As the mana surge waned over the next cycles, so did the signs of Faes raiding the cave. The peak of the onslaught was a horde of Walkers that Thorin fought to keep at bay. Because the mindless undead were numb to pain and damage, they trudged through his barrage of chained blades assisted by his . The blades sliced the rotted flesh and bones. But the rush of disease and sickness that halted every enemy’s march at him now failed him against the undead. In the end, he relied on his temperature elements as Iver closed the spell array behind him just in case.

  With

  dealing constant damage and chilling the area, Thorin fell back to his usual fighting style and let his blades dance. When they came close, he skewered the blades into the ceiling and hung from the chains, raining down a barrage of

  at the Walkers below. They howled at Thorin even as the cloud of fire engulfed them. The ‘living’ torches dragged their charred bodies towards the spell array when they couldn’t reach him, but a volley of frozen paper-blades rained on them. Though the fire clashed with the ice, the paper-blades retained enough integrity to shred the legs of the Walkers apart.

  They collapsed before the spell array, reaching for the glimmering barrier, but never made it. The raging fire burnt them to cinders, scattering their ashes.

  When the nearest batch fell, Thorin jumped down and targeted those still at a distance. A

  flew out and the chained blades zipped after it. Thorin rushed ahead with a scowl, for a Walker had shifted its eyes towards the cocoon in the corner. Though it only looked at it with a tilted head and didn’t attack, Thorin couldn’t take the chance. After all, the weakened mana surge wasn’t enough to blind them anymore.

  His spell reached the Walkers before his blades did, and it rained hell on them again. Soon enough, the blades also danced among the burning figures. Thorin used the walls and the ceiling with his chained blades to maneuver around the field while the Walkers struggled against his onslaught.

  For once, he’d taken the battle to them and was beating them down. The surge in his Spirit anchored his stance, reinforced by the potion’s mana regeneration, his booster ring, and the specialties of his Arcanist class. He now looked forward to the second layer even more.

  This batch also died under the endless barrage. But the battle wasn’t over. Another crowd turned the corner ahead and spotted him. Thorin exhaled, light on his feet, and readied his spells and chained blades again. But before they could collide, the quiet cocoon seethed. Black threads of mana came undone. As the Walkers took note of it, a figure in a silver-white tattered cloak hovered over them like the moonlight. It blurred and became a silver shadow flitting through the horde of Walkers. By the time Thorin registered the change, the mass of undead collapsed like stringless puppets without a single scream. Their soul-fire had died while their bodies remained untouched. Soon though, they withered away into a heap of ‘Ashes of Death’.

  Thorin gaped in awe at the phantom figure that floated towards him, a wave of joy filling his heart. This was his Ghost. He could feel the connection in his soul, and he also had an answer for his curiosity.

  The shy Ghost from before had evolved. He was now a Moonwraith.

  It screeched at Thorin once again like it used to, but the same threat now carried a flavor of closeness. It came from conflicts within the lasting impression of his familial love. ‘He’ must’ve had his ups and downs while he lived, and he carried those emotions in his death. After the Moonwraith had enough of threatening him, as he leaned closer and expressed a sense of comfort from his soul, Thorin prodded their connection for more details on his evolution.

  Moonwraiths came under the umbrella of Wraiths. The subtype carried an affinity to the blood moon within the Death Arcana and retained its pure silver-white persona. Though their specialty made them stronger than average Wraiths, they also paid the corresponding price. Moonwraiths could only remain active when the moon reigned in the sky. They acted under the moonlight. During daytime, though, they couldn’t even hurt a fly and had to hide away in the shadows.

  It must be nighttime outside then. “Plenty good enough,” he said, smiling contentedly. Even though he could only be his weapon at night, it was more than enough to be a boost to his combat. At best, Thorin would have to plan his battles around the weaknesses and the strengths of his Moonwraith. “What was your name when you were alive? Can you remember?” he asked. Despite the distinct personality from his past that he clung to, neither his memories nor his cognizance was strong enough for a coherent reply. Standard for an undead. But still, he conveyed his name, albeit in a garbled response.

  “Vraaktar? I’ll call you Vraak then,” Thorin said, and the Moonwraith cheered. At the same time, Thorin confirmed a change inside his mana vessel. Since the moment Vraak left the cocoon, his mana had started bubbling over. It stopped seething now. The surface of mana had returned to its usual calm. But the depth it now carried widened Thorin’s smile. Though slightly, the volume of his mana had swollen.

  ‘The closer you are to the arcana, the more mana you will have,’ the Archive had described the specialty of the Death Arcana as such when Thorin became an Arcanist. Finally, it played its role the best when Thorin owned a Ghost and became closer to the essence of the Arcana.

  I wonder how high your ceiling will be.

  Since the spell was closely related to the specialty of the Death Arcana, he increased its priority in his heart, more so than it already had. With that came the concerns regarding the spell and the Ghosts that it dealt with. Unlike living Faes, undead-types suffered from muddled and distorted cognizance and consciousness. Vraak, who barely remembered his name from his past was already a rare existence, perhaps to his advantage. As such, undead Faes hit the ceiling on their potential sooner and more often. There were ways to overcome that ceiling. Living Faes did so, and the undead-types had their methods as well. But Thorin wasn’t aware of any.

  “I have to look for one…,” he muttered and walked back to the cave after settling Vraak in his corner and finishing his prayer for the dead. For now, he had a far more important task to deal with. He had to break through to the next layer before the mana surge ended. He was merely an inch away.

  Still, a dreadful thought gripped his mind with each step and dug its claws into his soul. It smothered his smile. What he’d hunted just now were Walkers. He glanced at their remains. They were undead that matched the Magi’s levels. Yet, his heart remained the same, weak and dying…

  ……

  A dense swirl of milky fog embraced Thorin as he built more and more spell models in his soul space. The radiation drowned him and pushed his soul towards the next layer, but it refused to budge. His ‘Spirit’ had taken root at 4.99. Almost there. Yet that last step eluded him.

  Magi had a plethora of means to break through. Some followed peculiar paths while most fell under the conventional umbrella. Because Thorin had access to an abundance of mana, he chose one of the most common and tested methods—brute force. What it needed was patience and the tenacity to bear the brunt of the radiation flood. Thorin had endured it all, and now, he was at the culmination of his efforts. Unlike a breakthrough on any normal day, however, the mana surge in the cave had amped up the impact of the flood. In pain and in gain.

  Soon the barrier of the layer rewarded his persistence with a crack. The radiation flood finally had an outlet. The dam shattered from the fracture, and a wave of vigor permeated his body. Though it was only a breakthrough of a minor layer, the growth was of his life.

  Thorin didn’t have the capacity to observe the changes as a sense of pleasure and comfort overwhelmed him. He even groaned, despite making fun of Quin doing the same in his breakthrough.

  At last, all the oddities came to a rest, and only a burst of energy remained in Thorin. He’d finally broken through to the second layer. He clenched his fist and felt the difference in every fiber of his being. From his strength to his mana to his mental clarity. To get the exact increase in his stats, he opened his status panel and eyed every detail with a childlike enthusiasm.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Archive.

  The strongest of them all was his soul that his ‘Spirit’ represented. It jumped from 4.99 to 5.14 after the breakthrough. His ‘Acuity’ came in second, going from 1.44 to 2.52. His ‘Resistance’ increased from 1.20 to 1.87. And his ‘Vitality’ went from 1.12 to 1.62. The overall growth of his stats sent him to cloud nine with a wide grin.

  Moonwraith — Scene Illustration: