I stared from the smoking crater in the snow to Corbin, my mouth slightly agape.

  How… just HOW?!

  Not only had his fireball flown with the velocity of a crossbow bolt, but it had detonated with the force of a bomb. My own pathetic attempts at fire magic usually choked out after five meters, wheezing like a dying candle in the wind.

  Corbin looked at me, his grin widening as he saw my disbelief.

  “I can see by that look on your face that you’re wondering how I got so much bang out of such a pathetic little spark, aren't you?”

  Idris and Otis looked just as shocked as I felt. I nodded speechlessly, feeling like a schoolboy caught not knowing the answer.

  “Ever since I watched you train back at the manor, I noticed two things,” Corbin said, holding up two fingers. “One: You have an uncanny instinct for magic. It helps you enormously, lets you grasp concepts faster than most adults. But two: You think too…”

  He paused, rubbing his stubbled chin theatrically, staring up at the grey sky. Then, he snapped his fingers.

  “Linear! That’s your massive problem. You don’t give yourself room to breathe. You don’t give the magic room to breathe. You lack curiosity… creativity. Magic doesn't live on calculations and rigid formulas, kid. No, magic lives on our imagination. Mana transforms the things we visualize into reality. You force the mana to follow your command, and sure, that works. But your commands are too stiff. The image in your head is what ultimately shapes the magic.”

  The image in my head shapes the magic?

  Hm.

  I looked down at the snow, thoughtful. On the carriage ride, I had been propelling my fireballs with bursts of air magic because I simply didn't know how else to make them move. I treated them like physical objects that needed a push. Had that conflicting intent caused the flames to disperse?

  Curious, I raised my right palm.

  Instead of thinking about temperature or combustion, I just imagined a ball of rotating fire. A miniature sun. I fed mana into my hand, not forcing it, but guiding it.

  Slowly, tendrils of flame sprouted from my skin. They didn't flicker weakly this time. They swirled, weaving together, tightening into a dense, humming sphere of orange and gold.

  My gaze got lost in the beautiful, hypnotic dance. It felt stable. Alive.

  Step two.

  Before, I always felt like the flame was stuck to my hand, like sticky pitch I had to shake off. I needed to change that image.

  I imagined the fireball not as part of me, but as a stone I was holding. A stone I could throw.

  I took a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs. I stepped back with my right foot, winding up my arm like a pitcher. I exhaled sharply.

  Release.

  I visualized the fireball detaching from my palm at the apex of the throw.

  With that thought held firmly in my mind, I whipped my arm forward with all the strength I had.

  Whoosh.

  My arm snapped down, and the fireball left my hand with a sharp hiss. It didn't fizzle. It flew. It streaked through the cold air, a comet of orange light against the grey forest.

  In the distance, fifty meters away, it struck a pine tree.

  Fwoom.

  It wasn't an explosion like Corbin’s. But the bark scorched instantly, flames licking up the trunk. The tree shook, dumping a load of snow from its branches with a soft whump.

  I stared at my hand, eyes wide.

  It worked! It wasn't nearly as fast or destructive as Corbin’s, but it had hit a target fifty meters away. Accurately.

  He was right.

  Unconsciously, my gaze drifted to Corbin. He was nodding, eyes closed, a look of satisfied approval on his face.

  I opened my mouth to say something, maybe even thank him, when a loud creaaaak cut through the air behind me.

  I spun around.

  The front door of the Clayborne farmhouse was grinding open, scraping over the uneven floorboards.

  A sword tip emerged first, shaking violently. And then, a face appeared in the gap.

  Orin Clayborne.

  The man who stepped out was a ghost of the stoic farmer I remembered. He was gaunt, his cheeks hollowed out. His beard was long and matted with filth. Lesions and fresh scars littered his face and arms. But it was his eyes that hit me hardest. They were devoid of hope. Hollow pits of despair.

  I wanted to say ten thousand things in that moment. I wanted to scream at him, to rage, to make him suffer for what he did to me.

  But all I saw was a broken man who had stayed behind in a hopeless siege to protect his home and his son. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, that was damn brave. Respectable, even.

  The joy of my magical breakthrough evaporated instantly. Now, I had to confront the man who sold me into slavery.

  Orin looked at us, one by one.

  He looked at Idris, confusion clouding his eyes. He looked at Otis, fear reflecting in his face at the sight of the giant. He looked at Corbin, and the hand gripping his sword trembled even harder.

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  But when his gaze landed on me, the sword clattered to the floor.

  Recognition. And then, crushing remorse.

  He looked down at the snow, shame radiating off him in waves. He gripped his own wrist as if to stop himself from shaking.

  But beside him, a smaller figure appeared in the doorway. A spear tip poked out, followed by a young, coughing voice.

  “Papa? Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

  Orin flinched as if struck. He spun around, shoving the spear back inside and slamming the heavy door shut. He put his back against it, gripping the handle with white-knuckled desperation. He looked at me again. This time, there was resolve in his eyes.

  “I don’t have the strength to fight you,” he rasped through gritted teeth. “And honestly… I don’t have the will. But I beg you. Please. Spare my son. I beg you…”

  From inside, the door rattled violently.

  “NO! NOT MY PAPA! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUUUUUUUT!” Jory screamed, hammering against the wood.

  Orin held the door shut with his whole body, tears streaming down his face as he listened to his son’s panic. He bit his lip so hard blood began to trickle down his chin.

  I closed my eyes for a second, blocking out the heartbreaking image. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I had to do.

  When I opened them again, my resolve was set.

  Slowly, I raised my arm, aiming my palm directly at the man who was trying to save his son from a fate he himself had set in motion.

  I gathered mana in my palm. The air around my hand began to hum with the concentrated power.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Idris start to move towards me, hand reached out to stop me.

  He was too slow.

  I released the magic.

  Gravity: Pull.

  It hit Orin like an invisible hook. It ripped him away from the door, dragging him across the snowy yard. His knees dug furrows in the ice as he flew towards me, eyes wide with terror.

  But before he crashed into me, I released the spell.

  Orin collapsed in the snow at my feet, landing hard on his back. I leaned down, grabbing the front of his filthy shirt. He gasped for air, staring up at me in absolute fear as I hauled him up to his knees.

  Suddenly, the farmhouse door burst open.

  Jory ran out, screaming. “LET MY PAPA GO!”

  He raised his spear, charging at me. I lifted my free hand to cast a gust of wind, but before I could, a leg shot out.

  Corbin tripped the boy effortlessly. Jory sprawled face-first into the snow.

  Shaking my head, I dropped my arm and looked back at Orin.

  “You will pay for what you did to me,” I hissed, my face inches from his.

  Hearing this, Jory let out a wail of despair from the snow, tears streaming down his face.

  “But not today.”

  I let go of Orin’s shirt, letting him slump back into the snow.

  Orin blinked, confused, tears mixing with the flakes falling on his face. He looked at me, then at his hands, realizing he was still alive. Relief washed over him, so potent it looked painful.

  With a groan, he forced himself to sit up, his limbs shaking. Jory scrambled up from the ground and ran to his father, throwing his arms around Orin’s neck. The two embraced in the snow, sobbing, clinging to each other as if the world was ending.

  Sighing, I turned away.

  He did the wrong thing for the right reasons. Did that excuse it? No. Who knew how many other people he might have hurt, how many other lives he might have ruined out of desperation?

  But killing him now wouldn't fix anything. And I needed him.

  “I am here to uncover the source of the goblins,” I announced, my voice cutting through their sobs. “Until I find it, we are setting up camp here. Otis will help you defend the farm while we are gone.”

  I pointed at the pile of muscle, who looked at me in perplexity. Orin followed my gaze, swallowing hard at the size of the man.

  “I will tolerate no objections,” I added sharply. “Otherwise, you can piss off to Millstone. Understood?”

  Orin nodded frantically, bowing his head. “Yes… My Lord.”

  My eye twitched. My Lord.

  In this world, just like my old one, power was the only currency that mattered. Months ago, Orin had the power. Today, I did.

  I waved Idris over.

  “Can you help Otis and those two unload the carriage? When you’re done, have Otis patrol the perimeter and secure the area. We meet at sunset for food.”

  Idris gave me a mock salute, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yes… My Lord.”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn't help a small smile. “Otis. While I’m gone, Idris is your boss. You do what he says and protect this farm.”

  I turned back to Orin one last time. He was watching me with uncertain hope.

  “We met Vana and Willow in Millstone yesterday,” I said quietly. “They are well. But now, about you.”

  Orin and Jory looked at me, tension returning. Jory looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, but not as starved as his father.

  “You will help me,” I said. “In exchange, we protect your farm and you eat with us. After you unload the carriage with Idris, I want you to tend to the horse and store the carriage in the barn. Then you can rest and eat.”

  Orin looked at me as if I had offered him a kingdom. Jory, however, looked like I had spit in his soup. He stood up, mouth opening to argue.

  I raised a hand, cutting him off. “If it’s not life-or-death, save it for later. I just want to know one thing: Which direction do the goblins come from?”

  Orin didn't hesitate. He turned and pointed a trembling finger towards the dense forest behind the house.

  He looked torn for a moment, then whispered, “Thank you…”

  I turned away without acknowledging it and walked towards Corbin, who was watching the whole scene with amused curiosity.

  “I see you have everything under control, Exalted Adept of House Ainsworth,” he said, bowing with exaggerated reverence.

  I sighed loudly. Corbin let out a guttural laugh.

  “Come on. Let’s not waste time,” I said, waving for him to follow as I trudged through the deep snow past the goblin corpses.

  “What makes you think I’m following you?” Corbin lamented from behind me.

  “Simple. If you let me die, the Patriarch won’t find it very funny.”

  Corbin laughed again. “You’re learning. Not bad. But tell me… what’s the deal with the guy you almost disassembled back there?”

  “That’s the idiot who sold me to Lord Shitsworth,” I explained, ducking under a low-hanging pine branch.

  Corbin whistled, impressed. “That’s the Bloodhound? Okay. But how? I know he operated in Aegis for years. How did you run into him out here in the boonies?”

  I stopped and turned to him. “I woke up near here a few months ago. No memories. Then I met Orin Clayborne. I helped him water his dying crops, and as a thank you, he sold me.”

  Corbin nodded slowly, filing the information away, but said nothing more.

  We walked in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of snow and the wind in the trees.

  “What do you hope to find here?” he asked casually after a few minutes.

  I shrugged. “When I woke up here, I fought a goblin before I met the Claybornes. According to them, they had never seen goblins in this area before. The people in Millstone said the attacks only started in the last few months. So something happened recently to trigger this.”

  Corbin didn't comment, just grumbled when a clump of snow fell from a branch onto his head. Having a conversation with him felt weird… transactional.

  We walked for what felt like an hour, moving deeper into the woods. The trees grew denser, blocking out what little light remained in the grey sky.

  Our journey was uneventful for a long time. We saw a few deer darting through the trees, skittish and panicked, but no sign of goblins. Corbin was already looking bored, kicking at snowdrifts, and I was starting to debate turning back.

  Then, as if on cue, a scream tore through the forest.

  It didn't sound human.

  I looked at Corbin, confused. He just rolled his eyes and shooed me forward.

  The screaming didn't stop. As we got closer, I recognized it. It was an animal. A deer, maybe? But beneath the screams, I heard something else.

  Giggling? A manic, chittering laughter.

  Confused and on edge, I crept forward through the snow until we reached the edge of a clearing.

  Ahead of us, a snow-covered mountain rose into the grey sky. At its base was a gaping hole reinforced with rotting wooden beams. An old mine entrance.

  Curious, I stepped out of the treeline.

  Corbin’s hand shot out, grabbing my shoulder and jerking me back. He pointed silently to the other side of the clearing.

  Goblins.

  A group of five or six of them. They were dragging a large buck behind them. The animal was screaming, thrashing its head wildly, its antlers carving furrows in the snow. But its legs were useless, gripped firmly by the goblins as they hauled it backward.

  Did they cut its tendons?

  Shocked, I looked from the gruesome scene to Corbin. He stared back, his face grim, and pointed back to the mine.

  The goblins dragged the screaming deer towards the dark maw of the tunnel.

  But as they reached the entrance, the deer stopped thrashing. It lifted its head, its wide, terrified eyes locking directly onto our hiding spot.

  It stared right at us as it disappeared into the darkness of the mine.