Scroll 44: Reaching Toel
As the last rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy, Elise drifted closer to Alaster while they stowed their gear near the wagons. The archer kept darting curious glances his way, studying his profile until she couldn't keep her question in any longer.
"Mr. Al... your real hair color is light blue, isn't it?" she whispered, tilting her head.
Alaster froze, caught off guard by her guess. Before he could respond, the crunch of dry twigs signaled the scouts' return. Remis, Syrus, Tagard, and Berona emerged from the brush after surveying the camp's perimeter.
"No campfires tonight," Remis announced, pulling off her leather gloves. "We're eating cold."
Alaster’s face fell. «And here I was looking forward to hot soup to cut through the night chill... maybe dip some bread... Now it's just stale bread for me,» he thought, scowling in disappointment.
Remis caught his expression instantly and let out a soft sigh.
"It's not a random call, Alaster. Cooking meat creates steam and grease odors that draw forest predators straight to us. Lunch was fine because we moved right after, but we're bedding down here. The last thing you want is beasts prowling around at two in the morning... Unless you want to share a bed with a wolf?"
Alaster smirked, his irritation fading. "Point taken."
Around four in the morning, Alaster emerged from his elven reverie. Unlike humans, his body didn't require deep sleep; he rested in a light trance, fully aware of his surroundings—much like the meditative state of high elves in ancient lore.
He slipped silently out of the tent Elise had helped him pitch hours earlier. Standing in the dim moonlight, he spotted a vigilant silhouette. Remis flinched, her hand darting to her sword hilt at the sudden movement. Recognizing the elf, she let her shoulders drop.
"What are you doing up?" she asked softly.
"Five hours of trance is all I need," he replied calmly. "You can head to sleep if you want. I'll handle watch duty."
Remis evaluated his tone for a second before nodding. "I won't turn that down."
Alaster watched her head to her tent, leaving him alone by the dying embers.
It was the ideal moment. He needed to test [Blink] properly.
He mentally appreciated his race's sharp night vision, which rendered every detail of the dark woods crystal clear. Stepping away from the ashes, he drifted into the underbrush. The forest was quiet, save for the hum of insects and distant rustle of night birds.
The elf took a steady breath and locked his gaze onto a distant tree. He had barely touched [Blink] after acquiring it, and he was far from combat-ready with it. If things went sideways in a fight, he needed to blink without hesitation.
«In an emergency, reaction time is everything. I need practice,» he told himself.
He funneled mana into his flow ring until it reached his 450 MP cap. His target was a tree roughly ten yards out, where a bird sat perched on a branch. Not a huge leap, but plenty for a trial run. His goal wasn't just escaping—he wanted to materialize right at the trunk in an attack stance. If executed correctly, [Blink] wouldn't just be a panic button; it would become a devastating combo starter.
He spent 20 MP.
Instantly, Alaster’s perspective surged toward the tree. To his heightened senses, world movement ground to a halt; even the distant campfire embers seemed frozen in midair. During that split-second shift, he realized he could adjust his limbs mid-transit. Cocking his right arm as he moved, he materialized directly in front of the trunk, fist primed for impact.
«Man... if I had a blade, that's an instant kill,» he thought, his heart racing with adrenaline. «This is every gamer's dream. Instant repositioning and striking... Give me a sword, and I'm a nightmare in close quarters.»
Excitement surged through him. Summons and short-range warps; the mage archetype was absurdly overtuned. However, remembering the staggering mana cost required to summon a single spider brought him right back down to earth.
«I need levels. Reaching Level 70 is priority number one. No getting distracted by girls, no obsessing over food... I'll grab better gear and start hunting monsters at my level or higher,» he resolved quietly, turning back toward camp.
He couldn't compromise security just to play with spells.
Scanning the perimeter, he saw his party's embers burning low. Further out, near the main civilian convoy, another campfire sat guarded by three watchmen—two of whom were visibly exhausted women. A heavier-set girl was nodding off against a tree trunk, while her partner kept a watchful eye on the dark. Yet, from over forty yards out, tucked into the shadows, Alaster was completely invisible to them.
Satisfied, he decided to run two more tests.
The first was precision targeting—crucial for high-stakes situations. He picked another tree, aiming for a thick overhead branch. He needed to land clean on the wood without losing his footing. If he nailed this, the spell would be invaluable for infiltration.
He cast the ability and appeared upright, dropping into a low crouch on the branch. Balancing took effort, but the placement was dead-on.
«Landed right where I wanted,» he grinned. «This is good for way more than just fast movement.»
For his final check, he picked a target he knew inside out: the interior of his own tent. Standing fifteen yards outside camp, he locked onto the mental layout of the enclosed space and executed the jump.
The transition felt strange. He went from cold night wind to the stillness of canvas fabric, ending up flat on his back over his sleeping mat.
«Nailed it!» he celebrated internally, raising a fist toward the tent ceiling. «There's nowhere I can't slip out of. Try enslaving me now. Good luck... though I hope you don't mind a Fireball dropping out of nowhere. Capturing this elf isn't going to be easy.»
A second later, he blinked back to the shadowy brush fifteen yards out. Checking his stats, the entire display had cost him merely 100 MP, leaving 350 MP in reserve. Five consecutive warps translated to over a hundred yards at maximum range.
One last experiment came to mind: how fast could he chain them? Refilling his ring's store, he took a breath and began warping around the camp, circling the outer edge before returning to the brush.
The delay between jumps was barely a second. With his 100 Intelligence stat boosting his mental processing, mapping spatial coordinates and tracing spell runes in sequence took zero effort.
«I'm ready. Even if I'm not Level 70 yet, I'm done being hesitant. Caution is fine, but I won't operate out of fear again,» he thought, watching the horizon as his violet eyes caught the first pale colors of dawn.
The next morning, Berona was the first up. The thief wandered over to the wooden crate acting as a table, eyeing the spread resting on it with a crooked smile.
"You really are stacked, aren't you?" she asked, stretching as she grabbed a warm chicken leg.
Alaster simply shrugged. "Wouldn't be out here risking my neck if I were."
Berona paused, nodding in amusement. "Fair point. If I had a vault full of coin, I wouldn't be wandering outside the walls either."
"Pretty sure anyone would say the same," the elf replied.
The thief tore off a bite, chewing quickly before swallowing.
"Well, not everyone. Some lunatics still go adventuring even with a royal treasure stash in their basement," she teased, shooting a glance at Remis, who was walking over with raised eyebrows.
"Do you actually have a trick for pulling fresh food out of nowhere?" the leader asked.
"It was here the whole time—just sleight of hand," Alaster joked.
Berona burst out laughing. Remis eyed them both with mild suspicion, then walked to the back of the wagon, pulled up a borrowed crate, and sat down. Crossing her legs, she picked up a piece of seasoned chicken along with a chunk of bread. She closed her eyes, chewing slowly, and let out a contented sigh.
"Thank Deskort... thank you, my lord..." she muttered.
Alaster smirked. "Lord is pushing it. 'Al' works fine."
Berona, who was taking a sip of coffee, tried to choke down her laugh and failed. A small spray of sweet liquid shot sideways, barely missing Syrus as he joined the circle.
Remis snapped her eyes open, pointing her bread accusatorially at the mage.
"Very funny. You get a pass today, but don't make a habit of mocking the gods," she warned. Despite her serious tone, a faint smile tugged at her lips.
The mage let out a chuckle, only to hear a loud slurping sound right beside him. Turning, he saw Elise sipping coffee, her cheeks puffed out with food. She flashed him an innocent grin.
«Didn't even hear her come up... She must have a passive stealth trait or something,» Alaster thought, returning the smile.
Breakfast wrapped up in high spirits. Tagard arrived last, dragging his feet with a sour expression.
By 8:34 AM, the party and the civilian convoy resumed their march northwest. Before noon, as the wagon bounced along the rutted dirt road, the trail crested a low hill.
From this vantage point, Alaster spotted an impressive palisade roughly four hundred yards out, combining reinforced stone walls with hardened timber posts. The heavy wooden gate stood open, guarded by several men.
Minutes later, the caravan reached the perimeter to cheerful greetings from travelers and sentries alike.
"Master Pernak!" shouted one of the gate guards, recognizing the old man guiding the lead wagon.
"We made it back!" Pernak called out so the whole convoy could hear.
"Welcome home!" replied the guard, who wore simple clothes and carried a basic spear.
Alaster noticed a lean, dark-haired boy around fourteen years old weaving through the guards toward the old man.
The boy skidded to a halt in front of Pernak, breathing heavily.
"Sir! Chief Norde wants to know if you managed to get the guild to send a mage!"
"I filed the request for the golem suppression, but I doubt they'll process it anytime soon," the old man replied, shaking his head.
The boy spun around and sprinted back into town, dodging villagers who were beginning to unload their belongings.
Alaster straightened up in the wagon. "Norde... that's our contact's name," he said, turning to Remis.
"Head in with Berona and see where he is," the leader ordered. "The rest of us will secure lodging and stable the horses. These animals need feed and rest."
Alaster nodded and hopped nimbly off the back of the wagon, feeling the solid earth under his boots again.
From ground level, the outpost looked even sturdier. The timber gate opened into a bustling settlement, flanked by sentries posted along the walls. The palisade stood around ten feet high, crafted from dark, treated logs reinforced by low stone watchtowers.
Berona tapped his shoulder. She wore her chainmail beneath a loose cloak that still failed to fully disguise her build. With her hood drawn low, her features stayed in shadow, standing in stark contrast to the elf's striking appearance.
She tugged his arm gently toward Pernak’s slow-moving wagon.
"Hey!" Berona called out, raising a hand.
Old Pernak leaned over the side of his seat, smiling warmly as he recognized them.
"Well, if it isn't... the heroes who saved us! The thief and the great mage... Your Grace—I mean, Mr. Al. What can I do for you?"
It was obvious the elf's presence had become the main topic of conversation among the refugees, especially among the younger women in the caravan.