My head's killing me! Who am I? Where am I?
Connor's mind was flooded with a chaotic mess of memories. Before he could make sense of them, he was confronted with the one sight he dreaded most, "My hair!"
The realization was too much for Connor; it was inconceivable. Twisting his stiff neck forcefully while the truth dawned on him that his meticulously maintained hair was gone, Connor completely lost it. All memories snapped into place without need for sorting, as he recalled the bitter defeat not long ago and was filled with immense regret.
"I should've killed that kid first..." Connor murmured under his breath.
As the soreness in his body eased, Connor struggled against his restraints to no avail. His body felt weak, and even rolling on the ground was a panting affair, let alone escaping the ropes that bound him.
Having regained some strength, Connor began to bellow, "Hello! Anyone there?!"
Alas, the empty basement just returned his echo, round and round. The solid craftsmanship of the floors muffled his cries within the basement walls, failing to reach even Lambert on the floor above,He just rolled over, let alone Pepe.
A bit calmer now, Connor noticed the basement wasn't entirely barren. Two sturdy-looking wooden doors adorned opposite walls. A few damaged iron pickaxes lay scattered in a corner. And—the floor... the floor boasted a huge enchantment circle!
Connor was mute with shock. The floor's concentric circles comprised seven layers of magical runes interlocking seamlessly. Mystical symbols filled the gaps between each ring.
Swallowing hard, Connor knew this was beyond the girl's capabilities. Someone terrifying was behind her, someone inscrutable like his own mentor.
Somewhat relieved, Connor considered that if his yells had summoned that grand sorcerer, a simple flattening spell might have been his end.
Since he was still alive, fleeing this sunless room was top priority. If he could just get out, then all possibilities remained.
His gaze locked onto the iron pickaxes in the corner.
Like a worm, Connor relinquished all his dignity in the solitude of the basement. He wormed his way to the nearest pickaxe, nibbling at the twisted ropes with its sharp end.
The task was laborious and repetitive, but Connor was willing to endure anything for survival. After what seemed like an eternity, the rope was half undone. He paused to rest before continuing.
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The courtyard battle had ended with most of his magic intact. Feeling the magic pulsing inside him, an idea sparked in Connor's mind.
He shuffled around, finding the pickaxe's sharp end, and cast "Supreme Sharpness!" The spell worked instantly.
Validating Connor's correctness, a stinging pain shot through his fingers; the pickaxe's edge was now exceedingly sharp.
Perfect! Hastily, he aligned the rope on his wrist against the pickaxe's edge—swish—and the hemp fell to the ground, sliced clean through.
Connor breathed a sigh of relief. The first step of escaping this secret room was complete.
The freed magician quickly patted himself down, finding nothing missing except his staff and... hair.
Not that he had carried much as an assassin, but still, Connor couldn't help feeling that his captors had been somewhat honorable.
Grabbing the halved handle of the pickaxe, he fortified it with "Indestructible" to prevent any untimely breakage.
After cutting through the rest of the ropes, Connor surveyed the dim room once more. Tapping the walls with the non-sharp end of the pickaxe, he deduced he was underground.
But how to leave? Connor began to test all the destructive techniques available to a battle mage.
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"Ding!"
The thrice-empowered pickaxe struck the apparently frail wooden door, leaving no scratch whatsoever.
Connor almost wished he could press his eyeball against the wood to inspect it closer. However, there were simply no marks to find.
Casting aside the half-pickaxe, Connor turned his back to the door and began pondering life and philosophy—like hell! If he didn't figure out an escape plan, he'd have to leave such thinking for his next life.
His fighting spirit rekindled, Connor directed his attention to the magic circle on the ground.
Connor was always a model student and remembered his teacher's advice well—'Don’t mess with other people's magic circles.' To tamper without understanding whether the circle was functional or a trap would be foolish and could lead to endless regrets.
Now at his wit's end, facing unbreakable stone walls and wooden doors reinforced with unknown enchantments far beyond his breaking abilities, the magical circle seemed his sliver of hope.
He scrutinized the hardened symbols on the floor, lambasting himself for the times he opted for battlefield spells over extensive rune studies.
"Not this, not this, not this... ah!" Finally, he recognized a rune synonymous with teleportation.
"Teleportation?" Connor traced the symbol on the floor with a finger, "That's got to be it!" He slapped his thigh in revelation. "This is the way out!"
Ignoring the meanings of other symbols—out of both necessity and youthful arrogance—Connor admired his own scholarship, heedless as to why a mage would place an escape circle there.
Standing at the circle's center, Connor gathered the bubbling magic within towards his hands and then stretched them toward the circle.
"Gulp, gulp..."
The silent absorption created an involuntary mental soundtrack of voracious swallowing as the circle seemed to gulp down the magic greedily.
Moments later, with his magic nearly depleted and the circle still hungry as a newborn, it only glimmered faintly. Connor's meager knowledge concluded that the magic fed hadn't hit the threshold to activate the circle—it effectively hadn't been fed enough.
Resigned to meditate, Connor sat cross-legged in the circle, slowly replenishing his magical energy.
Three cycles later, amidst Connor's triumphant cheer, a blinding flash triggered, and the circle activated.
As the light faded, Connor felt the different texture under his feet and realized he was in a forest.
"Yes! I made it out!" Connor exulted in freedom.