They left the commander's tower after some hours of handling the contract, which Reith ultimately signed, content. In his ignorant eyes, the insurance of a steady wage and provision of accommodation, weaponry, access to library, and many more privileges, all profited Reith more than Gawain. It served to demonstrate how serious the man handled the mission assigned by his emperor. Apparently, he had additionally taken a liking to Reith.

On his way out, Gawain had interrupted him and said, "One last thing, lord. You'd do well to hide that bag of yours. I won't question what they did to earn your ire, but the Lycheres don't take kindly to men, and especially monsters, who slaughters their own."

One of the guards from earlier, now frozen wretches nestled in their cloaks for warmth, nodded toward him as Reith passed them too buried in thought to notice. A rough outline of a plan had begun to manifest, constructed around what he'd learnt and his speculations. The goal was to acquire enough power to force the people to tremble before him. And to do so, he would need to absorb the abilities from a wide range of specimen, common and rare, which would be possible through the vanguard division of House Maryen. Once he had enough power and influence in this world, he could start worrying over how to return to the Milky Way galaxy.

Reith inspected the surroundings. Guardsmen in the black and white clothing of Rangers had gathered in the courtyard, the clang of iron against iron and the mockery of crows filled the valley. Some of them had paused to stare at Reith and his direwolf in wonder or worry. Distinguished from the lot was Derik Lycheres, overlooking the training rangers from the raised dais against the wall. He sneered at the sight of the undead, and his sharp stench struck Reith despite the fifty or so metres. He responded in kind and bared his fangs. One day Derik would come to regret his aggression, Reith promised.

Reith continued onward until he arrived before a slightly desolated building, yet broader than any he'd previously encountered. This fortification was a rickety mess, but the building in front resembled at least what Reith imagined as a medieval mansion.

According to Gawain, it belonged to the local Mavenist, servants of the Grand Archives at the heart of the empire, an eccentric group that specialised in magyk research and oftentimes healing and alchemy. To Reith, they sounded like modern-day engineers and doctors, though it seemed a little too peculiar for them to be the only people affiliated with these subjects.

However, before Reith could access, the wizened, loosely dressed Mavenist leapt out, a sweet odour emitted with his appearance. Eagerly his magyk-radiating eyes scanned Reith and his wolf before he commented, "Remarkable! Never in my days—"

The direwolf vaulted to shield the master, but Reith calmed her down by stroking her back. The unkempt, dishevelled look prompted lunacy or poverty, but his energetic expression put him on guard. Reith could understand why he didn't dwell amongst the masses and what Gawain meant by unconventional.

"The High Commander sent me to 'get ready'," Reith interjected, still curious about the meaning.

The Mavenist coughed and bobbed his head. "Of course, of course. Please, enter."

They entered the mansion packed to its brim with scorched, frosted, and shredded papers; books of ancient origin; rocks, metal, blossoms that defied common sense; and finally utensils for research littered around every corner in bundles. It was a labyrinth of corridors and rooms that went on down another staircase underground. The unexpected size of the estate and its quantities of material made him inquire about how old the construct was.

"Three Grand Mavens and five Mavenists before me, with I being the ninth. Maybe the last if the Council of the Archive continues to heed the advice of the Thirteen Rulers." Reith memorised the names of these organisations, as he knew they would come to be useful one day. But he had other pressing concerns, notably the radiant magyk within him. "Who exactly are you?"

He laughed and said, "A senile old man, the unfortunate to be garrisoned to the abandoned northern walls, they say. They call me Cohen."

They entered a spacious room, vacant of furniture bar a single chair at the edge of the room close by another two doors on either side. From the ceiling suspended a lantern that illuminated the place, unquestionably the work of some arcane magic.

Cohen drifted to the centre without any explanation and relaxed crisscrossed on the white marble. Reith unwound as the man closed his eyes, seemingly to rest. His body had been prepared to teleport and fight the second he saw the sparring arena. The secrecy of Gawain had only made him more suspicious of the entire setup of getting 'ready'.

Just when Reith was about to ask, the man flicked his fingers, and Cohen's magyk faded away until not a speck remained in the air, then he opened his eyes.

"I may not be a sorcerer like the rangers, but I am Gawain's most trusted aide, and is one of humanity's fundamental spells that is as natural as is walking. I will teach you this spell, lest your remarkable magyk would terrorise the local residents. You need to evade the eyes of the Inquisitors, after all."

This news stunned Reith. Not only would they provide him with such an ingenious spell, but they would teach him. One of the main flaws with his siphonage ability, Reith had realised, was that he acquired one among many. The pyromancer called Ilsa had multiple spells but transferred only one. It wouldn't be reliable if he wanted a specific spell. Instead, he would have to learn it through different methods, which he previously had no idea how to accomplish.

Suddenly excited, Reith stepped across the floor and followed Cohen's example. Seated on the marble floor, he asked, "How would I do that?"

Cohen widened his eyes in surprise and stood. "You don't know? Cast me a spell, any spell, quick!"

Reith viewed him with suspicion but complied nonetheless. It would be foolish to throw away any chance to learn the art of acquiring spellcraft. At first he considered casting but at second thought settled for his newest addition, .

His body evaporated into atoms, then integrated into a single point of the shadow that used to be his own. The speck was tiny and required a person to be remarkably vigilant and in a moderately vacant room like the current one to be discovered. Reith observed the world from the floor, immense and endless, yet traversed with a speed that exceeded running. He concealed himself in the shadow of a trembling Mavenist and deactivated the spell. It was far from inexpensive to operate.

Reith backed away from the man in distaste. Cohen looked as though he'd witnessed a ghost. "Remarkable, remarkable, truly remarkable!" He continued to scratch his throat cruelly until blood trickled across his drab cloak, then he took a deep breath.

"Tier 7 . . . maybe higher, with no incantation or suggestions of bodily movement. My lord, forgive my inquiring, but are you one of the Chosen?"

"You're speaking riddles, old man," Reith said, perplexed. "Explain."

"Apologies," Cohen said and bowed, "The Chosen are mighty beings without a soul - that is soulless - and unlike others, they need not bind the magyk of the world with words or voiceless incantations. They are connected to the world, and their command is absolute. It's an honour to meet a legendary being like you before my fall, my lord."

Silence followed as Reith contemplated, not really comprehending how impressive this feat was made out to be. True, in a duel, Reith would have a massive advantage as his armaments could unleash some moments faster, but from what he'd observed up to this point, the beings with souls were just as competent with quick incantations. Add multiple combatants into the picture, and suddenly the advantage is drastically mitigated.

"Then are you incapable of imparting me your spellcraft as promised?" Reith conjectured. That would be problematic.

"I might, my lord. My only knowledge of the subject is that the Emperor and his Thirteen Rulers are beings such as yourself, albeit human. But I am willing to try if that's your desire."

"Then please do, Cohen."

The Mavenist lowered his head, "As you wish, my lord."