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The Exalted Mage - Chapter 6: Once again, The First Tier
🕑 Added 2025-12-28 01:45:17 +0000 UTC*Rearranged an earlier Typo. Veronica is originally 34 years old. The war with demons having started when she was 31.
Veronica awoke with a start, her body stiff and aching. The room was dim, with the faint light of midday filtering through the blinds of the window. For a moment, she just laid there, relaxing and focusing, alert for any sounds of suspicious movement. The room was quiet, and only soft, faint murmurs of conversation from the common room downstairs reached her ears.
Slowly, she sat up, wincing as her muscles protested. Her feet were still sore, and the various scrapes on her arms and legs, caused from running through brush, were still there, leaving small reddish marks. A quick glance at the door confirmed that it was still locked.
It seemed like the guards took her somewhere safe to rest. She was in a plain-looking ugly room. Was this an inn? Something as shabby as this? Was this a commoner’s inn? In the past, she spent a lot of time in far more lavish places.
A growl came from her stomach. She sighed, a hand resting on her empty belly as she remembered her hunger. She had eaten nothing but berries. Although she was hungry, a more pressing concern needed her attention.
She’d grown used to hunger.
Veronica crossed her legs on top of the bed, closing her eyes and settling into a meditative posture. Calming her breath, she focused on the seven magic disciplines. Each discipline was unique, focusing on different paths of magic. Different philosophies and understanding.
This was the magic of the Vitian kingdom.
The first step to becoming a tiered mage was attuning oneself. Without proper attuning, her magic would remain erratic and inefficient, and she couldn’t afford that.
The mercenaries had gotten close with their unsavory plans; without her knowledge of extracting mana from the air, who knows what horrors could have occurred to her? Every setback or delay in preventing The Fall would spell disaster for the world.
Fortunately, the early mage tiers were attainable without external factors.
Veronica closed her eyes and extended her mental awareness inward, feeling the faint pulse of mana coursing through her body. She drew her mana inward, deeper, channeling it straight to her core. The process was slow and deliberate, requiring utmost precision with no distractions. She visualized destruction—not as chaos, but as a controlled force, a tool to break down and destroy. This was her main attuned discipline.
The Path of Ruin.
A discipline of magic that was focused on destruction and havoc.
The energy coalesced within her, forming the foundation of her first attunement. The sensation was both familiar and foreign, like reuniting with an old friend but realizing they’d changed. Her younger body wasn’t as magically sturdy as she remembered, and the strain was evident as sweat beaded on her forehead.
The process involved reforging her mana core as a suitable vessel for The Path of Ruin, allowing her body to handle its pressure. She pushed through the discomfort, forcibly opening her mana core. Originally, it had taken her a month to form the connection and reach Tier-1 once she tried, but things were different now.
She could feel the connection forming; the sensations were familiar. It was faint at first, like a thread of light in the darkness, but it grew stronger with each passing moment.
Finally, the connection solidified with a sharp burst of pressure from her mana core. A gust of wind rattled the room. Veronica steadied her breath and opened her eyes, a faint purple glow lingering in her irises. A natural power flowed through her body again.
She was a Tier-1 mage again, weak by her standards—but it was a start. She felt different now, more attuned to the flow of mana; her magical capacity having drastically increased.
She briefly glanced at the back of her right hand, watching the single white wing that had formed, dissipate.
Mage wings.
A subtle marker that represented what tier spells a mage was using.
She considered continuing the advancement, attuning herself to her sub-discipline, the Path of Tempests—but her body protested. A deep ache spread throughout her chest as she tried to expand her core once more.
“Alright… not yet then,” she muttered, releasing the tension around her body. It wasn’t worth the risk of rushing things. This body of hers, her past-self, clearly hadn’t the durability or fortitude to handle advancing twice in such a short time. She would have to remedy that. Mana flowed all throughout a mage, and the earlier she could train her body, the better control she would have later on.
Current Tier: Tier-1 Mage
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Primary Path has been allocated to: Path of Ruin
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Maximum mana has increased from 200 to 360
Mana Regeneration has increased from 80 to 100.
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[You have completed a quest: Achieve Tier-1]
[Reward: You can now detect nearby demons]
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New quest assigned: Achieve Tier-2
New quest assigned: Form second set of Mana Rings
That’s right. She wasn’t alone anymore. Now, she had a sentient… arcane… whatever, inside her.
“Detect?” she asked aloud. “How far?”
[Within 500 meters.]
“That’s… quite a far range.”
[Far is subjective.]
She sighed. Yeah. Yeah, it sure is.
Veronica stood, movements slow and graceful. Her chest rose and heaved as her arms stretched high above her. Her eyes fluttered, and a soft, satisfied groan escaped her lips as she carefully arched her back, the line of her body forming a graceful curve. With a subtle push, she flexed her legs and stood on her toes, arching herself even more, stretching the whole of her body.
She leaned left, feeling the pull along her sides, the burn of her muscles a welcome sensation. Then she leaned right and twisted, feeling the satisfying stretch deep in her ribs as her core tightened.
“I can’t believe I can do this again…”
Given the chance to move freely again, she wouldn’t squander it by neglecting simple exercise and stretching.
Repeating the same motions again, heat spread throughout her body, and she quickly warmed up. It was a wonderful feeling after having to run in the chilly night through a forest.
With one last stretch, she bent forward, her hair cascading around her shoulders. She held a deep breath as her fingertips glided down her thighs, over the curve of her calves, and with a shiver that danced along her spine—finally brushed the edge of her toes. She felt like a bowstring pulled taut, but despite the tension she felt, she forced herself to keep the pose, counting the passing seconds in her head.
Once she was done; her legs wobbled as she stood straight. It was strange—the feeling of newfound flexibility, even if it wasn’t technically new. She spread and stretched her fingers, looking down at her bare palms. She was beginning to feel the weight of everything. What it meant to be younger, free of curse—and what it meant to have a second chance.
[Your stretching methods could use improvement. If you’d like, I can give you a 24-step guide on how to—]
“I’ll pass, Sage,” she chuckled.” I’m fine with just normal stretches.”
She moved over to the small washbasin in the room. She dipped her hands in, cupping the water, and rinsing her face. Looking up, she stared into the mirror. This was the first chance to actually get a clean look at herself. Her delicate features were at odds with her disheveled state; the rough, split ends of her hair, the dark circles etched beneath her eyes, and her torn, dirty clothes screamed she was little more than a homeless wanderer.
She didn’t look too different from her post-apocalyptic look.
And that wasn’t a good thing.
No one in this town would take her seriously, looking like this. Over the course of the next few minutes, she did her best to fix her appearing, tidying up as best as she could. Washing the dirt and grime that caked her skin. Leaning over the basin, she rinsed her hair; the strands began to feel smooth again as they slipped through her fingers.
She pulled her clothes off. It was very much just dirt-stained cloth now. A few holes had found themselves into the fabric after she ran for the entire night.
She cleared the basin and filled it again. She washed the clothes and dried it off with a small, compressed burst of wind magic.
Once she was more composed and presentable, Veronica left the room, locking the door behind her with the key that was left on the nightstand.
She headed downstairs. The common room had different patrons sitting at the tables, various conversations happening that she cared very little for. Keeping her head down, she avoided eye-contact with everyone and headed out into the streets of Greystone.
Before she did, the clerk behind the counter called out to her. He was a middle-aged man with a short beard.
“Hey, miss. Now that you’re awake, I was told to tell you that Steward Hadrian would like to speak to you. Go visit him when you can.”
“Steward Hadrian?” she replied.
“Mm. He’s at the far side of the town square, near the masonry building. You can ask a guard for where it is. You’ll find him.”
She nodded and left the inn.
It was midday; she had slept for a few hours after killing that ogre.
The town was lively. There were merchants calling out to passersby, peddling their wares. The other locals were on sidewalks, rushing to their jobs; others rode in carriages pulled by horses. Veronica moved along the streets, keeping an eye out for anyone that may be willing to talk. Her gaze soon landed upon a woman at a stall selling various fruits and vegetables. The woman’s face was warm and welcoming, smiling as Veronica approached.
“Good day, miss. What can I get for you?” she asked.
Veronica returned the smile. “I’m just looking for some information, actually. I’ve been traveling for a while and just came into town a few hours ago. This is… Greystone town, right?”
The woman chuckled. “Aye, this is Greystone, overseen by Baron Welterman. Not much here but some fields and the mines past the forest, but we have a happy little community here.”
Welterman? Not Alemeister?
[Records show that Baron Welterman was the previous lord of this town before Alemeister took control of Greystone.]
Veronica nodded, filing away the name of the town ruler. “And do you happen to know the date? I’ve been on the road for weeks and I can’t remember the last time I looked at a calendar,” Veronica said, adding a chuckle for emphasis.
The vendor gave her a slight tilt, and a raised brow, but not in suspicion, but more in meager-playfulness. “Girl, you must have had a long journey to not remember the day,” she said jokingly. “3872, Seventh day of Trimfall.”
Veronica’s heart skipped a beat.
Before she traveled, she had long since forgotten the exact month and day—such things no longer mattered in a fallen world. But she knew the year: 3887.
15 years.
She was sent back 15 years into the past. That put her current self at just 19 years old. And if it was the seventh day of Trimfall, then her birthday would be in less than three months from now.
Her thoughts raced. She couldn’t ask for the country. Such a thing sounded almost too suspicious. She did, however, find out the year. That meant that in about 12 years, The Fall—the invasion of the demons—would occur.
Some people she had fought alongside in the future, those friends she had once known who perished alongside the war against the demons; they were likely alive, unaware of what was to come.
Maeve. She’s alive. She must be alive.
Her mentor, a Tier-9 mage who taught her all she knew, was alive in this timeline. The teacher who fought with her until her dying breath… she was alive. She had to be.
The woman noticed the complicated expression on Veronica’s face. “Is something wrong, sweetie? You look a tad pale. Did you miss an important event or something?”
Veronica blinked, pulling herself back to the present. She forced a small smile and shook her head. “Ah, no. It’s nothing. I… actually have plenty of time.”
The woman chuckled softly. “Well, that’s good. Better late than never show up, as they say. In your case, looks like you aren’t late at all.”
Veronica offered a small, genuine smile. “Is there somewhere I can catch up on local news? I’ve been… away.”
The woman tapped her chin. “You could try the Herald’s Hall—my husband goes sometimes. Mostly town updates, nothing fancy, and not as big as the halls in larger cities. Or the Tipsy Barrel, the pub north of here. The owner hears everything.”
Veronica nodded. “Thank you.”
“Oh! And there was that goblin and ogre mess this morning. I didn’t see it, but Captain Luthen and the guards handled it. Rumor is, they had help from some hidden mage.” She chuckled. “No idea if that part’s true.”
Veronica forced a nervous laugh. Recruited, huh? Not quite.
“Thank you, Mrs…?”
“Sena. Sena Jamesmith.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jamesmith.”
With that, Veronica headed north. The Herald’s Hall might help, but pubs tended to be far more reliable sources of gossip—unfiltered and honest.
Greystone unfolded around her as she walked: cobblestone streets, timber houses with flower boxes, a peaceful charm that hinted at a population of maybe two thousand. So different from the ruined world she’d left behind. The contrast tightened her chest.
Focus. One step at a time.
The Herald’s Hall came into view: quiet, modest, quill-and-parchment sign hanging over a still-locked door. It seems that they weren’t open yet. She’d tried again later.
The Tipsy Barrel wasn’t far. Its sign creaked lazily as she pushed inside. Only a few men occupied the room—two deep in conversation, another muttering to himself in the corner. Early morning probably wasn’t exactly prime drinking hours.
Veronica took a seat at the counter.
“Something light,” she said.
The man behind the bar—thick mustache, stained apron—kept wiping his glass, eyes narrowing as he looked her over.
“A drink, huh?” he finally said.
