“… then, when we opened the cellar we found it, a dead chicken placed in the middle of a circle of bloody runes.” We heard Paul curse under his breath.”And for years we thought we had a fox in the neighbourhood.”

Seria continued. “He had apparently gotten the book from a wandering trader for a few pennies.”

While Tyson almost couldn’t hide the grin that was threatening to form on Michals shadow, the boy was far less calm. In his eyes a look of unrest.

“But he was such a nice boy, wanted to to inherit the bakery one day. Bloody witchcraft.”

For a moment there was silence, then Seria hesitantly spoke.

“Tried to tread Malekas, may he remain dead, footsteps. Now instead of living forever their gonna hang him with the last rays of the sun.”

Tyson had to give it to the village boy, he had ambitions. Trying to live up to the legacy of one of the most feared dark sorcerer’s and the only ever human to have attained immorality was quite the challenge. Sadly for the man, at the tender age of thirty three years he was murdered by a bunch of warrior priests out to correct the blasphemous act of disproving their religion.

“Hey, shadow, exited?” Tyson shuddered at the nickname but otherwise gave no reaction.

“Yeah,” Michal Moor took a moment to catch his breath “I am a little scared as well.”

Today they would visit the city to buy supplies for Michals upcoming enrolment into a school.

His senses picked up a small surge of chakra, and the boy picked up speed again, using his whole body to sprint through the forest.

They broke out of the woods, arriving at the parameter of the little farm. Sprinting over familiar dirt paths leading through the fields of golden wheat they arrived as Michals father fastened the reigns of his horses at the small worn carriage.

“There he is, my little warrior, we almost went without you.”

His father ruffled his sons hair, as Michal grinned from ear to ear.

“Well then we better get going.”

Normally they used the carriage to sell their wheat in the city, but now it was them sitting on the open wood. Only the two girls remained at home.

Tyon took the time to go over his status again.

Name: Tyson Grey Race: Spirit Order: ember Mana 10/10 Strengh: 3/10 Agility 10/20 Constitution 2/10 Chakra Volume 5/20 Chakra concentration 3/20

Almost a year ago he had accepted his class and not much had changed. His physics had improved a little curtsy of well moving, but nothing major. The biggest change had come from his ability to harness chakra.

While Spells were still a mystery to him, miss moor as Tyson preferred to call her, had by now moved on from from teaching them the intricacies of harness and instead instil lessons about magic concentration. The stat raised the performance of his spells.

And lowered his density again. It stilled his progress to a painful crawl, as every successive point in both category got increasingly hard to get. The only light on the horizon was the increased proficiency of his skill, [Chakra absorption (1)] , which somehow counteracted the effect.

Here he also learned another truth about the system, it did not hand out free power. Levels needed to be earned, and repetition without conscious improvement was meaningless. The level, he mused, only showed him his improvements in numerical values and besides getting a better class they only served as a token to boast with,

Maybe another man would be disappointed, but for Tyson was a good thing and lifted a huge weight from his shoulder. No farm boy swinging his sword everyday could cut trough a mountain.

Only his level in [Hexenmeister (1) and [Fear of the dark (1)] had been different. The active skill was smoother, better, and his rituals had once again been strengthened. Maybe because they were class related.

The only slight had been that he had still been granted the [Ritual] skill, he was sure existed in some form or another. With a lack of literature available, his only way of progression had been blind experiments.

It took about two hours to arrive at Blearock and already Tyson could see that the town was fairly large, compared to medival towns in his world.

Grey walls of Stone surrounded the city, and once they would have been a mighty sign to behold. Now however, the battlements were scorched and ravaged, no one having the founds or ambition to rebuild them. The war of ascension, as it was titled in the history books, had cost the old blood dearly.

As the original gate had collapsed, they walked towards a passage of the walls that had been razed down to the ground.

A small wooden construct served as the gatehous.

They were waved trough with a smile and a greeting.

People shuffled the streets dressed from simple tunics to more expensive robes, which had come into favour ever since the Mage King took the throne twenty years ago.

A small watery serpent got into a staring contest with Tyson, jet he was soon convinced it was of lesser intelligence.

“Mom, why are there so few summons? I mean the ritual is not hard and only costs a few bronze.” Tyson stirred the chakra inside of him and slowly ignited the small ember.

His red eyes staring at the air in front of him as if they dirtied his favourite clothes.

“Had you read the books in your mothers study, you would have known that every summon needs a connection and a pull.”

The dark lords voice was rough and gave every word a strange connotation, still the entire family stared at him. It had been a few weeks ago when he learned that trick and no one was used to it jet.

Miss Moor continued her explanation for her apparently illiterate son.

“A connection is a thread of fate forged by a turning point in once live, they are to a lesser extend inherited. The pull is how strong you attract the summon, and plays a role in how knowledgeable and ancient the summon is.”

Tyson meanwhile looked over the crowd again, searching for something interesting.

“Not sure how that boy even connected me.” Tyson muttered under his breath. It was as much an insult as a lie, for he knew very well when the string was tied.