As the first sun rays crept closer, Brass decided it was time to head back, and what better way than to test out his newfound power? He found a shadowed spot between two juniper trees, their gnarled branches stretching protectively overhead. Focusing on the dim alcove, he activated his ability.

Instantly, he felt a shift—a subtle but distinct hum in the air around him. The shadows here remained undisturbed, but somehow he knew the Nexus point was anchored in this hidden grove. A continuous shadow was required to stabilize each point, and while that could be tricky in some places, this spot seemed ideal.

Leaning into the darkness, he felt a strange tug as the world inverted around him, leaving him briefly disoriented. He found himself in a realm of deep inky darkness—a space that seemed to move on its own, as though alive. Beneath his feet stretched a delicate web spun from starlight, cool and soft like velvet.

The space, though small, felt boundless, pulsing with potential. He could see two points glowing like miniature galaxies—a large, swirling vortex marking the central Nexus Cortex and a smaller, fainter one indicating his new Nexus point. Chuckling at the name, he noted that the “webways” looked exactly like a spider’s web connecting the two.

Without hesitation, he stepped into the larger whirlpool of shadows. In an instant, he was back in his crypt, the familiar stone walls enclosing him once again. This incredible power filled him with a sense of freedom he had never known. His life until now had been a narrow struggle for survival—keeping his sister safe and scraping together just enough to get by, often at the cost of his own hunger.

Now, though, his laughter echoed in the empty room. Who would have thought death could open up a new life for him?

Taking stock of his crypt, he knew he had some time to kill. Heading outside was out of the question—he wasn’t about to test the sun’s effect on him again. Still, he was curious: would his werewolf form offer any protection from the sun? He would have to experiment cautiously, but for now, he felt content with his dark sanctuary and the possibilities waiting just beyond it.

Brass considered his options, tapping his fingers on the cool wood of the table. With hours until dusk, he’d have to find a way to keep himself busy and, ideally, productive. Exploring the crypt itself seemed sensible enough—he hadn’t really combed through every nook and cranny yet, and who knew what else the Drider might’ve left behind?

He began by meticulously sorting through the odd assortment of ritual ingredients scattered around the space. Butterfly wings, vials of dark liquid, jars of organs preserved in murky fluid. Brass was no expert, but even he could tell this stuff held potential value. So he organized it into piles, discarding anything too decayed to be useful and storing the rest in a small crate near the ritual circle.

After that, he got an idea: experimentation. Given the materials here, he could try his hand at basic spellcasting or at least gain a feel for the powers he’d inherited. The Drider’s twisted magical aura still lingered faintly in the room, and while Brass wasn’t sure if he could harness it, he thought he might as well see what these items could do.

He picked up a jar of red powder labeled “Phoenix Ash” in strange, curling letters. Curious, he uncorked it and sprinkled a small amount into his hand. It felt warm against his skin, as if tiny embers were hidden within. He set it down and mentally made a note: Learn some basics of alchemy… eventually.

Brass glanced at the various books he’d found earlier and pulled one off the shelf titled Mystic Energies and Ritual Circles. It was dense and smelled like dust, but the first few pages laid out basic magical theory—enough that he could understand why the Drider had set up the portal the way it did. As he flipped through, he found diagrams of ritual circles for various purposes: summoning, shielding, binding.

Hours passed faster than he’d expected, and Brass found himself caught up in the book’s descriptions of barriers and wards. If he could replicate just one of these, he’d be able to reinforce the entrance and secure his lair. He took mental notes, his fingers tracing the shapes of the symbols on the page as he worked to memorize the instructions.

Brass had devoured every scrap of knowledge he could find on magic, and the way it was described in the book was far beyond anything he’d imagined. Here, magic wasn’t just about spells or waving a wand. Magic was the force of mana itself—an invisible current that flowed through all living things, binding them to the very fabric of the world. Mana was like a spark of life, a raw energy that every creature possessed, though some had far more than others.

From what he gathered, mana was only part of the equation. The real art lay in using will—that unseen force within people—to shape and channel mana, to bend reality and mold it to your desires. Brass was fascinated by this idea, that magic wasn’t some external force, but something you made happen through sheer intent. Mages, then, were masters of will, directing their mana to achieve effects that ranged from a flicker of light to the kind of devastating magic that could shake mountains.

The book went on to explain that mana’s strength could be amplified by drawing on leylines—natural conduits of mana that ran through the world like veins beneath the earth. By tapping into these powerful rivers of energy, a skilled mage could channel more mana than they could hold on their own, creating spells of unimaginable scale and complexity.

But mana alone didn’t determine a mage’s power. Two other forces were at play: intelligence and wisdom. Intelligence was the measure of how well a mage could understand the inner workings of magic, of mana, and the world itself. It required intricate knowledge to know how to weave mana into stable, powerful forms without it unraveling or consuming itself. This was why scholars and students of magic studied their entire lives; the deeper their understanding, the greater the spells they could cast.

Then there was wisdom—the ability to adapt, to improvise, to read the flow of magic and alter a spell on the fly. Spells weren’t static things; they were dynamic, living creations that responded to the world around them. Wisdom allowed a mage to adjust and shape mana, sensing when to nudge it one way or another, to refine a spell’s structure mid-cast and produce subtler, more potent effects.

These qualities determined not just the strength of magic, but its tier—the grade of a spell. The book laid out five main tiers (though twelve existed in theory), each one an order of magnitude more complex and powerful than the last. At the first tier were basic cantrips and elemental tricks, spells of utility or minor defense. But at the fourth tier, spells became legendary feats that only heroes of lore had wielded, the kind of magic to shift battles, devastate cities, or rewrite fate itself.

Then there was the fifth tier, magic that was whispered about but rarely, if ever, seen. Such spells bordered on myth, capable of summoning storms to cover continents or rewriting the very laws of nature. Most mages didn’t waste their lives reaching for the fifth tier—it was beyond mortal comprehension, a pursuit for gods or madmen.

Brass couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the vastness of it all. He knew he was just beginning to scratch the surface of what he could accomplish. But reading these pages, he realized that true power wasn’t simply about raw strength. It was about finesse, knowledge, and an adaptability that only grew with experience.

This was magic that required a mind as sharp as the blade of a sword, a will as unbreakable as steel, and the wisdom to know when to follow or break the rules. And as he closed the book, Brass felt the first stirrings of ambition. He had a long way to go, but if this world’s magic truly had no ceiling… Then he was going to exploit the hell out of it, with this system what takes others lifetimes will take only a few years or less if his understanding of it was correct.

After hours of studying, Brass leaned back, rubbing his eyes. The crypt was still and cool, with a faint scent of earth and stone that felt oddly comforting. He’d absorbed as much of the basics as he could, though spell theory was trickier to grasp than he’d expected. Still, he felt a growing sense of satisfaction from each piece of knowledge he gained.

Looking at the tomes, a sudden thought struck him: he hadn’t properly tested his enhanced strength and speed within the confines of the crypt. Sure, he’d used both briefly during his fight with the Drider and his trek across the countryside, but he hadn’t gotten a real sense of his limits.

Setting the book aside, Brass stood up and paced the length of the crypt, feeling the energy coiling within him. With a deep breath, he decided to start with speed. He focused, then pushed himself forward, running the length of the crypt as fast as he could. The space blurred around him as he covered the distance in a single breath, stopping himself just shy of slamming into the hard dirt-packed wall. His skin prickled with the exhilaration of moving so quickly; his reflexes were honed in a way they’d never been in his human life.

Grinning, he paced back to his starting point, eager to test his strength. He set his hands against one of the large stone slabs embedded into the dirt wall—a rough shelf, probably used by the Drider for storing supplies, though it looked like it had been wedged into the earth ages ago. Brass leaned in, gave it a cautious push, feeling the heavy weight resist him. The slab barely budged, grinding against the soil.

Undeterred, he planted his feet, tightened his grip, and pushed harder. His muscles tensed, his arms bracing as he dug his heels into the packed earth. Slowly, with a gritty scrape that echoed through the chamber, the shelf began to shift, dragging over the ground. A thrill of satisfaction surged through him; this strength wasn’t fleeting or borrowed—it was his, a permanent part of him now.

Brass laughed quietly to himself, the realization settling deeper: he hadn’t just gained power, he had become something more.

Brass also realized the crypt’s low ceiling provided the perfect space to work on his agility and coordination. He leapt up, testing his new reach, his claws catching on the rough stone above. He swung his legs up, briefly hanging from the ceiling before letting himself drop back to the floor in a low crouch.

As he repeated a few practice jumps and punches, Brass’s sense of power solidified. He was no longer just a guy struggling to get by—he had an edge, one that made him feel invincible, even in this dark, unfamiliar world.

Feeling energized and confident, he sat down again to rest, his thoughts drifting to the coming night. The day was ending; dusk was near. His pulse quickened.

Setting the book back on the shelf, Brass took a final look around his crypt, rolling his shoulders and stretching each limb in anticipation. Tonight would be his first true venture into this world—a real test of the powers he’d gained and the boundaries he’d only begun to push. With a deep breath, he stepped into the webway portal, his mind focused on what lay beyond.

Ignoring the darkly woven surroundings, he moved swiftly toward the smaller nexus point. That familiar inverted pull washed over him, and he blinked as he found himself once again between the juniper trees, only this time with the sunset casting a deep glow over the distant village. Brass glanced down at himself, realizing for the first time that he hadn’t actually seen his own reflection since… well, since he’d died.

Could he even see his reflection anymore? The stories said vampires cast no reflection, their eyes glowing red like embers. And werewolves? Weren’t their eyes supposed to flash yellow or blue under moonlight? What if his hybrid nature made him some walking giveaway?

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Hey, system,” he muttered, half-joking, half-curious. “Am I going to just scream ‘vampire’ to everyone around me? Or did you do me a favor and blend me in a little better? And… are there even other vampires out here?”

The system’s voice sparked to life, sounding as smugly amused as ever. “Oh, Brass. Do you think I’d leave you to bumble around like a glowing beacon? No, no—consider it one of my many little gifts. To begin with, most people in Asteria aren’t going to clock you as a vampire unless you give them reason to look closer. Your appearance is… let’s call it ‘hybrid-neutral.’ Your eyes have an unusual color, sure, but nothing that would scream ‘vampire’ to the average passerby, and your reflection wont show up—though I wouldn’t call it flattering even if it did, so count yourself lucky.”

Brass rolled his eyes, but a grin crept onto his face. “So, you’re saying I look ugly now?”

“Well, I’ll just say, you looks are better than before I upgraded you. But who am I to judge, hmm?” The system’s tone dripped with mock sympathy. “As for other vampires? Yes, they exist—though, I’ll remind you, none quite like yourself. But let’s not worry about them just yet. You’ve only just stepped into this world—wouldn’t want to get too ambitious now, would we?”

Brass snorted. “Thanks for the pep talk. Truly inspiring.”

“Anytime, dear user,” the system replied with exaggerated patience. “After all, where would you be without my boundless wisdom? Now, run along and don’t forget to sing praises to your very accommodating system next time you need life-saving advice.”With a snort, Brass turned his attention back to the sunset. The sky was streaked with shades of amber and violet, casting a warm glow over the village below.

Satisfied, Brass stepped out from the shadows. Now more confident that he wouldn’t stand out like a beacon, he looked around as the sky darkened. He was ready to blend into this world, test his limits—and if things went sideways, he had a few new tricks up his sleeve to make a swift exit.

Brass made his way down the well-worn dirt road that bordered the farmland, dodging wagon ruts and mounds of horse droppings that littered the path. The earthy scent was thick, almost overwhelming, so he opted to walk along the grass at the road’s edge. As he neared the outskirts of the village, a scattering of cozy, weathered homes came into view, each one exuding a humble charm.

With each step, he could pick up on the rich scents of dinners being prepared—breads baking, stews bubbling. Laughter and conversations floated from open windows. Brass was relieved to find that the “translation magic” the system had boasted about extended to spoken words, not just text. Not that he’d ever give the system the satisfaction of saying it out loud.

The system, however, was one step ahead. “Who, me? I, the Great System? I would never rub in the fact that you’d be floundering without me, flopping like a fish out of water.”

Brass gritted his teeth, ignoring the voice. How could something that looked like a floating sphere with a lens manage to be this expressive?

“As if I couldn’t read your thoughts,” the system chimed in smugly. “I’m practically omnipotent here—I’m practically the gods themselves. You really thought the interface worked off your thoughts but I couldn’t hear them? Clearly, the Intelligence boost hasn’t kicked in yet.” At this, the system’s lens circled around to face him directly.

Brass, now surrounded by villagers wrapping up their day’s work, closing shop, or heading to the local taverns, resisted the very real urge to swat the system. He’d look insane to everyone else—and it probably wouldn’t do much good anyway.

Ignoring it, Brass decided to follow the tradition of every adventurer and isekai protagonist and made his way toward one of the bustling taverns. But just as he did, the thought of anime reminded him of Nina. His heart twisted, and he stopped short, wiping at his eyes. She would have loved this—a real medieval village, all of it. The ache felt as raw as it had the day he’d lost her.

He knew, from losing his parents, that until he took the time to mourn, these waves of grief would keep coming—and likely get worse. Sighing, he pushed forward, winding through the streets. A notification flashed in the corner of his vision, marking a new quest, but he dismissed it. Right now, he just wanted to soak in the sights and sounds of his first medieval-style village.

His first impression was mixed: the village was cleaner than expected, but thanks to his enhanced senses, still filled with layers of smells that would normally go unnoticed. Cobblestone streets appeared well-maintained, and unlike the stories he’d read, no one was tossing waste from upper-story windows. Buildings rose two, three, even four stories tall in places, each one a testament to simple craftsmanship.

But one structure loomed above all others—a grand cathedral, bathed in the last golden light of day. Brass felt a pull toward it, a sudden urge to step inside and maybe, just maybe, say a prayer for his sister. But as he approached the iron gate that enclosed the cathedral’s lawn, he felt an invisible resistance. He tried lifting his hand over the gate, yet it refused to move past a certain point, his body unwilling to cross the boundary.

He frowned, confused, and attempted to hop the fence, only to find his limbs refusing to respond to the command. There was no magical barrier, no visible shield—yet he couldn’t move forward.

Hallowed ground, he thought, both annoyed and fascinated. Apparently, his new nature wasn’t exactly welcome here. Did this mean he’d need an invitation just to step into residences? Brass made a mental note to brush up on his supernatural limitations later.

“Hello! Can I help you? Were you looking to come inside?”

The gentle voice behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. He realized, to his embarrassment, that he’d been staring at the gate for a solid minute. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with a woman so striking, she seemed unreal.

As Brass turned, there she was—a vision of elegance wrapped in mystery. The woman before him was stunning, almost unreal, as if sculpted by some divine artist with an eye for the dangerous and beautiful. Her skin had an otherworldly smoothness, free of any imperfection, and the soft dusk light seemed to caress it, giving her a faint, enchanting glow. Patterns resembling delicate green vines traced along her cheeks and jawline, curling in intricate designs that seemed to pulse subtly, like they held a life of their own.

Her eyes caught his gaze first—brilliant violet, sharp and vibrant, the kind of eyes that could see right through to your soul. They held an intense, playful gleam, like she knew more than she let on. He felt himself getting lost in their depths, and had to remind himself to keep breathing. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in rich waves, deep as an ancient forest at night, falling to her waist with a soft sheen. The dark green strands had a luster that reminded him of velvet, the kind that might be as soft to touch as it was captivating to look at.

Her dress, though modest in cut, seemed almost crafted to showcase her form without showing too much—a tantalizing contrast. The fabric clung to her curves just enough to reveal the fullness of her chest, the swell of which strained the fabric in a way that was undeniably captivating. Her waist was small, accentuated by the dress, making her hips seem all the more inviting as they flared gracefully outward, promising an hourglass figure beneath the fabric that was both elegant and alluring. There was a grace to her posture that only amplified her appeal, a certain confidence that pulled him in, making her seem both regal and untouchable, yet somehow impossibly tempting.

Her lips, he noticed with growing interest, were full and slightly parted, hinting at a soft smile that danced between curiosity and amusement. He could almost feel the warmth of her breath, even from a few steps away, and her scent—sweet, earthy, like jasmine with a touch of wild mint—drifted toward him, making his head swim.

Brass blinked, trying not to gape—and failing. He forced himself to focus on her face, hoping he didn’t look as dazed as he felt.

“Hey… um, I was going to, maybe, but uh, not really.” The words stumbled out, tangled and awkward. Brass felt like an idiot. He’d had some experience with dating in his past life—a grand total of three girlfriends, none of which had ended well. One used him to get back at her ex, another rebounded with him until her boyfriend got out of jail, and the last one… the one he’d actually fallen in love with? She’d left him shattered,he caught her cheating, proving only her acting skills had been genuine.

With his little sister as his main priority, romance had taken a back seat. Even now, he felt a little embarrassed to admit he was basically still a virgin. A little blow, one short-lived experience, but nothing more. And here he was, facing a woman who was almost a force of nature, sensuality flowing from her like water from a spring, leaving him tongue-tied and rattled.

She chuckled lightly, a sound as soft and melodic as chimes, and her lips curved into a smile, gentle yet knowing. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A place of peace, built on sanctified land.” She tilted her head, her violet eyes glinting with quiet curiosity.

“It would be a shame to miss the evening prayer. You’re welcome to join us anytime,” she offered, her voice like a soft breeze stirring leaves, with an otherworldly quality that tugged at something deeper in him.

He grasped at the first thought that crossed his mind. “What god do y’all pray to here?” It came out rough, but he couldn’t help his curiosity.

“We pray to the goddess Benu,” she said, her tone reverent. “Once a mortal like us, through her deeds she rose to the ranks of the gods. She champions the rights of humanity and other mortal races.” Seeing the confusion flicker across his face, she continued. “While Schwartzkrieg, the god of battle, is the land’s primary deity, he doesn’t prohibit the worship of his fellow gods. Benu holds a place among them, equal to his.”

“But… you’re not human, right?” The words tumbled out, and he immediately winced. Foot-in-mouth disease was setting in fast. “I just mean, uh, why would someone who isn’t human worship a human god?” He trailed off, realizing he was only digging himself in deeper.

To his relief, she laughed, a warm, lilting sound. “Benu is an inspiration to all mortals, especially women seeking to transcend this world’s limits. As a Nymph, I feel a natural affinity for the divine, and Lady Benu resonates with me.” She paused, her smile turning a bit sly. “Is that so strange?”

Brass’s face softened. “No, it’s… no, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… incredibly new around here, and pretty lost, to be honest.” He trailed off, not knowing where to begin or if she’d even believe the truth.

Her eyes brightened as she moved a little closer, close enough that he felt his pulse quicken. “One of the church’s purposes is to guide lost souls, to provide shelter and solace to travelers.” Her voice was a whisper now, magnetic. “Why don’t you come inside? Tell me your story, and I’ll make you something to eat.”

In that moment, Brass felt his curse for the first time—not as some shadowy, cool power, but as a barrier. He regretted the randomness that had led him to this fate. If he’d chosen differently—druid, healer, anything else—maybe he’d be able to walk through that gate, to meet Elyssia’s eyes without walls between them. Maybe, just maybe, she’d see him as more than a wanderer at the gate.

He hesitated. “I… I can’t right now, I have… an appointment.”

Her eyes flickered, clearly aware of his excuse but choosing to let it pass. “If you ever need guidance, I’d be happy to help. My name is Elyssia.”

“Thanks, Elyssia,” he replied quietly, letting her name roll softly off his tongue. Then, with a reluctant glance back, he followed the flow of the crowd away from the church.

Once he was a safe distance from the church, Brass let out a long, pent-up breath. Damn. If Elyssia was the standard of beauty around here, he might need some mental fortification just to walk through town without looking like a lovesick fool. Determined to keep his head clear, he looked around, focusing on the people around him rather than just the buildings.

The village was far livelier than he’d realized. A mix of humans and non-humans crowded the cobbled streets, moving with the rhythm of daily life. Though humans were the majority, there were beastmen striding with lupine grace, some covered in sleek fur, others with wolfish or catlike eyes that gleamed in the evening light. Elves slipped through the crowd, their lithe movements and angular features giving them an air of unearthly elegance. A dwarf nearby worked on a leather rack in an open-air stall, his stout frame built like a fortress, while a tiny, iridescent pixie zipped around him, deftly handing him tools with a mischievous smile. Further along, gnomes bustled through the crowd, clutching parcels that looked too large for their small hands, only to disappear down hidden paths, vanishing into the earth like they’d never been there.

Brass’s relief was mixed with awe—the average woman in Briarheart wasn’t exactly otherworldly like Elyssia, but still, many were striking. Most looked as if they’d stepped out of a storybook, with an air and beauty that made them seem almost out of reach. He sighed, realizing that the average villager here was at least as attractive as a supermodel back on Earth. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up distracted by every passerby.

“System, you said I look better than I did in my old life, right? Any chance you could show me what I look like now?” he asked, suddenly curious.

The system gave an exaggerated sigh before replying, “What does it matter? But alright, here you go.”

A projection appeared in front of him, and Brass halted, stunned at the reflection staring back. It was undeniably him—but a perfected version. His face was more angular and symmetrical, a rough, chiseled jaw replacing the softer edges he remembered. The slight crookedness from old fights and broken bones was gone; his features had been dialed up to something close to a magazine cover. His once-sunken eyes now gleamed, a piercing hazel tinged with a faint, almost predatory red that hinted at the wolf and vampire within. His physique was lean and powerful, stripped of any excess fat, with muscle definition that looked like it had been sculpted by an artist. Even his hair seemed different, swept back in a natural, windswept way that looked effortlessly stylish.

He smirked, rubbing the hair on his chin thoughtfully. “Not bad. Maybe I can actually blend in around here.” He looked around, the confidence from his new appearance easing his nerves a little. He could get used to this.

“Say, System, what’s the name of this village anyway?”

The system gave a dry look. “Can’t you ask a local? It’s Briarheart, obviously.”

Brass chuckled, rolling his eyes as he continued down the street. Briarheart—it had a nice ring to it, like something out of a fairytale. Not a bad start, he thought, letting a faint smile tug at his lips as he took in his new world with fresh eyes.