"This trajectory was a bit forced? I actually missed." Shane murmured—he hadn't aimed for the neck, but the overseer's head.
He didn't want the man to have even a sliver of a chance at being saved after a single shot. Fortunately, the deep-crimson bow hit harder than he'd expected, and nothing went sideways.
"A mage! We're under attack by a mage!" Someone finally reacted—a lanky overseer pointed at the corpse, face bloodless, voice shaking.
Panic rippled through the overseers at once. They stared wildly in every direction, as if invisible arrows might come from anywhere at any moment.
"All slaves, back to the cell block immediately!" another overseer shrieked, whip cracking through the air. "Move! Anyone who's slow will be treated as an intruder and executed!"
The slaves, stunned by the sudden turn, stumbled like a spooked flock as the overseers drove them on.
Shane slipped into the crowd without a word. Out of the corner of his eye he saw several overseers ring the corpse, grim-faced as they examined the smooth, round hole, trading uneasy looks.
As for the poor man who'd caused the spill, no one was paying him any mind now. He'd escaped—for the moment.
Even more amateur hour than I thought, Shane thought, shaking his head.
Spooked by a possible ambush, they had herded all the slaves back to the cells—never once considering the attacker might be hiding among them.
No thought of basic isolation or screening… Have they leaned on brute force so long they've lost the habit of thinking?
…
…
With a clang, the heavy iron gate slammed shut behind them.
In the dark, Shane slid down the wall. His back scraped the stone, pricking his wound, but his eyes were bright.
Time to review.
Reckless as it was, the move had paid off far more than he'd expected.
First, the Archer card's abilities were even better than he'd imagined.
Roughly three parts:
One: it boosts the holder's physical stats. Drawing a full bow that easily was thanks to this.
Two: it grants archery instincts bordering on a Heroic Spirit's level.
But it still needs real practice. To avoid exposure he'd gone for a high-arc vertical shot instead of a straight one; the landing point drifted from where he'd planned and hit the neck instead. For an ordinary person that kind of parabolic shot is already miracle-tier, but it showed he still needs to get more familiar with the power.
Three: a supernatural ability called [Arrow Construction]. If the first two can be understood in "realistic" terms, this one steps squarely into magic. He can not only condense arrows from mana, but also craft stronger physical arrows from whatever materials are on hand.
One thing puzzled him, though: his Mana rating was only E–—in theory he hardly had any mana. So how had he formed mana arrows at all?
He let it go for now. If he couldn't figure it out, he'd shelve it and revisit later.
Beyond that, two more observations.
First, still about the [Archer] class card: as outrageous as its powers already were, they still didn't reach the level of a fabled Noble Phantasm.
Which set his mind spinning—was there something he hadn't unlocked yet that was masking its true strength?
He suspected the key lay in the spirit's hidden "True Name."
Per the Book of Heroic Spirits, Heroic Spirits are condensations of mystery whose power springs from their legends; the True Name is the legend's summary and core sigil.
"Maybe only after I decipher that 'True Name' sigil will I truly master this card," Shane guessed.
And he was close.
He was eight or nine tenths sure who this Archer was, but he preferred to wait for the next dream before revealing it. Maybe it was the history major in him—a need for a little ritual when "history" presents itself before your eyes.
Finally, his next steps.
This move hadn't only tested Archer's kit; it confirmed something else—mages are human.
And people die when they're killed.
Most of these overseers were all bark and no bite; their on-the-spot response when things went wrong was basically nonexistent.
Armed with that intel and his trump card, he was very confident he could escape this stone tower.
Precisely for that reason, he wasn't in a rush.
"With security this lax… it's hard not to start thinking bigger."
His interest in the so-called "R-System" that could resurrect the dead surged. This was a rare opportunity.
Besides, Jellal and the others were decent people, and the overseers were loathsome. Now that he had power, of course he wanted to do more.
He was greedy, after all.
As if answering his quickened thoughts, the Book of Heroic Spirits flipped open in his mind.
[Trial: The Way Out]
[The Heroic Path is not only forward. Lying low in lean times is the wise man's stratagem; breaking the board in strength is the strong man's stance.]
[Leave the Tower of Heaven and receive a corresponding reward.]
"So it really does issue trials tailored to the situation…" Shane's lips quirked. He took it as validation of his choices.
And this one differed from the "Initiation" series: the rewards would scale with how the trial was cleared.
Which meant—the harder the route, the more side objectives you complete, the better the payout.
Right. If the goal is to become a Heroic Spirit, how could he be satisfied with just "escaping"?
A Heroic Spirit should act like one.
Shane decided: he would rip the Black Magic Cult out by the roots and set this blood-soaked stone tower ablaze.
He wouldn't run. He'd walk out the front gate.
But by himself, even with a class card, he was far from enough. He looked around at his silent cellmates.
They were all physically formidable; years of suppressed labor had buried seeds of revolt deep in their bones.
Take magic out of the equation and they alone could flip those pampered cult lapdogs.
What they lacked was a blade to rally behind.
"And I'll be that blade…" Shane's face stayed calm, but inside he was thrumming—impatient, even.
Maybe his gaze burned too hot, because even Jellal—still lost in the brilliance of that arrow—noticed something off. "What is it, Shane?" he asked.
"What else—magic! It was magic!" Sawyer burst to his feet, excited. "That arrow was definitely magic! The Council must've found this place and sent guild mages to save us!"
Everyone had heard of the Magic Council, the authority that governed the guilds and upheld order in the magical world—even Sawyer, a country boy.
But Jellal doused him with cold water. "Impossible. If the Council were moving, we'd have seen a large-scale assault. One arrow killed a single overseer… satisfying, sure, but limited—and it only put them on alert."
"If it were guild mages, the outside would already be in chaos. It wouldn't be this quiet," Grandpa Rob agreed.
"Tch… then this mage isn't all that," Sawyer muttered, crestfallen.
Shane let out an awkward chuckle. Testing the waters meant stirring the grass and startling the snake—that was the price.
"At least someone saved a life. People like us who didn't help don't have the right to criticize," Jellal said evenly.
Sawyer understood, just felt down after the burst of hope.
He sidled up to Shane, concern replacing the excitement. "How's your back? You scared me there—I knew you were gonna get it… but, heh, that guy's dead. Serves him right."
"I'm fine. Just a flesh wound," Shane said—and he wasn't bluffing.
The class card had been feeding him steady warmth; the welt on his back already itched as it scabbed over. It really was no big deal now.
Sawyer plainly didn't buy it. He knew how frail Shane was—he'd spent half the day helping him move stone—and figured Shane was just putting on a brave face.
"I'll share some of my food later. Eat more and you'll heal faster," Jellal added.
Shane could only smile wryly. There was no easy way to explain, so he accepted their kindness for now.
While they were whispering, the iron gate clanged open.
"Inside." An overseer shoved two figures in without expression, then slammed the door.
New arrivals again?