Power.

In this world, it came in countless forms. Some subtle as a whispered secret, others as obvious as a thunderclap. Magic that bended reality, wealth that moved nations, knowledge that outlasted empires.

Yet there was something primal about physical power that resonated across time and worlds. That satisfaction of watching a stone crumble in your grip or climbing a mountain others deemed impossible. Even in a world of mages and monsters, there was something undeniably appealing about being able to simply punch your problems into submission.

Like most kids, Adom had dreamed of such power in his youth. His real youth, not this second chance business. Children are impressionable creatures, and his was spent devouring books, some of which were tales of heroes with impossible strength who could tear mountains asunder or move faster than the eye could track.

The classics never go out of style.

Back in his original timeline, he'd eventually achieved two-circle status—respectable, if not legendary. The Lionheart side of his family, though he'd been estranged from them, had a decent magical pedigree.

Although not proven, it was commonly suspected that genetics played a significant role in determining a mage's potential ceiling, which explained why mage families rarely married outside their magical circles. The rule wasn't always explicitly stated, but the pattern was clear—mages sought other mages as partners, preserving and potentially enhancing their magical bloodlines. In noble families, this wasn't even a tacit rule but an open expectation, the violation of which had gotten Adom's mother disowned when she married his father.

When Adom had manifested magical talent despite this "dilution," some eyebrows were raised. When he eventually hit two circles at age 76, although not all that useful given his illness at the time, it had nonetheless been a genuine achievement—not impossible given his heritage, but certainly not guaranteed.

Now Mr. Biggins was telling him he'd blow past that ceiling like it was made of tissue paper.

The ramifications were staggering. As a mage with that level of power and his accumulated experience, he could accelerate everything. Rise through the Academy ranks faster. Achieve Archmage status sooner. Gain the influence needed to counteract the looming catastrophes before they fully materialized.

But something nagged at him as he looked at the old dragon shoving chocolates in his mouth to celebrate, a restlessness that wouldn't quiet despite the good news.

His mind kept circling back to one uncomfortable fact: magical power, while incredible, has limits. Mana depletes. Fluid runs dry. At this point in time, even with an expanded capacity, he would eventually run empty in a prolonged conflict.

What then?

He already had two non-mana skills forming the foundation of his capabilities. [White Wyrm's Body] would eventually grant him near-invulnerability, a defense that would make most physical attacks bounce off harmlessly. [Healing Factor] was continuously rebuilding him into something beyond human standard, accelerating his recovery and apparently supercharging his magical development.

Defense. Recovery. Two pieces of what Adom now saw as a three-part puzzle.

What he lacked was the offensive component.

Something that, when magic failed or circumstances demanded, would let him continue fighting effectively. Something that wouldn't deplete with use or leave him vulnerable once his mana reserves ran dry.

What he needed was raw, physical strength. Not the kind that fades when magic dissipates, but the kind built into muscle and bone. The kind that becomes part of you.

He needed a strength-based skill to complete the foundation.

The realization felt right. Defense, recovery, strength—a perfect build. Everything else could be constructed atop that foundation, but those three elements would ensure he remained dangerous regardless of circumstance.

Power.

"I need to go on a hunt," Adom announced through a mouthful of chocolate. The words emerged before he'd fully processed the thought.

Mr. Biggins burst into laughter, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to shake dust from the highest bookshelves. "I was about to suggest the same thing, actually!"

Adom swallowed his chocolate, eyebrows shooting up. "Can you read minds or something?"

"Oh, goodness no, no," Mr. Biggins waved away the suggestion as if it were a pesky fly. "But when you've lived among humans as long as I have, you learn to anticipate their patterns of thought." He adjusted his spectacles with a small smile. "Law was like that too. Terribly predictable once you got to know him."

"Right," Adom said slowly.

It was easy to forget sometimes that the eccentric shopkeeper with chocolate smudges on his vest was actually Aelarion, a dragon old enough to have witnessed centuries of history firsthand. Mr. Biggins had mentioned before that he and Law had been friends, though the details had remained vague.

"How exactly did you two meet?" Adom asked, selecting another chocolate, this one shaped like a tiny dragon. He found the irony amusing.

"Oh!" Mr. Biggins brightened at the memory. "I tried to eat him for waking me up."

Adom choked on his chocolate. "You what?"

"Tried to eat him," Mr. Biggins repeated casually. "He was making the most awful racket at the base of my mountain. Disturbed a rather lovely three-century nap."

"And... you became friends after that?"

"Well, not immediately," Mr. Biggins admitted, selecting a white chocolate unicorn for himself. "We had a lengthy discussion first. Quite enlightening, actually. Law had excellent arguments for why I shouldn't eat him."

"I can imagine."

"So I spared him and burned down the village at the base of the mountain instead." Mr. Biggins popped the chocolate into his mouth, expression entirely serene. "They'd been making human and elven sacrifices to me while I was sleeping. Without permission! Can you imagine the audacity?"

Adom stared at the shopkeeper. The friendly, somewhat doddering old man who fussed over his cats and organized his trinkets with meticulous care had... casually burned down an entire village.

"You're quite different from what I thought," Adom said finally.

Mr. Biggins smiled, the chocolate having left a smudge at the corner of his mouth. "Oh? And what did you think I was?"

"I don't know. Eccentric but harmless?"

"Harmless!" Mr. Biggins repeated, laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his chair. "My dear boy, no dragon is harmless. Some of us are just better at pretending."

He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "Law understood that. He never made the mistake of thinking me tame. It's why we got along so well."

In the old world, dragons had been revered as gods, along with Umbra, Phoenixes, and Demons. The Old Gods, as they were called nowadays. Even now, one could find temples where people still venerated them, offering prayers and sacrifices in exchange for protection.

Watching Mr. Biggins now—licking chocolate from his fingers with childlike enthusiasm—it seemed... incongruous. This was a being that had once received blood offerings. Young women with their throats slit, gold piled high in tribute, all in desperate hope for protection from the terrors that roamed the world.

When Adom mentioned this, Mr. Biggins snorted.

"Massive misunderstanding," he said, shaking his head. "I only asked for gold. What would I do with dead bodies? Messy things. Terrible smell. Ruins the gold, honestly."

"But the sacrifices—"

"Human idea, not mine," Mr. Biggins insisted. "They started doing it on their own, and by the time I woke up from that particular nap, they'd convinced themselves I demanded it." He sighed. "Three centuries of sleep, and humans manage to completely rewrite your preferences."

"So you burned down their village."

"Well, yes. But I did let the innocent among them evacuate first," he added, as if this were an important point of etiquette. "And that's when Law showed up to negotiate. Clever boy. Brought me sweets instead of blood."

Mr. Biggins smiled fondly at the memory. "It was the first time I'd ever tasted chocolate. Been addicted ever since."

Adom finished the last chocolate, contemplating this new perspective on the shopkeeper. It was like seeing a house cat suddenly reveal it was actually a tiger—same general shape, vastly different implications.

"So," Mr. Biggins said, clapping his hands together and abruptly changing the subject. "This hunt you're planning. I assume it's for a physical enhancement skill?"

"How did you—" Adom stopped himself. "Right. Predictable human."

"No, no. Logical human. You're building something interesting, and you already have two pieces." Mr. Biggins ticked them off on his fingers. "Defense with what you call White Wyrm's Body. Recovery with Healing Factor. The obvious next step is offensive capability."

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"So," the old dragon leaned forward. "What did you have in mind?"

"What I had in mind," Adom replied, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table, "is something similar to how I acquired Healing Factor."

"Ah yes, your... improvised transmutation with the vampire. Quite resourceful, if dangerously reckless."

"Exactly. I want to find a monster with exceptional physical strength and perform another transmutation."

Mr. Biggins went very still. The ambient sounds of the hidden room seemed to fade away as the old dragon studied Adom with newfound intensity. When he spoke, his voice had lost its usual cheerful lilt.

"That," he said carefully, "is both a brilliant and terribly dangerous idea."

"Is it?" Adom shifted in his seat. "It worked well enough the first time."

"Did it?" Mr. Biggins leaned forward. "Or did you simply survive it?"

The shopkeeper removed his spectacles, polishing them methodically with a handkerchief he produced from his vest pocket. "As I mentioned the last time we talked day, performing transmutations the way you did, on yourself, with living beings... it's precisely what got many alchemists arrested for creating abominations."

He replaced his glasses, peering at Adom over the rims. "The only reason you survived at all was because of luck. Pure, dumb luck."

"But—"

"Such processes are exceedingly difficult for humans to bear," Mr. Biggins continued, cutting him off. "The body naturally rejects foreign essences. Most transmutation attempts end with the subject dead or hideously transformed. Not improved."

Adom frowned as he made a mental note to ask the Bob for lucky clover. Perhaps luck, dumb or otherwise, was worth cultivating.

"Don't misunderstand me, young Adom." Mr. Biggins added quickly, raising a cautionary finger. "In your case, you could very well manage successful transmutations on yourself, especially with your Healing Factor growing stronger. But I wouldn't recommend relying on this as your primary method of power acquisition."

"Why not?" Adom asked. "If it works—"

"Because you're essentially rewriting how your own body functions at a fundamental level," Mr. Biggins explained. "A simple error in the gene manipulation could cause tremendous drawbacks. Especially for humans."

Adom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But with Healing Factor now, I could mitigate those risks. It would correct errors, repair damage during the process."

"Yes," Mr. Biggins conceded with a reluctant nod. "Your regenerative abilities do make you uniquely suited to survive such procedures. But I must insist—do not make transmutation your primary source of power acquisition."

He tapped the table for emphasis. "Even with advantages, you're playing a dangerous game with increasingly higher stakes each time. The body can only adapt to so many fundamental changes before... unpredictable things begin to happen."

"So it's not completely insane."

"Oh, it's completely insane," Mr. Biggins corrected him cheerfully. "But perhaps a slightly more calculated insanity than before."

Adom considered this. Calculated insanity was essentially his entire second-life strategy anyway.

"Do you know of any monsters," he asked carefully, "in a dungeon native to Arkhos, preferably low rank, that could give me the kind of strength skill I'm looking for? Ideally something I could hunt while also developing Healing Factor and my other skills."

"Hmm." Mr. Biggins' eyes drifting upward as he mentally sorted through what must have been centuries of accumulated knowledge about the local fauna. "You need something physically imposing but not overwhelmingly deadly at your current level. Something accessible but genuinely powerful. Something..."

He trailed off, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Adom waited, watching the old dragon's face as various considerations passed across it. Occasionally Mr. Biggins would mutter something unintelligible, shake his head slightly, then resume his contemplation.

Finally, the shopkeeper straightened, eyes focusing sharply on Adom.

"Tell me," he said, "have you ever heard of the Mountain Silverback?"

*****

CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP--

BOOM.

The twenty-third wakey bird exploded in a puff of feathers and clockwork gears, silencing its morning alarm with finality.

"Thank you," Adom mumbled into his pillow.

"No problem," Sam replied from across the room. "That thing was getting on my last nerve. Wake up now, though. You said the dungeon would open early."

Adom grunted in acknowledgment but made no immediate move to get up. His bed felt impossibly perfect this morning—the mattress hitting that sweet spot between firm and soft, the blanket weighted just right across his shoulders, the pillow cradling his head like it was custom-made for his skull.

How ironic. After spending most of the night unable to sleep thanks to Zuni's nocturnal adventures, his bed chose now to transform into the most comfortable surface in existence.

Zuni. Adom thought opening his eyes. Speaking of the little menace, where was—

"OH SHIT!"

Adom bolted upright. Across the room, a bowl of milk sat on the desk. Submerged in it, completely motionless, was Zuni. Head down. No bubbles.

He launched himself out of bed, stumbling over his own feet in his rush to reach the desk. His hands plunged into the milk, grabbing the quillick's tiny body and yanking him out.

"Zuni! What are you—"

The quillick squirmed in his grip, tiny paws reaching desperately back toward the milk bowl. His permanent smile somehow looked annoyed as milk dripped from his spines.

"Are you... trying to get back in?" Adom asked incredulously.

Zuni chirped once, then twisted with surprising strength, nearly escaping Adom's grasp in his determined effort to return to his milk bath.

"He was drowning in milk," Sam observed from his bed, not bothering to look up from his book. "But still drinking it. Been at it for ten minutes."

"And you didn't think to stop him?"

"Figured if he was dumb enough to drown himself in breakfast, natural selection was just doing its job."

"Clearly you two hit it off."

Sam and Zuni's first meeting had gone about as well as putting a cat in a bathtub. When Adom introduced them yesterday, Zuni had immediately taken an interest in Sam's now meticulously organized desk. Within minutes, the quillick had rearranged Sam's color-coded notes into what could generously be described as a jumbled pile resembling the aftermath of a pixie festival.

Things deteriorated from there.

After his sugar-fueled rampage at the teahouse, Zuni had spent the night in a state of manic energy—climbing curtains, chirping at shadows, and twice attempting to nest in Sam's hair while he slept.

The dark circles under Sam's eyes told the rest of the story. He was already up reading a textbook at this ungodly hour, clearly having given up on sleep altogether.

"You should get some rest," Adom said, finally managing to wrap Zuni in a small towel. "You look like death warmed over."

Sam lowered his book just enough to fix Adom with a glare that could have withered plants. "Shut up. This is your fault for signing up for Basic Bonding and bringing that vile creature into our room."

Zuni squeaked indignantly from his towel prison.

"You've offended him," Adom noted.

"Good," Sam replied flatly. "Very good."

Adom sighed, tucking the still-squirming Zuni under his arm. "I'm going to wash up. Please don't let him kill himself while I'm gone."

Sam turned a page in his book with deliberate slowness. "I can't promise anything."

Adom finished his preparations with methodical efficiency. He'd laid everything out the night before—sturdy boots, reinforced leather pants, a dark green tunic, and a weatherproof cloak. Not Academy uniform by any stretch, but practical dungeon gear.

He strapped a small pack to his hip, checking its contents one last time: healing potions, rations, a compass, and the two daggers he got from the dungeon he was trapped in just eight months ago.

Ah, time flies.

When he emerged from the washroom fully dressed, he found Zuni perched on Sam's head like some kind of spiny, living hat. Sam sat at his desk, one eye twitching slightly as he tried to focus on his notes while ignoring the quillick using his hair as a nest.

"Don't say a word," Sam warned without looking up.

Adom bit back a smile and headed for the small table where they kept breakfast supplies. He grabbed an apple and a hunk of bread, wolfing them down with the efficiency of someone who knew they had a long day ahead.

As he finished his makeshift breakfast, Sam yawned enormously. Zuni, apparently interpreting this as some sort of signal, hopped off his head and scampered across the desk, knocking over an inkwell in the process.

"For the love of—" Sam caught the inkwell before it could spill completely, shooting Zuni a look that would have turned a less oblivious creature to stone.

The quillick chirped happily and bounced over to Adom, climbing up his pant leg to reach his preferred shoulder perch.

"Be careful with the dungeon stuff," Sam said, rubbing his eyes. "Those restricted areas are no joke. If you get caught, I never knew your plans, understood?"

"Got it. And thanks," Adom replied, adjusting his pack. "You should get some rest. Skip classes today—maybe say you're sick?"

Sam let out a humorless laugh. "Lack of sleep at this level is sickness. My brain feels like it's been pickled."

"All the more reason to rest," Adom said, heading for the door. "I'll try to be back before evening. If not..."

"If not, I'll pretend I have no idea where you went," Sam finished for him. "Now get out before your little demon decides my eyebrows look like a good breakfast."

Adom nodded gratefully and stepped out into the hallway, Zuni chirping softly on his shoulder. The quillick seemed to understand they were embarking on something important, his usual hyperactivity momentarily subdued by curiosity.

Adom slipped through Xerkes Academy's east gates without fanfare. The sun hadn't yet crested the horizon, leaving the campus draped in that peculiar pre-dawn grayness where the world exists in muted tones. The grounds lay still and quiet, with only the occasional flutter of maintenance familiars going about their early morning duties.

The guards at the gate barely glanced at him. Since the Academy had lifted its curfew policy last semester, students came and went at all hours. Being off-campus before sunrise wasn't technically against any rules, even if it was unusual enough to merit a raised eyebrow from the sleepy-eyed guard.

"Early start," the guard commented, stifling a yawn.

"Field research," Adom replied with the easy confidence that came from not technically lying.

Arkhos was different at this hour. The usual sounds of street vendors, horse-drawn carriages, and pedestrian chatter hadn't yet begun. Instead, there was a hushed quality to the cobblestone streets, as if the city itself was still gathering energy for the day ahead.

The Pentoss Adventurer's Guild stood opposite the city's central plaza, its imposing facade adorned with banners displaying successful expeditions and the guild's five-pointed star insignia. Despite the early hour, lights already burned in its windows.

Inside, the guild hall hummed with subdued activity. Early risers occupied scattered tables—a man sharpening an elaborate battle-axe, a pair of women poring over what looked like a map, and a handful of people checking equipment or simply nursing steaming mugs of something that smelled strongly of caffeine and regret.

The main desk stood at the back of the hall, where a halfling man with spectacles balanced on his nose was sorting through a stack of documents. He looked up as Adom approached.

"Morning," Adom said, Zuni chirping in cheerful echo from his shoulder.

"Morning to you both," the halfling replied, his eyes lingering curiously on Zuni. "Interesting familiar you've got there."

"He thinks so too," Adom said as he placed his Rank B adventurer badge on the counter. "I'd like to register for the C-rank dungeon run."

The halfling picked up the badge, examining it briefly before sliding it through a small crystal apparatus on his desk. The crystal glowed blue, then green, confirming the badge's authenticity.

"Cutting it close," the halfling remarked, pulling out a form. "Today's the final day for the Misty Vale dungeon access. Gates close permanently at sundown."

"Just need a few hours," Adom assured him.

The clerk nodded, scratching something on the form. "Standard rules apply. No ganking. No resource hogging. The guild takes no responsibility for injuries sustained during your expedition." He glanced up. "Coming with a party?"

"Solo dive."

The halfling paused, looking at Adom more carefully. His eyes flickered to Adom's youthful face, then to his Academy-style haircut, then back to the badge.

"I have experience," Adom said, anticipating the question. "And I'm not entering as a Xerkes student but as a Rank B adventurer. The Academy has no jurisdiction here."

The halfling shrugged. "Your funeral to arrange, not mine." He stamped the form with surprising force and slid it across the desk. "Sign here, here, and initial here."

Adom signed where indicated, the scratching of the quill oddly loud in the quiet hall.

"Entry point is the western gate, near the old mill," the clerk said, taking back the form. "Follow the blue lanterns. They'll lead you to the active portal. Like I said, it closes permanently at sundown, so make sure you're out by then or you'll be spending a very uncomfortable night inside."

"Understood."

"And keep that thing under control," the halfling added, eyeing Zuni who was now attempting to eat Adom's collar. "Guild doesn't cover familiar-related incidents either."

"He'll behave," Adom said, gently pushing Zuni's face away from the fabric. "Thanks for the information."

The halfling nodded and returned to his paperwork, clearly dismissing them. Adom pocketed his badge and headed for the exit, mentally reviewing his plan.

Find a silverback. Somehow kill it without dying. Perform an alchemical transmutation that most likely would kill him anyway.

Nothing too difficult.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.