but a key, and the facets of that key are the tumblers which turn and unlock those esoteric conduits, allowing the mana to flow like water through the narrow channels of a mountainside spring.

However, it is imperative to understand that mere knowledge of these facets is insufficient, for the process of awakening the pathways is no instantaneous affair. No, the practitioner must forge these connections over time, through rigorous and repeated spellcasting, as if chiseling a statue from a rough block of marble. Each cast, each invocation, strengthens these pathways—not unlike the way a river, through persistence, carves through rock. In so doing, the mana, in all its serpentine wisdom, learns the body’s contours, and the body, in turn, grows more adept at housing this intangible force. It is here where the true beauty of progression lies, for the more the spell is used, the deeper and stronger the pathways become, till they are not merely conduits but veritable highways of mana flowing in perfect synchrony with the practitioner’s will.

Ah, but let us not be swept away by the elegance of this metaphysical dance without addressing the vital metamorphosis it brings to the physical form. For as these pathways deepen, they do not merely exist in isolation, as some hermetic system locked within the body’s invisible architecture. No, they integrate, much like veins intertwining with muscles, reinforcing and reshaping the practitioner’s very being. The strengthening of the pathways feeds back into the corporeal form, invigorating the muscles, sinews, and bones—yes, even down to the marrow, where the mana infuses the essence of life itself. Just as the roots of a tree do not merely extract water but also anchor the tree against the wind, so too do these pathways act as both conduits of energy and pillars of strength, reinforcing the body in ways not immediately perceptible.

Indeed, the pathways themselves, once awakened and strengthened through continued spell use, begin to form secondary connections, extending like branches of a mighty oak. These secondary branches of mana carry with them not merely the energy required for spellcraft but a peculiar kind of strength that permeates the flesh. Consider the form of a blacksmith’s apprentice, whose arms grow stronger not by lifting mere weights, but by the repetitive swing of the hammer; likewise, the practitioner’s body strengthens not through exercise of the mundane sort, but through the repeated act of channeling mana, the energy itself transmuting into fortitude. Yet, this fortitude is of a strange and subtle nature, for it does not manifest in muscles bulging with brute strength but in a peculiar resilience—a hardiness of both form and spirit, as though the very air around the practitioner is charged with the potential of untapped power.

Now, let us consider the interplay between these pathways and the broader tapestry of the spell’s progression. For as the spell advances in complexity, so too do the pathways widen and deepen, accommodating greater volumes of mana. One might imagine it akin to a small stream growing into a roaring river, fed by countless tributaries that enhance its flow. But be warned! The practitioner who neglects this progression, who casts a spell only sporadically, will find the pathways shrinking back, much like a vine left untended in a dark corner. The mana, capricious as it is, requires constant attention, else it will withhold its blessings, leaving the body weaker for the neglect.

Yet, it is not solely the spell that shapes the body—it is the symbiotic relationship between the two. The body, strengthened by the pathways, in turn enhances the spell itself, allowing for more precise control, greater potency, and an ease of casting that would have been unimaginable at the novice’s first attempt. Picture a bowstring pulled taut by an archer’s hands; with each successive shot, the archer’s muscles grow stronger, and the bow’s potential becomes clearer. So too does the body, shaped by the mana pathways, become a finely tuned instrument for spellcraft, each cast becoming less of a struggle and more of an effortless expression of will.

And so, in this ever-expanding cycle, the practitioner evolves—not merely as a caster of spells but as a vessel for the mana itself. The pathways, once slender threads, become vast and intricate webs, connecting every corner of the body to the boundless energy that surrounds it. The once-fledgling spell, now fully realized, is no longer just a tool but an extension of the practitioner’s own being, a reflection of the harmony between mana and flesh.

Thus, in conclusion—if one can ever truly conclude such an elaborate and ongoing process—it is the very essence of repetition, of dedication to the craft, that forges the pathways and, in turn, strengthens both body and spell alike. But beware, for the path of spellcraft is as treacherous as it is rewarding, and the practitioner who does not respect the intricate balance of mana’s flow may find themselves lost in the labyrinth of their own making.

It took me a while to untangle that mess, but in the end, I figured it out. The aspects that make up the spell trigger the corresponding mana pathways in the body. The more you use the spell, the stronger those pathways get, and in turn, the spell itself becomes more powerful.

I gave the book an evil eye and muttered, “Couldn’t you just say that? Why all the fluff and complication?”

Of course, the book didn’t answer me. Annoyed, I tossed it back on the shelf and leaned against the wall, trying to figure out how to work aspects into my spell marbles. There was no way I was giving up on magic script—I liked the language too much—but now I had to figure out how to integrate aspects into the marble without building an entire spell from scratch.

Mahya returned from the dungeon with a mood that mirrored mine.

“What happened?” I asked.

“That was my last run. The dungeon got sticky. Al can still run it, though.”

Oh...

After she cooled down a bit, she asked, “What are you working on?”

“Trying to incorporate spell progression into my spell marbles.”

She gave me a pat on the back. “Good idea,” she said before disappearing into her craft room.

“Are you going to run the dungeon solo?” I asked Al.

“Yeah, I think I can do another run or two. Fifty gold would be nice.”

“Good luck with that,” I said as he headed off to tend to his mushrooms.

Rue trotted back, looking glum. He still hadn’t made any progress with the little creatures.

“No luck?” I asked.

“No! Rue want to be friends. Little creatures always run away. They not know Rue want to be friends!” he whined.

In short, today wasn’t going well for any of us—except Al, who seemed to be the only one in good spirits.

To lift everyone’s mood, I decided to go all out for dinner. I prepared Imperial Flame-Roasted Bovine Medallions with Truffle-Infused Bone Marrow Reduction. The aroma alone was enough to start turning things around. I flame-seared the tender beef medallions, then slow-roasted them to perfection. I paired them with a rich reduction made from bone marrow, infused with black truffles, and garnished with caramelized shallots. For Al, I roasted a bed of wild mushrooms, which gave the whole dish that earthy, savory kick. I drizzled everything with a saffron-infused demi-glace, and by the time I plated it up, the kitchen smelled like something out of a royal banquet.

If nothing else, we could drown our bad moods in good food.