“Ahhhh…” A long, weary sigh escaped Vincent as consciousness returned. By the time he had well and truly rested, full darkness had fallen outside his window.

  He lay in bed for a moment, staring at the pitch-black ceiling of his room. To a normal man, it would have been impenetrable. But a subtle flow of mana to his eyes sharpened his vision into a world of muted greys and deep shadows, making the darkness irrelevant.

  A sliver of amber light bled from under his door. And with it came voices—low and hushed.

  Though they were little more than murmurs, his enhanced hearing could pick them apart. Four distinct speakers. Three he recognized instantly: the familiar, dreaded tones of his family. The fourth was a voice he’d only heard in melodic murmurs from the wagon—the female high elf.

  Curiosity overriding caution, he swung his legs out of bed. Without bothering to change or make a sound, he moved to his door, slipped into the hall, and descended the stairs, drawn like a shadow toward the conspiratorial glow of the sitting room.

  “You have already helped us more than we can repay,” the female elf said, her voice a blend of regal grace and firm resolve. She sat poised before Vincent’s family, her two guards standing like silver-sentinel statues at her sides. They were transformed—no longer ragged captives, but embodiments of elven nobility. The princess wore robes of moon-white silk woven with subtle, shimmering patterns, while her guards were clad in polished silver armor, new, elegant swords strapped to their hips.

  “How… disappointing,” Mrs. Village said, casting a brief, meaningful glance at her husband. Her smile was thin and did not reach her eyes. “We had so hoped you would grace our home a few days longer. But I suppose there is no point in insisting.”

  “And you’d be right to think that, Mother.”

  All eyes turned as Vincent entered the room, his presence cutting through the polite atmosphere like a winter draft. He ignored his family entirely, his obsidian gaze locking onto the elven princess.

  “There’s no reason to delay our departure any further. If your business here is concluded, then we leave.” His tone left no room for debate.

  “I agree. There is no need for delay. We are ready,” the elf replied, rising smoothly. Her guards shifted imperceptibly, ready to move.

  “Vincent, it’s not a good idea to travel at night,” Valerie interjected, her voice tight with a nervousness that wasn’t entirely about bandits on the road. “It’s dangerous.”

  Vincent didn’t even look at her. His voice was cold and flat. “You’re worrying about the wrong person, Valerie. I know how to solve *my* problems.”

  A heavy, understanding silence fell over the room. No one needed to ask what kind of “problems” he was referring to.

  ***

  The moment the wagon cleared the town's gates, Vincent leaned forward and tapped the plank beside him, grabbing everyone's attention.

  "We're taking the path alongside the River of the Damned," he announced, his voice cutting through the night air. "It's going to be... unpleasant. Try to keep your wits about you and don't do anything stupid."

  A heavy silence fell over the elves. The princess was the first to break it, her melodic voice laced with unease. "Is that wise? The stories of that place... it is said to be cursed."

  "It's a calculated risk," Vincent countered, his gaze fixed on the two horses pulling them. "The main road is a guaranteed nightmare. It's swarming with bandits. Lose one of these horses to an ambush, and we're walking the rest of the way. Even if we don't, the road leads straight through a town."

  He finally looked back at them, his expression grim. "All it takes is one pair of eyes spotting three high elves in a human wagon. The news would spread like wildfire. Then we'd have a shit ton of every greedy fool and two-bit mercenary thinking they can get rich quick by snatching you. The river route avoids all of that. We trade a few ghosts for a horde of very annoying, very greedy idiots."

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  The elves fell silent again, processing his blunt, ruthless logic. The princess gave a slow, conceding nod. "I see,"she said, her voice now filled with a new respect for the grim practicality of their human guide. "We place our trust in your judgment."

  The rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves filled the silence for a long moment before Vincent spoke, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  “A question, if you don’t mind,” he began, not taking his eyes off the dark path ahead. “What were high elves doing so deep in human territory to get captured in the first place?”

  The princess shifted uncomfortably. “That… is a complicated matter.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Vincent replied, his tone implying he expected nothing less.

  An awkward silence settled between them until Vincent finally broke it. “Well, it’s going to be a long journey. Get comfortable.”

  “If I may,” the princess interjected, seizing the opening, “I have a question for you as well, Vincent.”

  “Ask.”

  “My people possess a gift—we can perceive the flow and depth of mana in others,” she began, her voice measured. “Your parents… their reserves are modest, as is common among humans. Crucially, they do not unconsciously command the mana around them. This is the clearest sign that the innate talent of Sorcery has entirely passed them by. They could only ever be Mages, and weak ones at that.”

  She turned her gaze fully on him, and he could feel the weight of her assessment.

  "But you…" she continued, her focus sharpening on him, "...your mana pool is a deep, vast ocean compared to their puddles. And yet, you wield powerful magic while barely stirring its waters. This is the mark of a Sorcerer. The talent for Sorcery and the gift of a great mana reserve are both rare and almost always inherited."

  She leaned forward slightly, her elven eyes keen with curiosity. "This is the heart of my confusion. Vincent, did you perhaps discover a method to artificially enlarge your mana reserve? Or... could you have found some means to learn the art of Sorcery, a feat my people believe to be impossible?"

  Vincent was silent for a long minute, truly considering her questions for the first time. "No," he said finally, his answer simple and definitive. "I've never done anything to increase my mana. And I certainly never 'learned' how to do any of it. It's just... always been there."

  "Then how do you command the elements?"

  "I simply think about what I want to happen," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And it does."

  “That… is the very definition of Sorcery,” she said, a note of awe creeping into her voice. “The sheer strength and speed with which you do it is what is extraordinary.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Let me be perfectly clear. I am not implying they are not your family. I am certain they are. It is simply that the laws of magic inheritance are… absolute. The vast difference between your power and theirs is not just surprising; it is nearly impossible.”

  "Interesting..." Vincent mused, a slow realization dawning on him. "Then I take it what I use is *not* magic."

  The princess stared at him as if he'd just declared the sky was green. "Why in the world would you ever think you were a mage?"

  "Would you believe me if I said I didn't even know 'sorcery' was a thing?"

  "Yet you thought you were a mage? Without chanting?" she exclaimed, her bafflement giving way to a lecture. "Chanting is a tool for focus! Professional mages who have cast a spell ten thousand times can eventually bypass it, but the principle remains! That is also why mages often close their eyes—to block out distraction and turn their focus inward!"

  "Mages close their eyes?" Vincent asked, genuinely surprised.

  "You didn't know that either?" The elven princess was utterly flabbergasted. "Have you truly never seen another magic-wielder before?"

  "Well, there's no mage tower in our town. So, no."

  "I... suppose that explains your profound ignorance," she conceded, her eyes trailing from the wagon floor back to him. "It is astonishing that you reached such proficiency in two elements while knowing nothing of the nature of your own power."

  "Two elements?"

  "Yes. During your confrontation with the mercenary leader, I witnessed your command over earth and water sorcery."

  "Huh. Well, I guess I did only use them," Vincent muttered to himself.

  The elf's sharp ears twitched. "What do you mean, 'only them'?" she asked, her voice sharp with sudden curiosity.

  Vincent blinked, surprised she'd heard him. "Well... I can use the other elements too. I just didn't feel like I needed to."

  "By the gods." The words escaped her in a breathless whisper of pure awe. "A human, not yet even thirty summers old, commands all elements? And with the same proficiency as your water sorcery? Why would you even carry a sword?"

  "I can. And I use a sword because I start getting mana overuse symptoms after a while."

  "Mana overuse symptoms? From sorcery? With a mana pool as vast as yours?" she asked, her voice rising in disbelief.

  "Yeah. You know. My head starts... scratching? And my stomach feels weird."

  A dead silence fell over the wagon. The princess stared at her two guards, who looked just as utterly confused as she felt. She turned back to Vincent, speaking slowly as if to a child.

  "Vincent... those are not symptoms of overuse. Those are the base sensations of using mana at all. Every novice feels that the first time they cast a spell. How do you only feel them 'after a while'? You are supposed to feel them immediately and then push through!"

  "Huh," Vincent said, completely nonplussed. "Interesting."

  The princess could only lean back, a look of profound shock on her face. "I believed you were gifted, but this... this defies all understanding. You are an archive of miracles wrapped in sheer ignorance."

  Vincent showed no reaction to her awe-struck remark. He felt a fleeting urge to mention he had only just reached his twenty-fourth year, but decided the detail was utterly superfluous. The point had been made.

  A heavy, contemplative silence settled over the wagon for the next few hours, broken only by the sounds of the night and the river. Then, without any warning, Vincent pulled sharply on the reins.

  "Hyyah!"

  The horses came to an abrupt, snorting halt, jolting the entire wagon.

  "What is it? What's happened?" the elven princess asked, her voice tight with alarm as she steadied herself.

  Vincent's head was tilted, his obsidian eyes scan

  ning the oppressive darkness of the trees lining the riverbank. His voice was a low, deadly calm.

  "We're being watched."