She meticulously reviewed the numbers, the cold, hard data reflecting her progress. It was still surreal, this tangible representation of her growth. The ability to quantify her physical strength, to see it laid out so descriptively, was mind-bending. It was like peering into the matrix of her own body, a level of self-awareness she’d never imagined having in the military.
Another example of this delightful madness was Sarah's decision to invest her fifteen unspent points into Wisdom. Again. The boost to her mana reserves wasn't just a simple addition; it was a multiplier. It would significantly extend the duration she could maintain her forms and equipment, effectively doubling and then tripling her original base MP. This, in turn, amplified the impact of her Strength stat far beyond the initial value of those fifteen points. It was a synergistic effect, a cascade of power she was only beginning to understand.
When she applied all her buffs simultaneously, the results were staggering, almost overwhelming. Her strength surged, her senses heightened, and her magic crackled with potent energy. The transformation was exhilarating, but also… Unpredictable.
She’d practiced several times, and while her control had improved, her movements were still somewhat erratic, a dance on the edge of chaos. She knew, with a thrill of anticipation, that mastery would come with time and dedicated training. She imagined herself one day moving with the fluid grace of a dancer, wielding this augmented power with precision and finesse.
As Sarah ascended the stairs, the Tower of Death, usually permeated with the musty scent of age and forgotten magic, was alive with a symphony of aromas. Spices from distant lands mingled with the rich, savory scent of roasting meat, creating a tantalizing olfactory tapestry that hinted at culinary wonders.
The air hummed with an energy that was entirely different from the somber atmosphere she was accustomed to. Inside the surprisingly spacious kitchen, Melissa, the female equivalent to Gordon Ramsey, was orchestrating a culinary masterpiece.
Seasoned with age and experience, Melissa moved with a practiced efficiency that belied her years. Her hands, gnarled and strong, wielded her knives with the precision of a surgeon, perfectly chopping, dicing, and mincing the vibrant ingredients. She expertly fried, sautéed, and simmered, coaxing flavors from the raw materials that Sarah had rarely, if ever, experienced.
The sight alone was enough to make her mouth water. It was the kind of cooking that spoke of generations of knowledge, of a deep understanding of ingredients and techniques. Sarah’s stomach rumbled in anticipation.
The ingredients she had ordered had clearly arrived, fresh and abundant. And since she wasn't currently occupied with administering a trial, Melissa had taken it upon herself to prepare dinner. The aroma alone was a testament to her skill, a promise of a feast to come.
Sarah had never been happier with her decision to hire the mage. It wasn't just her magical prowess that made her invaluable; it was her ability to transform the mundane into the extraordinary, whether it was manipulating mana or crafting a meal fit for the gods. Sarah knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that tonight’s dinner would be an experience to remember.
She leaned back in her chair, a contented sigh escaping her lips. The remnants of Melissa’s culinary magic lingered on her palate – the savory tang of the roasted beef, the delicate sweetness of the purple root vegetable, and the rich, earthy notes of the onion potatoes. It wasn't just food; it was an experience, a symphony of flavors orchestrated by a mage who could coax magic from the mundane.
Sarah felt a warmth spread through her, a deep satisfaction with her decision to bring Melissa into her life. It wasn't just about the magical prowess; it was the way Melissa infused every aspect of life with a touch of the extraordinary.
After a pleasant chat with Solus, whose usual melancholy seemed to have lifted for the day, Sarah finally succumbed to the pull of the book that had been calling to her. Runic Formations I lay open on the table, its pages filled with intricate symbols that whispered of hidden powers.
Her fingers traced the delicate lines of a particularly complex rune, her brow furrowed in concentration. The Refrigeration Rune, or Preservation Rune as some might call it, was still absent, a frustrating reminder that her quest was only just beginning.
But she wouldn’t be deterred. This was just the first volume, a foundation upon which she would build her understanding. She would delve into every nuance, every subtle variation, until the secrets of the runes were laid bare before her.
The book was a treasure trove of knowledge. Each rune was meticulously detailed, its purpose and potential laid out with painstaking precision. Sarah devoured the information, her mind buzzing with new concepts and possibilities that only people from a progressive society would think of.
She felt a thrill course through her as she began to decipher the intricate patterns, the language of magic slowly revealing itself to her. Hours melted away as she immersed herself in the study of the runes, her focus unwavering.
In the quiet intensity of her concentration, something shifted within her. Two distinct messages echoed in her mind:
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
A small smile played on her lips. The first skill, (Runic Comprehension), was exactly what she expected. It was the key, the Rosetta Stone that would unlock the secrets of the runes. Even now, she could feel a hint of understanding blossoming within her, a flicker of insight into the drawing of magic.
The second skill, (Copy Rune), was more intriguing. She read the description carefully:
(Copy Rune)
- Take a rune you already know and apply it elsewhere. One copy can be held per level.
The implications of this skill were mega. The ability to replicate a rune, to imprint its power onto another object, woikd be a powerful tool. But the limitation was clear: she could only copy runes she already knew. Frustration nipped at her heels. The Preservation Rune remained tantalizingly out of reach. She couldn't copy what she didn't understand.
But Sarah wouldn't let disappointment take root. This was a challenge, a hurdle to overcome, not a roadblock. She closed the book, a new determination hardening her gaze.
Time was on her side. With each passing day, her understanding of the runes would deepen, her knowledge would expand the more she studied. And one day, she knew with unwavering certainty, she would master the Preservation Rune.
The image of a perfectly chilled container, filled with fresh ingredients, danced in her mind. It wasn't just about convenience; it was about mastering the magic that surrounded her, about bending it to her will. She would unlock the secrets of the runes, one by one, until the magic of Ciria answered to her.
Sarah drifted off to sleep, a picture of blissful bunny contentment. Not the likely-to-expire-on-sight variety, mind you, but the kind that dreams of endless carrot fields and fluffy tail-twitching. Morning dawned, and just like the night before, Sarah was presented with a culinary masterpiece. This time courtesy of Ariel.
Watching the twelve-year-old smash out the equivalent of what could only be described as "a full English breakfast on steroids" was a sight to behold. Impressive, certainly. Slightly terrifying, also yes. Was she secretly a dragon in disguise? Sarah pondered these weighty questions as the feast arrived.
When the dust settled (and by dust, I mean the crumbs from approximately a dozen rashers of bacon), the kitchen was sparkling. Breakfast itself was a glorious symphony of breakfasty goodness. Sausages – the precise meat origin of which Sarah didn't care – bacon (glorious, magnificent, life-affirming bacon), and all the usual suspects were present and accounted for. Plus, two mysterious, meaty-looking additions that Sarah tackled with gusto. When in doubt, eat. That was her motto.
"Is everyone just a Michelin-starred chef around here?" she mused, observing Sebastian, who was currently inhaling a portion of food roughly three times the size of his stomach. Mellisa was tucking in heartily, while Ariel maintained an air of elegant refinement as she consumed her (admittedly enormous) breakfast.
The door stood open, and Solus’s voice drifted in, a mournful lament about his inability to see anything and the urgent need to relocate the entire dining experience to the fountain. "We should eat al fresco!" he wailed, apparently unaware that "al fresco" usually implied sunshine and pleasant temperatures, neither of which were currently on offer in the slightly chilly tower.
Sarah contemplated redesigning the tower’s layout yet again. She had a vision, a grand architectural plan involving slightly fewer spiral staircases and considerably more comfortable armchairs. However, she was loath to keep throwing souls at the problem. Souls weren't exactly growing on trees (or, more accurately, weren't spontaneously combusting into existence).
She decided a bit of strategic planning was in order. She'd sketch out her dream tower, create a blueprint for domestic bliss, and then unleash the soul-powered construction crew one more time. No more impulsive redecorating. This was going to be a project.
The goblins provided a trickle of soul-power, but it was hardly enough to fuel her architectural ambitions. There weren't enough of them. It wasn't glamorous work, but she used to the grind of being beaten down only to rise back up.
Ariel, ever efficient, deposited the earnings from the tower's last two days' takings. Another satisfyingly heavy bag of silver disappeared into Sarah's ring, nicely plump with coins.
Sarah’s mind instantly conjured images of towering stacks of books, their crisp pages whispering promises of untold adventures.
The tower's revenue was first used to pay the merchants who now kept the tower's pantries full. Sarah much preferred this arrangement. The logistical nightmare of coordinating daily food deliveries for a small army of residents? Absolutely not her forte. That was a job best left to the professionals, the logistics wizards.
After a cheerful farewell, Sarah stepped out of the tower, embarking on her first quest of the day: Operation New Wardrobe. While she wasn't exactly unhappy with the Necromancer Robe – it had a certain dramatic flair, after all – she craved the simple comforts of pajamas for sleeping and something a tad more breathable for her morning runs.
The Shoes of Necromancer, however, remained a non-negotiable part of her ensemble. Those were staying put. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever replace the sheer power of footwear imbued with necromantic energies. Comfort, speed and stealth? Yes, please. Style? Absolutely. And a subtle hint of otherworldly power? Indisputably.
Sarah chose a shop on Central Street, its storefront promising an eclectic mix of garments. Stepping inside, she was greeted by a delightful chaos of fabrics and textures. Clothes lined the walls, hung from rafters, and overflowed from racks that snaked through the shop like metallic rivers. Sarah wandered for a few minutes, admiring the vibrant colors and curious designs, before realizing that a little expert guidance was in order.
"Hi there," she called out to the elderly gentleman behind the counter. He had a neatly trimmed dark brown beard that spoke of meticulous care, and his eyes, though a warm brown, held a twinkle of knowing amusement. His attire suggested a tailor, but his overall demeanor hinted at something more… Perhaps a touch of the retired adventurer?
"Well now, hello there, young lady," he replied, a hint of a wry smile playing on his lips. "I'm Winston, the proprietor of this humble establishment. What can I do for you today?"
Sarah launched into her request, a list that included running clothes, something cozy for sleeping, and perhaps a few other bits and bobs that caught her eye. Winston, with the practiced ease of a seasoned professional, whisked her away to various sections of the shop. He seemed to know exactly where everything was, pulling out items that perfectly matched Sarah's descriptions. Before she knew it, she was back at the counter, a mountain of clothing in her arms.
"You know," Sarah remarked, grinning, "I spent ages browsing on my own and found nothing, while you led me straight to what I needed like a seasoned pro. What do I owe you, Winston?" She loved good service, especially when accompanied by a friendly smile, and slipped him an extra silver coin as a token of her appreciation.
There was a good reason Sarah had chosen a tailor over a seamstress. Soldiers, she reasoned, didn't wear frilly dresses. They wore practical, functional clothing. And Sarah, whether she admitted it or not, was starting to feel more like a soldier again now she was wearing pants. Albeit a soldier with a burgeoning library and a penchant for comfortable pajamas.