I lost track of time as I crashed for a power nap while waiting for medical staff.

  A sister, probably in her seventies, eventually came by. She didn’t say much—just quietly cast a healing spell. I could feel her magic weave its way through my whole body, then surge inward with a gentle but firm push, probably on Brother John’s orders.

  “Thank you,” I half-grunted, half-mumbled.

  She nodded wordlessly. Her eyes were tired, worn. No doubt she’d seen too much of war tonight.

  I dragged myself to the baths, needing to get the blood crust off my skin. The men’s side was full, which made sense after a battle. So I resigned myself to using the mixed one.

  The center bath was only half full, mostly with lovebirds in pairs or trios, whispering sweet nothings like the battlefield hadn’t just puked hell across the city.

  My brain kept spinning. War wasn’t a thing of the past, not in this world. I found myself mapping out a hundred ways to gear up, make weapons, fight smarter. I’d need something simple to start—maybe a sling. Maybe something loud and mean if I got lucky.

  First, though, a meal. And maybe a few opinions on what to do with the loot. I figured I’d keep the knives, maybe a potion or two. The rest? Up for debate. I threw on the only clean clothes I had—monastic robes—and went to grab food.

  As soon as I sat down, Father Mathias showed up. Both our plates were piled with roasted meat, eggs, and a root vegetable that looked suspiciously like a potato. Apparently they were called “taters,” which, honestly, made too much sense.

  He also brought a pitcher of ale and two cups.

  MY MAN. Now I knew why he was called Father and not Brother—this guy had dad energy.

  I grinned like a madman.

  “Care for a drink?” he asked politely.

  “The sun’s rising as we speak, Father,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “But as we say back home: It’s dinnertime somewhere in the world. Of course I’ll share a pint.”

  “Hell of a night, wasn’t it?” he said, half-authoritative. “I heard you fought beside the militia. But running toward battle with no weapons and no armor? Madness, child. We barely saved you less than two weeks ago. You have a death wish?”

  I shrugged. “You’re not wrong that running in unarmed was... questionable. But until yesterday, I didn’t have weapons, or armor, or money to change that. Now I do. And I plan to fix that fast.”

  He burst into laughter. “Fair enough. Still, don’t rush into being a warrior. I can see it in your eyes—you already think like one—but you’re young. Preserve your life while you can.”

  I paused, tapping the table. “Well... might as well tell you something. This body? It wasn’t like this three weeks ago. I was forty. Retired army vet. Game warden during hunting season. Saw a few wars. Enlisted at sixteen, retired at thirty-seven after a bad landing wrecked my back. Doctors couldn’t fix it.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Mathias blinked, jaw slack. “You mean... Are you serious?”

  “Yep. And it gets weirder.” I pulled up my sleeve, showing him my forearm. “I had scars here. Nasty ones. And here—” I pointed, “—I had tattoos. Regimental ones. Gone now. I don’t know crap about magic, but this isn’t normal where I come from.”

  He leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Even here, I’ve never heard of anything like that. Keep that to yourself, Sam. Bad folks might get ideas.”

  I nodded slowly.

  He reached into his robe and tossed a small pouch on the table. The clink of rocks inside was unmistakable. “You didn’t collect the cores from your kills. Normally, unclaimed ones go to the town. But enough people talked about your part in the battle that the templars and guard set yours aside.”

  I blinked. “Cores? Oh… wait.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a similar pouch—the one I looted from the goblins. “So that’s what these shiny little rocks are.”

  He chuckled. “You can sell them at a Crystallomancy shop. Usually the best price you’ll get. But more than that, they hold energy. A kind of mana—though different than raw magic.”

  He picked one up, cradled it in his hand. “Cores hold elemental essence. Seven types—earth, water, fire, air, light, darkness… and unique ones.”

  He cupped the core. A faint light began to glow.

  “The energy inside can replenish itself when used gently—”

  The glow intensified—

  “—or be used dumbly.”

  It flashed. Full supernova. Like a flashlight to the soul.

  “Damn!” I flinched back, blinking. “I can’t see crap! You flashed me!”

  I rubbed my eyes, and when I could see again, I saw white ash in his hand. My core. Toasted.

  “Hey! That was mine!”

  He grinned. “A fair trade for a valuable lesson.”

  “You old fox,” I muttered, impressed despite myself.

  I leaned forward again. “When you said energy, did you mean mana? Or runa?”

  “Well—yes and no. Runa and mana are types of energy that crystallize into these cores. Mana cores come in those seven types I mentioned. Runa cores, though… They’re different. All runa is the same energy—void, negative, or simply ‘runa.’ Dangerous stuff.”

  I nodded. “Well, I guess I got my money’s worth. You wouldn’t happen to know a good artificer, would you?”

  “Not around here,” he said with a small shake of his head. “The capital might have a few. If you want the best, I’d send you to a friend… but they’re far from here.”

  “I’d love to meet them someday, but let’s be real—I’m still way too green to be running around the continent alone. One day, though.”

  He chuckled. “With those questions you’re asking, Sam, you might end up an inquisitor.”

  I smirked. “I’ve got two more questions for you.”

  “Ask, and you shall know.”

  “First: I’ve been training with Harold and his wife for a week, and I still have no idea what her name is. And at this point, I’m too afraid to ask.”

  He burst out laughing. “Her name is Princess Cassiopae.”

  “…Oh. Oh hell. That explains a few things.”

  “And second,” I added, quieter now, “any news about Hope? I didn’t see her after the battle. I just want to know she’s alright.”

  “She left with Count Guimond and his riders. They pursued the retreating enemy.”

  I frowned. “Humor me here—but doesn’t it strike you as odd that 300 troops showed up in the middle of the night, and no one had the slightest clue? Armies need food, rest. People talk. If 300 made it here, how many more are out there? There should’ve been rumors, signs, anything. Unless they—what, teleported here?”

  He paused, face grim. “You’re not wrong. A force that size from the Dark Races slipping in unnoticed? That’s concerning. Raids like that don’t happen in major towns for a reason—too much resistance. But no competent army moves with just 300 men. Something’s off.”

  He stood. “Finish your drink. I’d hate for it to go to waste—I have to go.”

  I placed a hand on his arm, firm and reassuring. “I’m heading out to get gear the moment I finish this. Don’t leave without me.”

  His gaze held mine a moment before he nodded. “I’ll send someone to get you. Two hours, tops.”

  “One last thing,” I added. “Might matter, might not. Do you know a Jules Saprien?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I do. He’s a count. Got into some mess with the Marquis. Why?”

  “The mage had a necklace. Name engraved on the back—Jules Saprien.”

  “If it’s his, we’ll need to look into it. But no rush—your word’s enough for now.”

  As he left I started chugging straight from the pitcher before taking my leave in a hurry.