Chapter 3: Crack Tap Crack
The cave stretched and forked and sprawled like a complex maze system, and without his affinity to wind mana Valens would’ve likely been long lost in this earthly cage. He’d been keeping an ear on the draft as he made forward, bare feet scraping against the wet, gravelly path, one hand pressed against the side wall to keep him steady.
If he had to guess he’d been at it for two hours, give or take, but hadn’t yet managed to discover anything of any worth. There wasn’t the so-called rot of the Necromancer here, nor was there any living thing from which he could begin to decipher the ways of the world.
He found some worms on the path, of course. And tiny bugs and the occasional bat that made him flinch. Nothing, so far, seemed any different than his own world. Perhaps he’d been too liberal with his imagination. Then again, he was always his own worst enemy, and there was something soothing that it had not been changed.
You can’t blame a man for being a dreamer, though. Valens expected to see some alien lifeforms the size of houses, terrible beasts out for human flesh, different races in their different ways of life. That was about how their talks went with his Master whenever they delved into the old texts.
At least the abundance of mana was promising, and he certainly cherished the feeling of having his own mana pool near his heart, just like the masters of the olden times. So they weren’t entirely lying in their promises.
Not long after he paused in his steps when it sounded like something was rattling close by, like two stones grinding against each other. He craned his head round the corner and narrowed his eyes when a wave of rotten stench splashed across his face, making him blink.
There, a few paces from the corner, stood a man’s silhouette. It was too dark for him to make out the details, but the Resonance of the mana painted a rather difficult image in his mind.
Thick bones, barely any skin, and live tissue left over them. The joints were half-broken, the right index finger bent hideously toward the palm. The side of his face had a gaping scar that slithered down the nape of his neck. Valens couldn’t decide on an age, but guessed the man should’ve been no more than thirty when he died.
Was that a cadaver? Here in the depths of a cave, standing still as if it’d been nailed to the ground? What was holding it, and most importantly, why would someone place a corpse here?
He glanced back the way he came. The wind suggested he had to turn the corner to find the exit, but he wasn’t amused by the notion that he would have to pass by a cadaver on his way. Who knew what awaited him further ahead? Certainly not some grinning, compassionate company eager to help a lost man find his way.
Yet, he couldn’t turn back. He had to complete the trial to prove he wasn’t a fledgling, inept disciple who chanced his way into this world. No, for all reasons and purposes, he came here sacrificing a lot in the path. He wouldn’t have this mad Magus laugh at him beyond what twisted dimension he’d wedged himself in.
He had been a disciple once, but not anymore. He was his own man now.