NotEvenMyFinalForm
patreon
Goblin Chapter 286: Level 5!
🕑 Added 2025-10-30 11:14:59 +0000 UTCWhile his teammates whispered outside, Gauss was already deep in meditation inside.
He sat in a simply appointed room. Special pigments ground from mana crystal were painted on the floor in a magic circle—Gauss at one end, a mid-grade earth mana crystal glowing heavy ochre at the other. With the circle’s help, pure mana flowed into him like a tame stream, mingling and resonating with the already brimful “mage’s cup” within.
Vmm—vmm—vmm—
Ripples pulsed out from around his body. Level 5 was a special tier. The cup fairly thrummed—greedily drinking in power, then exhaling thicker floods that scoured him clean. Heat bloomed faintly inside; the flow reached a peculiar harmony. With each cycle, his mana swelled and began to change.
It felt like standing in a wide sea, wave after wave breaking over him—not pain, but a strange fullness. Complex runes welled up from the cup’s surface, pushing the walls wider, reinforcing and enlarging its volume.
No telling how long passed. The crystal’s color had faded to dull; Gauss, by contrast, was sheathed in a white glow—an undefinable new air about him. After the long exchange, the “cup” had doubled in size; what poured from it came faster, and in far greater volume.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Unseen wind rushed out from him. Outside, after more than two days of patient vigil, his friends’ heads snapped toward the hut, faces brightening.
“Is this the moment?”
They were perhaps more nervous than he was. Advancement always carries a risk—even a death in bad cases. And Gauss had only just healed; they worried his body and mind weren’t in perfect trim. Serandur had done a full physical before they started—but even that couldn’t rule out everything.
A strong gust blew out the hut’s windows. The ambient mana itself seemed caught in a storm. Leaves hissed; branches bowed. Pressure built a visible whirl centered on the hut.
“So dramatic?” Albena murmured, stunned. She’d seen him do things no fourth-level should—but this phenomenon was something else, warping the environment. And this was only 5th—what would higher tiers bring? Weather, perhaps?
After about ten minutes of wildness—silence. The wind died; leaves stilled; the tide of mana ebbed. An absolute quiet settled.
“Did he…?”
Inside, energy stable, Gauss opened his eyes—bright as lamps. He stayed seated, feeling through the changes in body, mind, and magic. After a while, a smile touched his mouth.
“Class: Mage — level up to 5!”
Success.
He let out a long breath. Two days or not, and never doubting himself—success still brought a wash of ease. He’d earned this. One solid step at a time—the process doesn’t lie. Five was the best answer to months of cold camps, mind-numbing model drills for Fly and Fireball, teaching villagers, hunting monsters big and small. The seen and unseen had borne a beautiful flower.
Only he and his team knew the price; others would call it “talent.”
He swallowed a knot of feeling. When he’d first hit Level 1, he’d dreamed of Level 5. Now, here. He was getting used to this world; his past life’s memories felt farther away.
He tucked the thoughts aside and pulled up his panel.
INT +1
DEX +1
WIS +1
CHA +1
Some stats must have sat on thresholds—four bumps at once.
STR 12;
DEX 9→10;
CON 11;
INT 14→15;
WIS 10(9)→10;
CHA 10(9)→10.
The bracelet’s passive boosts had faded; he slid the “Horn Bangle” off his wrist.
The INT point mattered most. Later points buy more. 14→15 felt like a step up a stair—his mind slipping into a new gear, brain and thought clearer than before. He sat with it a while. The change came into focus: his mental force felt denser. If it was a mist before, now it was a liquid—metaphorically. A thought—and it slid free.
He’d tried this before—soul out of body—but it had felt like a dangerous, source-less trickle. This time was different. He felt a tough, invisible tether between spirit and flesh—like a chain. Because of it, so long as he didn’t drift too far, the spirit could hold in a stable state.
He slipped his spirit free and drifted around the hut. No “body” now—an amorphous force. He could sculpt it loosely into a human shape, and did so for convenience. He slid through the wall like silk, into the sunlight.
His “sight” flooded with detail: every leaf-flutter, the cicadas on bark, the ants in their lines, the worry and doubt on Alia’s face. Far richer than normal sight: a god’s-eye view.
The others didn’t know how it stood inside; they didn’t dare call or knock. “Why’s it still quiet?” Alia whispered. “Give it a bit,” someone murmured.
Only Shadow lifted her head to the sky. She felt something watching—but couldn’t place it. She shook it off. Gauss blinked—impressed. He hadn’t expected her to sense him. She had to be close to 6th herself.
He drifted farther—about a hundred meters out. Beyond that, the tether’s effect dropped quickly; the spirit form shimmered, unstable. He stopped. He dove up and down; the spirit moved through sky and dirt. Underground, the range halved—about fifty meters.
He tested something else: influence. Sword Soul hummed through the spirit; he could attack with mind. He lifted a “hand”—an odd, invisible force formed in his palm. A sparrow sat preening on a bough. An arc of nothingness whipped out—silent, invisible; the material world didn’t feel it. It kissed the bird—and it froze. Not even a peep. He felt its soul-fire shatter. The arc coiled back into him. The tiny body toppled from the branch—no marks on the outside, no life inside.
The sight jolted him. Yes, he could kill a sparrow with magic. But this was different—purely mental, far more covert. Before, Blade’s Will had to ride a blade, obvious to a trained eye. This left no tell—no way to block with steel. Only soul-defenses would answer.
A sparrow was too weak for more data. He scanned for another target—not his comrades. Souls are sacred—he’d use this sparingly.
Soul-striking is a soul-clash—his must be stronger to crush another. There had been no “cost” because a sparrow’s soul is… small. Strong foes would eat at him; overuse could risk himself.
While he thought, the others noticed the bird—a dozen meters off—fall with a crisp thump. No wound. Their faces tightened.
“How’d it die?”
“An enemy?”
“Careful.”
Ordinary nerves—but understandable at this juncture. He slid his spirit back into his flesh. Solid weight filled him; he stood, stretched out stiff joints. The white aura sank inward; something new settled over him—eyes deeper, movements tuned; his sense and command of ambient mana at a new tier.
He opened the door; warmth and fresh air flooded in—along with four pairs of worried eyes.
“Gauss!”
“Sir Gauss!”
“Captain!”
“How do you feel?”
“Fine. Made 5th,” he said, handing them a stone of certainty.
“Thank goodness!” They sagged. Alia remembered the fallen bird. “Something odd just happened—should we scout?”
“It’s alright. That was me testing something new,” Gauss scratched his head. “Huh?” Alia blinked. All that tension—and the culprit was him. He grinned and gave them the short version. The Mage level-up and INT 15 had, combined with Sword-Soul, sparked a neat reaction.
“In a sense,” he said, amused, “I’m a bit like those ‘psychics’ from the stories back then.”
Comments
Airam Bachiller
👍
SavedMeerKat78
Poor bird
