He stepped closer and placed a hand on Zachary's shoulder, his grip firm but not hostile. "That skill you used," Kairoth began, his voice steady, "is a creation-type ability."
His eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing him even deeper. "Only a handful of individuals can wield such power."
Zachary stayed still, listening.
"But," Kairoth continued, "every user of that ability pays a price. They lose a portion of their mana in the process."
His tone carried a quiet warning, not out of concern—but out of knowledge. He had seen it before. Perhaps… too many times.
Then, slowly, Kairoth removed his hand.
He took a step back, his expression shifting into something more serious.
Something calculating.
"A boy like you… possessing that skill," he said, his voice lowering, "yet still being a level 1 mage…"
He paused.
"…is more than unusual. It's an understatement."
Zachary didn't respond.
But Kairoth's gaze sharpened.
"You have potential," he said plainly. "And I like that." A faint smile appeared on his face, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Your abilities may differ from mine… but if you continue to grow…"
His voice darkened.
"…you might become something even I would regret not choosing."
The air suddenly grew heavy.
Then—
Darkness.
It swallowed everything.
No sound.
No light.
No presence.
Just… nothing.
For a brief moment, it felt like time itself had stopped.
And then—
Zachary's eyes shot open.
He gasped sharply, his lungs dragging in air as if he had been drowning for days.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his body trembling from the sudden return to reality. His vision blurred before slowly stabilizing.
White.
Clean.
Bright.
He was lying on a bed.
A hospital room.
Tubes were connected to his arms, monitors beeping steadily beside him. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, sharp and unmistakable.
For a moment, he couldn't move—his body still catching up to his mind.
Then a voice broke the silence.
"He's awake!"
Footsteps rushed toward him.
Men in black suits rushed into the room, their movements sharp and coordinated.
Even indoors, they wore dark sunglasses, their expressions hidden behind cold professionalism. They surrounded Zachary's bed in seconds, their presence suffocating in a different way than the dungeon had been.
"You're awake, Mister Zachary Quinn," one of them said, his tone controlled and official.
Zachary blinked, still trying to process everything. "W-what's going on?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.
His eyes darted between them, confusion settling in. "And where's Cole… and the others?"
The men went silent.
Too silent.
Zachary's heart skipped a beat.
"They…" one of them began—
"Died!?" Zachary cut in immediately, his voice rising in panic. His chest tightened, fear gripping him before the answer even came.
"No, no, Mister Zachary Quinn," another man said quickly, raising a hand slightly. "They're alive." His tone remained calm, almost detached. "They are currently in the adjacent room.
However… they sustained injuries. Pieces of shrapnel are still embedded in their bodies."
Zachary exhaled deeply.
"Phew…" His body relaxed slightly against the bed, relief washing over him. At least they were alive. That was enough—for now.