Only now did Michael remember why the violet mage's mana had attacked him in the first place. It had happened right after he took the storage ring—the moment the remnant will latched onto him.
He had learned a hard lesson. Though he'd eventually gained something from the ordeal, it came at the cost of agonizing pain and suffering.
From now on, I should stay away from powerful mages… even if they're dead, he concluded bitterly.
But since the damage had already been done, he figured he might as well see if the ring had been worth it. Or at least, that was how Michael chose to rationalize it.
The problem was...
"I don't know how to use it," he muttered in disappointment.
He knew that storage rings were rare and expensive, usually reserved for the wealthy or influential. Even his father, the Lord of Velmara City, had only ever owned one.
Staring at the resplendent ring, he tried to channel his mana into it. But the orange energy bounced off uselessly, as if repelled. Michael's frown deepened.
Do I need to probe it with my soul? he wondered.
Yet he quickly shook his head. After barely surviving his earlier brush with death, he understood just how dangerous it was to toy with his soul.
I can always figure it out later, he decided, shifting his gaze across the barren landscape.
His stomach growled. Hunger was setting in.
Michael looked down and clenched his fists, suppressing the urge to curse. He could conjure water, thanks to his mage abilities, but food was another matter.
And in the mana-scarred lands, there were no beasts to hunt. No animals. Nothing. He'd never had to worry about such things before—he was the son of a City Lord. Hunting had never been a necessity.
"Should I keep going through the mana-scarred lands?" he murmured, staring out at the bleak, endless expanse of arid terrain.
But the answer came swiftly.
He shook his head. With his slim frame and dwindling strength, there was no chance he'd survive the journey—especially since he hadn't even covered ten percent of the way.
Then do I go back to Velmara City?
But the very thought filled him with a churning mix of sorrow and rage. Stewart and those black-robed mages had murdered his mother. If they discovered he was still alive, they'd stop at nothing to finish the job.
Even if he wanted to warn his father or tell him the truth, there was no chance he'd be allowed close enough.
Michael and his father had never been close. The man had always been distant—cold, even.
He was never abusive, but it was clear that Michael had been a disappointment in his eyes. In a world where power and prestige were inseparable, weakness was an unforgivable flaw.
Understanding that didn't make the rejection any less painful.
Michael took a breath.
He made his decision.
Michael decided he would pass by Velmara City and try to acquire some supplies. As long as he made a few subtle changes to his appearance, he could slip past the eyes of the City Lord—and more importantly, Stewart.
After all, the three orange rings now glowing on his wrist were more than enough to cast doubt on his identity. Just days ago, he'd possessed only a single dim white ring.
I'll wait for dusk before I begin the journey back, he thought, leaning against the sandstone with a weary sigh.
His stomach let out a low growl of protest, but his mind and body were too drained to care. Sleep came swiftly. Within moments, his breathing slowed, and the boy drifted off.
Several hours passed before Michael stirred.
The dry air had left his mouth and nose raw and irritated. Casting his chore magic, he conjured a trickle of clean water and drank to his heart's content. Then, with a slow breath, he stood and scanned his surroundings.
The last vestiges of sunlight hovered on the horizon, and the desert's brutal heat had already begun to wane.
Judging by the sun's position, I should be able to follow it west—straight to Velmara City.
Michael set off, ignoring the sharp hunger pangs in his gut. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he fled from his mother's attackers, but judging by his current condition, it had to be at least three days.
He glanced down at his left wrist. Three luminous orange rings glowed faintly in the dimming light.
It's a shame I only know chore magic, he thought.
With his newfound mana capacity, he could have easily learned protection spells to shield himself from the heat, or wind spells to hasten his journey. He knew such spells existed—but he had never been taught them, let alone tried to cast them.
His mother had always emphasized living within one's means, a belief Michael had inherited. What was the point in learning spells he couldn't use?
So, without complaint, he continued walking. His sharp green eyes constantly scanned the barren terrain, searching for familiar landmarks from his escape.
Then he paused.
My vision… it's improved?
Michael blinked, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them again, what he saw left him stunned.
At first, he hadn't noticed anything—likely because he'd been deep within the mana-scarred lands. But now, as he neared Velmara, the environment was changing.
Tiny motes of light floated in the distance, glimmering softly in the dark. They shimmered like fireflies but moved with deliberate grace. Michael had never seen anything like it—not in the physical world.
That's mana… I'm sure of it.
Even back when he'd only possessed a white ring, he could vaguely perceive mana within his own body while purifying it from the mana spring. He remembered seeing the particles with his mind's eye—millions of tiny fragments swirling and combining to form usable mana.
But this… this was different.
This was the first time he'd seen it with his actual eyes. Not a mental visualization. Not a feeling. This was real.
And it raised far more questions than it answered.
Do all mages with orange rings and above see the world like this? Michael wondered.