The forest at night was a terrifying and primordial place. It was a dense ocean of ancient oaks, imposing pines, and twisted, thorny undergrowth. In the original timeline of the story, this forest would soon become a nightmare landscape infested by red-eyed demonic beasts — deformed animals mutated by the corrupting magic of the Months of the Demons. Ferocious wolves with super-jumps, boars with armored hides, and monstrous hybrids that a human being could never defeat without firearms.
But Arthur knew the timeline. Winter had not yet arrived. The magical corruption hovering in the air had not yet saturated the land. The animals inhabiting that forest were just animals. They were normal creatures, searching for the last traces of food before the snow buried their world.
They were the perfect test subjects.
Arthur crossed the tree line, instantly adjusting his altitude. He couldn't fly above the treetops — that would put him above the five-meter limit from the ground, and the fragile branches wouldn't support his telekinetic push. Instead, he descended, weaving between the thick trunks, hovering silently about two meters above the forest floor. He glided over dead leaves and frozen ferns, moving like a ghost through the silver-speckled darkness.
He narrowed his eyes, relying less on his mortal vision and more on his newly expanded telekinetic senses. His mind cast an invisible net outward, searching for disturbances in the air currents, mass displacements, and the subtle vibrations of life.
It didn't take long.
About sixty paces to his right, near the exposed roots of a massive, decaying cedar, he felt it. A small, rhythmic pulsation. A heartbeat. A cluster of bioelectric heat and kinetic anxiety.
Arthur floated toward the source in complete silence. No snapping of twigs. No rustling of leaves.
Nestled in a shallow burrow between the roots was a wild forest rabbit, twice the size of a common rabbit from Earth. Its long ears swiveled frantically, alert to the sounds of the night. It was an animal evolved to detect predators — but it was listening for the stealthy pad of a wolf's paw or the slither of a snake. It possessed no evolutionary defense against a human hovering in the air, projecting an invisible force field.
Arthur stopped three meters away, floating in the darkness. He looked at the creature. A week ago, an eternity ago, he would have needed a trap, a crossbow, or an incredible stroke of luck to catch it. Now, the physical distance between them meant absolutely nothing.
He extended his will. He didn't form a telekinetic "hand" to grab the rabbit by the scruff of the neck — that would be inefficient and prone to struggling. He wanted clinical, instantaneous lethality. He drew upon his knowledge of anatomy, focusing entirely on the delicate cluster of cervical vertebrae at the base of the rabbit's skull.
He wrapped the spine with a diaphanous thread of psychic energy. He felt the animal's rapid, terrified pulse through the ethereal link.
Then, he simply twisted.
It was a sickeningly quiet sound in the silent forest. The rabbit's head jerked violently to the side at an unnatural angle. It didn't squeak. It didn't thrash. Its nervous system was instantly severed. Life left its body before its brain could even process the trauma.
Arthur felt a strange, distant shiver run through his body. There was no physical feedback. When a man wields a sword and cuts through flesh, he feels the violent impact travel up his arms, smells the metallic scent of blood, hears the visceral snap of muscle. Telekinesis eliminated all of that. It was a kill devoid of physical intimacy. It was clean. It was terrifying.
— "The brutality of Deoxys," — Arthur murmured. — "An absolute and overwhelming pressure." —
He lifted the inert carcass into the air, letting it float obediently behind him like a macabre balloon. A single kill was not enough to satisfy his empirical curiosity. A rabbit on the ground was a static target. He needed to test his tracking and precision on something dynamic. Something that moved in three dimensions.
He adjusted his trajectory, gliding deeper into the forest, directing his senses into the labyrinth of branches.
Ten minutes later, his psychic net caught a new vibration. High in the branches of an ancient, moss-covered oak, a large bird was perched. From its silhouette and the faint hooting sound it made, Arthur deduced it was a horned owl, a nocturnal predator currently scanning the ground for the very same rabbits Arthur was hunting.
This required a different approach. He couldn't just snap the neck of a bird perched amidst dense branches without causing a commotion.
Arthur hovered directly below the oak, about four meters off the ground, looking up at the shadowy shape. This time, he didn't target the bones. He targeted the atmosphere itself.
Drawing inspiration from the vacuum of space, Arthur localized a sphere of telekinetic energy directly around the owl's body. Instead of applying brute force, he commanded the air pressure within that sphere to multiply instantly. He created a miniature, localized implosion — a crushing force of pure, invisible gravity.
The result was instantaneous.
The owl didn't even have a chance to open its wings. Its delicate, hollow bones could not withstand the crushing force of the atmosphere. Its lungs collapsed, its ribs caved inward, and its heart ruptured under the invisible weight. The bird tumbled backward off the branch, plummeting toward the forest floor.
Before it could hit the ground and alert any predators, Arthur deftly caught it in mid-air. He reeled it in, letting it join the rabbit floating silently behind him.
He spent the next two hours in a state of absolute predatory flow. The forest, which should have been a place of danger and uncertainty, had become his personal laboratory. He moved with a terrifying grace, a ghost among the trees. He hunted another rabbit, a large pheasant, and even managed to intercept a fox leaping through the air, paralyzing its limbs with a thought before crushing its windpipe.
With every execution, his control became more refined, his application of force more efficient. He learned that he didn't need to use a sledgehammer when a scalpel would suffice. He discovered that by compressing a specific artery, he could induce instant unconsciousness. By applying localized, precise kinetic bursts, he could damage the brain.
He wasn't just a magic user; he was an alpha predator evolving in real-time.
This was the true potential of the Magic Power [Telekinesis].
As he hovered in a small clearing, surrounded by the floating bodies of his nocturnal harvest, Arthur allowed himself to truly reflect on his position in that world.
If William was destined to be the shining "Protagonist," the charismatic leader who would rally the troops, charge the demonic lines with a gleaming sword, and inspire the masses with his bravery, then Arthur was perfectly content to be the "Shadow Architect."
William could have the glory. William could have the applause of the militiamen and the admiration of the witches.
Arthur would be the reason enemy commanders suffered sudden, inexplicable fatal aneurysms in the middle of their speeches. Arthur would be the reason heavy siege ladders shattered and collapsed onto invading troops. Arthur would be the invisible, impenetrable shield that intercepted the rain of arrows before they even scratched the castle walls.
He thought of Prince Roland, the brilliant engineer desperately trying to drag this medieval world into the industrial age with steam engines, cement, and gunpowder. Roland believed technology was the great equalizer, the only way for ordinary humans to stand against the magical supremacy of demons and the church. Roland was a genius, without a doubt.
But not even Roland knew that, sitting quietly on his administrative council, there was a man who had simply bypassed the need for a musket. Why build a cannon when Arthur could accelerate an iron bullet to supersonic speeds with a mere thought? Why build walls when Arthur could weave a hyper-resistant kinetic barrier?
The sky began to lighten slightly in the east, the deep black giving way to a pale indigo, the herald of dawn. It was time to return.
Arthur leaned smoothly into the air, turning his body back toward Border Town. He glided through the trees, the invisible net of dead animals obediently trailing him. The flight back was even faster. He surfed the telekinetic currents with ease, his mind effortlessly managing complex calculations of distance, altitude, and momentum.
He cleared the tree line and flew over the waking town. Roosters were beginning to crow, and the first spirals of smoke rose from the chimneys of a few houses and taverns. He maintained his altitude, staying just below the five-meter limit above the castle walls, a fleeting shadow against the morning twilight.
He approached his window, slowed down smoothly, and drifted back into his quarters.
With a soft sigh, he released his telekinesis. His boots touched the stone floor, and the sudden return of gravity made his knees buckle for a fraction of a second. He placed the burlap sack containing the animals carefully in a corner of the room. Later that morning, he would take them to the kitchen, claiming to have set some ingenious traps during a night stroll. This would further reinforce his image as a practical, resourceful, and completely ordinary advisor.
Arthur walked over to his bed and sat down. With a wave of his hand, he reactivated the blue interface.
[DIMENSIONAL SYSTEM]
User: [Arthur]
Location: Concealing Forest, Kingdom of Graycastle.
[Attributes]
Strength: 6
Speed: 7
Endurance: 8
Agility: 8
Intelligence: 14
Magic Power: 8 (Telekinesis)
His eyes narrowed as they focused on the last line. He had spent hours flying, crushing bones, manipulating atmospheric pressure, and maintaining a complex sensory network. In any RPG or fantasy novel, his "mana" bar (Magic Power) should be depleted. Yet, the number remained static. A solid, unwavering "8."
He scanned the list of attributes again. Strength, Speed, Endurance, Agility, Intelligence... Something crucial was missing, something he only just realized. There was no "Stamina," "Vigor," or "Energy" attribute.
The epiphany struck him with the clarity of a bell ringing in winter. His Magic Power wasn't a reservoir that emptied like the Magic Core the witches possessed; it was a capacity, like the strength of a muscle. The number 8 didn't represent the amount of fuel in the tank, but the maximum horsepower of his engine. The magic itself was inexhaustible.
However, as he stared at the glowing screen, a dull ache throbbed in his temples, and a profound fatigue weighed on his shoulders. The magic wouldn't run out, but he would. Channeling that energy required continuous mental and physical effort. It was exactly like running: the street ahead wouldn't disappear the longer he ran, and the world's oxygen wouldn't run out, but his legs would eventually give out from the exertion. The limit of his power wasn't mystical; it was purely biological.
He dismissed the main screen.
He looked at his hands. They were perfectly steady now. The frantic, overwhelming energy of the initial upgrade had settled deep into his bones, forming a solid, permanent baseline of power in his body, enhancing even his senses.
William could keep the spotlight and the recognition of the mediocre extras. He could keep his 150 credits for "altering history" with unnecessary interventions.
Arthur had something fundamentally better. He possessed the absolute power to dictate history from the shadows, without anyone ever knowing he had interfered.
The dreaded Months of the Demons were rapidly approaching. Soon, the skies would darken, the snow would fall, and demonic and hybrid beasts would descend from the mountains. Eventually, the arrogant nobles and the entrenched army of Longsong Stronghold would try to crush this little town and usurp Roland's authority. They would march against Border Town after the Months of the Demons, expecting to face a foolish prince with a fragile "mud wall" and a handful of unprepared commoners wielding spears and bows.
They had no idea what awaited them.
They wouldn't expect to find the man who mirrored the extravagant grace of Lugia and the surgical lethality of Deoxys.
They didn't expect a man capable of simply reaching across the battlefield and stopping their hearts, all while remaining comfortably seated, sipping mulled wine.
Arthur lay back on his bed, the dry straw of the mattress crackling softly under his weight. For the first time since his disorienting arrival in this dangerous, primitive world, he didn't feel like a vulnerable passenger adrift, carried by the currents of fate. He felt like the conductor, guiding the events. And he would make certain that this bloody history ended exactly as he desired.
He closed his eyes, welcoming the exhaustion that finally began to overpower his expanded mind. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he didn't see the impending winter with its demonic beasts, nor the future demons he would struggle against. He saw only a legendary white bird flying over a stormy sea, wings spread wide—absolute power and undeniable mastery.
— "First stage completed," — Arthur murmured in the silence of the night.
Sleep quickly overtook him, but his mind remained instinctively alert. He was a silent sentinel watching over his domain, an invisible hand ready to crush anything that dared disturb his peace. The hand was open now, feeling the pulse of the world... and soon, it would close into an inevitable fist.