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Chapter 4: Mana

  The turtle moved.

  A single step, slow and deliberate. The earth groaned under its weight.

  Basil’s grip on his spear tightened. His instincts screamed at him: this wasn’t some goblin with a rusty dagger. The sheer mass of the beast made any direct confrontation suicidal.

  Run.

  His body tensed. If he sprinted now, would he make it? No. The moment he saw the shift in its stance, he knew. That massive bulk belied its speed. If it lunged, he wouldn’t escape in time.

  He had to outmaneuver it.

  The creature exhaled, a deep, rumbling breath. Hot air rushed past him like a desert wind. Then, without warning, it surged forward.

  Basil dove to the side, rolling as the beast’s colossal forelimb crashed down where he had stood. A shockwave rippled through the ground, sending dirt and leaves flying.

  Too fast.

  He scrambled upright, barely dodging another strike. The turtle wasn’t lumbering. It was precise. Each movement carried a deliberate, crushing force. And worse, it was cutting off his angles.

  It was herding him.

  His back hit a tree.

  Shit.

  His breath hitched. His body refused to move.

  It was over.

  The weight of it pressed down on him—not just the turtle’s presence, but everything. The exhaustion. The fear. The realization that he was alone in this nightmare, up against things he didn’t understand, didn’t know how to fight, didn’t even know how to survive.

  His fingers loosened around the spear. His legs felt weak.

  Would it be so bad to stop?

  Let it end here, quickly, instead of struggling only to die later?

  A sharp slap cracked against his cheek.

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  His head jerked to the side, except the turtle hadn’t moved.

  And yet, the sting burned.

  When he blinked, Claire stood before him. Her hands were clenched into fists, her eyes red and wet with tears.

  “Are you serious?” Her voice shook. “You’re just gonna give up?”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  Her lip trembled. “Basil, if you died here—if I found out you gave up—” She sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “I’d hate you.”

  Another slap.

  His breath hitched.

  She never hit him. Ever.

  But she would if it meant knocking sense into him.

  His fingers clenched around his spear.

  The vision faded.

  The turtle was still there. Still ready to strike.

  But so was he.

  His body snapped into motion before his mind caught up. He lunged.

  Mana surged.

  Not consciously, not like a skill he activated, but something instinctual. As natural as exhaling, as if it had been waiting for this moment. His spear thrust forward, and blue energy crackled to life, trailing along the weapon’s shaft.

  The turtle reacted instantly.

  Its eyes widened, a flicker of recognition, or maybe wariness. It twisted mid-strike, its massive body jerking away from the glowing spearhead.

  Basil didn’t wait.

  He rolled past it, the momentum carrying him into an open path. He didn’t stop to think. He ran.

  Behind him, the turtle didn’t pursue. It let out a deep, guttural rumble, watching him disappear into the mist.

  A chime echoed in his mind.

  Basil didn’t slow down. He didn’t even process the words yet. All that mattered was putting as much distance between him and that thing as possible.

  Only when the trembling in his legs eased did he glance at the notification.

  The First Arcane Spearman.

  He exhaled, gripping his spear tighter. His heart was still pounding, but beneath the exhaustion, a strange exhilaration bubbled up.

  The beast had recognized the mana in his strike.

  And for the first time since the world changed… something had backed away from him.

  But his moment of relief vanished the second he looked ahead.

  A dead end.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  A sheer cliff to his left, its jagged edge vanishing into a misty abyss. A roaring river to his right, wild and untamed. And in the center of it all—blocking the only passage forward—the turtle-snake.

  His heart pounded harder, but this time, not from exertion.

  Claire was somewhere beyond this path.

  He had no other way forward.

  Basil swallowed. His hands clenched around the spear. His body still buzzed with lingering adrenaline, but the weight in his chest only grew heavier.

  He had to get through.

  Running wouldn’t cut it. He needed a plan—something decisive. Something that forced the beast to move without putting himself in its jaws.

  His eyes flickered toward the spear in his hands.

  Mana.

  It had backed off when he used it.

  But one thrust wasn’t enough. He needed control. Consistency. Power.

  Which meant one thing.

  Training.

  Basil exhaled slowly, forcing his nerves to settle. The turtle-snake wasn’t attacking yet. Maybe it was waiting, watching, judging whether he was worth its effort. Maybe it was just territorial.

  That gave him time.

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