The Tipsy Barrel was quiet. The chaos of the previous night still hung in the town, and many preferred to spend the evening with their families instead of in Garrick’s dim-lit tavern. Many people had lost loved ones. A few miners nursed drinks in silence, their faces heavy with grief.
At a corner table, Old Thom sat hunched over, his mug cradled in both hands. His beard was more unkempt than Veronica remembered; his eyes were red from sleeplessness. But when she approached, he straightened with surprising dignity.
“Thank you, missus,” Thom said, his voice rough but clear. “When everybody out there was callin’ me a crazed old man, you were the only one who listened. You believed in me.”
Veronica slid into the seat across from him, folding her hands neatly on the table. “Belief had little to do with it. You gave me information I couldn’t ignore. And you were right.”
The old man’s laugh was thin, almost bitter. “Right. Aye, but what good’s bein’ right if no one listens until the blood’s already spilled?” He shook his head, staring into his drink. “Still. If not for you, this whole town would be ash. Greystone owes you, lass… and so do I.”
Veronica tilted her head, studying him. The last time she’d spoken with Thom, the guards had mocked him, and Garrick had rolled his eyes. Now, he looked vindicated, though no less haunted.
“What I saw in the ruins…” His voice lowered. “I knew it weren’t just shadows or drink-playin’ tricks. I saw ‘em with my own eyes. Cloaks, chants, circles. And now the town knows I wasn’t mad after all. But damn me if it don’t feel hollow.”
“Try to cheer up. I’ll make sure to tell Hadrian or Welterman about your help. Since, if it wasn’t for you and Finn, I wouldn’t have gotten enough information on the cultists by myself.”
Old Thom squinted at her. “Finn?”
“A boy. From here. He had been spying on the cultists for weeks, gathering bits of information. He’s the one who warned me about their movement before the attack.”
Thom’s brows knitted faintly, but only for a moment. He gave a noncommittal grunt, lifting his mug for another sip. “Ah. One of the little scamps then. Town’s full of ‘em.”
Veronica studied him for half a second longer, but his expression remained plain, unreadable. She let it go, exhaling softly. “Right. In any case, you helped save lives, Old Thom. Don’t forget that.”
The man’s laugh rasped from his chest, dry but genuine. He looked down at his mug. “Bah, all empty already.”
Veronica rose, a pleasant smile on her face. “Then I’ll buy you one more. Least I can do.”
Leaving him with his mug, she made her way up to the bar. Garrick stood behind it, polishing a glass with slow, deliberate strokes. He didn’t look up immediately, but she could feel his eyes flick toward her from beneath his brow.
“Another for Thom,” Veronica said.
Garrick set the glass down, gave the faintest nod, and reached for a fresh bottle. His movements were calm, and practiced, but there was something about him that always felt unnatural. For a moment, she had the odd sense that he was studying her just as much as she was studying him.
Then the drink was poured, and Garrick slid it down the bar without a word.
“You know,” she said idly, “a lot of people pulled their weight yesterday. The guards, miners, even Nolhan and Elise. Wouldn’t have gone the way it did otherwise.”
“Aye. Lots of brave people stood up,” he said.
She hesitated, then added, “By the way—have you seen Finn?”
Garrick’s brow ticked up. “Finn?”
“Yes,” Veronica replied. “Young kid. Calls himself the ‘greatest spy in Greystone.’” Her lips curved faintly at the memory. “I’ve been trying to track him down before I leave. Just wanted to say goodbye—and remind him to practice his mana flow carefully, not… blow up a room trying to force it.”
She sighed. “Hadrian claims he doesn’t know where the kid’s run off to. But you…” she glanced at Garrick knowingly, “…you see and hear all sorts of things here, don’t you? Figured you might know.”
Garrick leaned back slightly, polishing a mug as though mulling it over. Then he gave a soft hum. “Finn, huh. I think I’ve might have seen him run around the bar a few times. Running about always looking for rumors to play with. Haven’t seen him come by, though.”
She smiled faintly. “Well, that sounds like him. Always throwing himself headlong into things.” Her eyes softened, but she shook her head. “Time’s short—I’m leaving with the viscount soon. If you see him again, can you tell him I said goodbye? And remind him this—practice safely. No recklessness. I’m sure Elise may teach him a thing or two, especially since he helped save the Baron’s life.”
“I’ll pass it on,” Garrick said with a nod.
Veronica responded with her own polite nod and a smile. She turned and walked out, not before bringing over the fresh drink to Old Thom’s table. Garrick was still at the bar, mug still in hand, his expression unreadable as he murmured under his breath, “Goodbye, Veronica Everwells.”
“I’m taking my break. Don’t cause any trouble, Thom, you hear?” Garrick called over the counter.
Old Thom waved him off with a lazy flick of his wrist, already halfway through another drink.
Garrick slipped out through the back entrance, a black cloak settling over his shoulders. At his chest, where the hood clasped shut, rested a small insignia—an engraved symbol resembling an open book.
He drew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a touch, a pinprick flame blooming briefly at his fingertip. With no one watching, he took a few steps forward—and vanished.
The world folded around him like a page.
He reappeared amid ruin.
The forest clearing lay there in silent devastation. Charred grass. Upturned soil. Trees split and shattered as if swatted aside by a giant’s hand. And cutting straight through it all, a beam-carved scar that gouged the earth and vanished into the distance.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Garrick followed it.
Each step carried him hundreds of meters. In moments, he stood at the base of the old Greystone Mountains, where the beam had ended in a violent impact. The mountainside was torn open, stone blasted outward in a massive crater—a wound left by something beyond Tier-2 or even Tier-3 magic.
He turned, walking along the mountain’s base, and soon reached the abandoned mines.
Or at least—what had remained of them.
The entrance had collapsed completely. Stone and rubble choked the passage, sealing it shut. No way in. No way out.
Garrick took one last drag from his cigarette and flicked it aside, crushing it beneath his heel as he stared at the ruin. “Remarkable,” he said.
The voice that followed was no longer his own.
It was lighter. More feminine. Threaded with something distant and unplaceable—like a whisper from a dream.
“History is unraveling already. That boy’s story was never meant to end here. And yet—he lies dead, unnoticed. Erased. And none, the ever wiser.”
Garrick turned away, beginning to walk.
“That girl…” the voice continued softly. “She is already mocking my sight. Twisting the weave. Where she walks, the future grows… fogged.”
He paused. “For the first time in an age… I do not know how the story will end.”
Garrick smiled. Then—he vanished.
Back at the Tipsy Barrel, his presence slipped seamlessly into place, unnoticed.
“Perhaps,” the voice murmured, “you will amuse me further, Exalted Mage. The pressure of two lives in ruin. Let us see how you rewrite the story, this time.”
The carriages were being readied, wheels creaking under fresh oil, horses snorting in their harnesses. Leopold and Claire were already being settled into theirs. Claire lingered by her father’s side, but after a hesitant moment, she scurried forward, gave Veronica’s tunic a timid tap, and whispered, “Thank you… for saving daddy.” Then she fled back to the viscount, cheeks red.
Veronica smiled faintly, watching her go.
Leopold leaned out from the carriage window. “The road will take us two and a half weeks, by a minor route north. Quiet and safer, with little more than the occasional beast. Nolhan is more than enough should we meet trouble.”
“That’s fine,” Veronica answered. “Quiet roads are welcome.”
As she turned back, she realized the square outside the gate had filled. Not just the guards and militia, but townsfolk—nearly half the town by the look of it. Most had come to see the viscount off, yet more than a few faces turned toward her as well. Hands lifted, voices called her name. Some thanked her outright. Others simply waved.
One child came up to her, offering a small yellow flower. Veronica rubbed their head as they scampered back to their parents.
So the story had spread. It was hard not to. Most people in the town knew Elise as the only mage. After Veronica’s stunt with her lightning magic upon returning to town, many seemed to have seen her. That was in addition to the rumors of her showdown with the mercenaries in the square. As for the rest, either Welterman or Hadrian had told them, she guessed, to raise spirits after the bloodshed. Not that she minded. Now—the entire town knew who she was.
The guards in particular were the most rowdy. It seemed she left quite an impression on them after their few days of hellish magical combat training.
She stepped away from the carriage and made her way through the crowd.
Hadrian was first—tired, dignified as ever. “Miss Veronica,” he said with a small bow, “Greystone owes you more than we can repay.”
“You owe me nothing,” she replied. “Just keep listening when people like Old Thom raise alarms next time.”
That earned her the faintest twitch of a smile from the steward. “Also—those mercenaries that attacked you a few days ago. Be glad to know that they’ll be imprisoned under Greystone law for many years to come. After some light interrogation, we’ve learned of their crimes—specifically, illegal enslavement.”
Veronica blinked. She had completely forgotten about Jorren and the rest of them. She smiled.
“Thank you.”
Captain Luthen stood nearby, helm under his arm, jaw bruised but eyes steady. “You made my job easier last night. Saved a lot of people’s lives, too. Couldn’t ask for more than that.”
Veronica inclined her head. “You did your part well. Your guards did good work. The town’s still standing because of it.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “If you ever come back here, we’ll welcome you in wide arms.” She turned to leave, but then he called back again. “Ah—hey. I heard you were going to the capital, right? Or planning to, eventually? If you ever need good favor with the guards there, look for a man named Tamurin. Good buddy of mine. Say that you saved my life or some crazy story—he’ll treat you well.”
“I’ll see to it then. Thank you.”
Next, she moved on to Sena, the vegetable-seller. The old woman clutched her husband’s arm, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, child,” she said, voice wavering. “We thought we’d lost everything.”
Many homes in Greystone had burned down due to the cultists’ attacks. Repairs would take a while.
“You’re alive and that’s all that matters. Homes come back. Lives cannot,” Veronica said gently. She looked to Sena’s husband.
She recognized him. It was the same man who had driven his pitchfork through a cultist in the square that charged at her and Elise.
Veronica offered him a smile and a short nod. “And you were braver than most.”
The man smiled, scratching his neck bashfully. “Just… did what needed doing.”
“And that’s why I love you, dear. Not a lot of folks would have,” Sena said, kissing her husband on the cheek.
“I agree,” Veronica said. “That’s more than most would’ve done.”
Voices rose from behind, people calling her name, waving as if she were one of their own. The gratitude pressed from every side, but she let it wash over her. Strange, but not unpleasant. She used to be praised for status—not actions.
Next to the gate, Garrick leaned against a post, smoke in his mouth. She approached him.
“So? Seen Finn by any chance? I’d have expected him here already,” she asked.
Garrick removed the cigarette. “I did. He's with the others. Was helping some orphan kids near the back of town, organizing things. Seemed busy running around. Don’t think he’ll make it to see you off.”
“Ah—I see,” Veronica said with a mix of relief and disappointment. “Good. Glad he’s fine.”
He puffed. “Aye. He’ll grow up a strong soldier, that’s clear. His story’s well written in stone lest somethin’ happens.”
She nodded with a kind smile. “Tell him I said goodbye. And thank you, Garrick, for all the help.”
Finally, she turned back toward the carriages. The reins were waiting, horses stamping at the dirt. She climbed aboard hers, settling into her seat. As the convoy lurched into motion, she looked back one last time.
Greystone stood behind her, lanterns glowing against the dusk, its people raising their hands in farewell.
She let herself smile. Word had spread—and with it, her name.
The road to Ronswick had begun.
Veronica spread the map across her lap, eyes tracing the kingdom’s lines. If Ronswick were here, the nearest major city would be Maftem. Of the kingdom’s pillars, there were four: Maftem, Laszales, Veeram, and Annesheim itself.
Her finger drifted along the southern border, where the Wyvern Mountains cut jagged across the parchment. It explained a lot. Why she’d never heard of Greystone. Why Baron Welterman or Viscount Leopold had meant nothing to her before.
In her last life, this land had been under two dukes—Manevich to the east, Pelotema to the west. Troubles here had been typical: wyvern waves, beasts spilling from the wilds. Dangerous, yes, but not enough to draw her when the kingdom’s true struggles raged elsewhere. This region had never been where war was fought—not until The Fall.
It was simply too unimportant to reach the Capital’s ears.
Veronica folded the map with care, sliding it back into her pouch. She steadied her breath as the carriage rocked beneath her.
“Alright, Sage,” she whispered, her voice low enough for only the device in her soul to hear. “We’re in the year 3872. Tell me… are there any important events I should know about? Anything I can take advantage of that’ll help me in the future?”
[Yes. There are several notable events recorded. Such as…]
Sage listed a few events that it deemed important and relevant. Most of which taking place near the city of Ronswick. Some, even within.
Her lips curved into a smile. “I see…”
There were many things. With Sage’s help, and her knowledge of the future, she could take advantage of many things. So many opportunities she missed out on while she was in Annesheim, would now be within her reach.
She moved her hand over to the small black box on her right. Inside it were the vials of Kassal oil that Leopold had kindly… demanded of the baron. They were enough for her to advance to Tier-3 within the week. Whether it was enough for Tier-4, she’d have to wait and see. And if not, she could at least attempt to form another set of mana rings.
For the next two weeks, Veronica had the time to advance. “Looks like this journey is going to be eventful after all.”
Greystone arc! There seems to be a third party that knows about Veronica's actions. But it seems like they aren't doing anything for now. Are they ally, or are they foe?
Veronica is now on her way to City Ronswick with Viscount Leopold. Seems like she wasn't able to find a disciple in Greystone. I wonder if there are better prospects in a viscount's city?
Ronswick Arc, and things plot-wise will begin moving quite quickly! Veronica after all, still needs to accomplish several things, and we'll be seeing her get a lot more proactive in an actual city and not a poor mining town.
Path of Frailty and Path of Focus
Path of Frailty and the Path of Focus specialize in targeted collapse and deconstruction. Instead of diseases or poisons that spread, or general weakening effects, they prefer precision and amplification of their spells. Instead of spells that can cut off senses, theirs can cut off the soul to the body. Instead of slowing a person down, they can freeze them in place. Diseases or curses that weaken do not weaken, but rather cause total body failure. They excel at breaking something down, or preventing access to even the most improbable concepts.
This pairing is favored in assassination and covert operations. They can dismantle opponents from within, to causing catastrophic breakdowns. They are also particularly good at interrogation and coercion. This path combination is one of the few that have specialized names: Dark Mages, or Wraith Mages. They are known as the number one mage combination an enemy does not want to die by.
What do you think is more important? Power or Prestige?
