Chapter 11

Walking back to the truck, Michael found himself unable to resist the temptation to experiment some more with magic. Of all his skills, the single flame version of [Candle Light] was cheap enough that it wouldn’t put much of a dent on his now-expanded stock of Copper coins, he thought, and soon a small flicker of flame appeared right above his left index finger.

He looked at it with his mana sense, which he had taken to calling mana sight due to how it felt mostly visual to him, watching the movement of the little colored motes of mana, noticing how most of them were of a reddish hue, along with some elusive white and yellow ones. Elements, perhaps? It was hard to tell, but if colors were hints to elements, being able to see them with ease was a huge advantage.

After he dismissed the skill, he turned his attention to the magical coins. They were blazing with power, all the colors of the spectrum fusing together into a white halo that surrounded them, and as he pulled magic from one of the coins and it crumbled to dust, he could see the white energy flowing into his body through his hand, only to disappear from his sight once it had crossed the barrier of his skin. I guess the level one skill isn’t enough to see where it all goes once it enters my body.

He could see a sort of haze, like an aura clinging to him, though.

Happy with his new findings, he finally reached the parking spot, noticing that the other car was gone, leaving his truck all alone in the shade of the large oaks that grew all around. It was quite pleasant, to enter the truck and not be greeted by hell itself despite the summer heat, the parking spot earning bonus points in Michael’s mind.

By the time Michael reached Old Dave’s, it was too late and the pawn shop had closed for the night. Shrugging, he stopped at a diner close by for a quick bite and got back to driving. It was getting quite late, his mana experiments had taken a few hours longer than planned, and he was tired. Tired enough that he missed the first few strange lights he saw at the side of the road, mistaking them for traffic lights or some of those little lamps people sometimes put in their gardens, powered by solar cells.

It was only when he kept seeing strange halos of glimmering light, in strange shapes and sometimes floating in the air, that Michael realized that perhaps what he was seeing wasn’t just some normal lights. He concentrated, slowing down on the empty interstate enough that he could see better, and noticed that the lights seemed to spring into existence when he got close to them, only for them to disappear behind him as he drove past them.

Their colors were many, and sometimes they behaved like a swarm of fireflies, dancing in the air. Stopping the truck when he saw a particularly large cloud of these lights, he walked right inside it and got confirmation to his suspicions. The lights: they were mana.

Weak concentrations of it, judging by my super low regeneration. But compared to the barren wasteland all around, it’s like an oasis.

They tasted… stale, for a lack of a better word, compared to the mana of the dungeon. As if the clouds of mana had been drifting around for ages, their colors diminished and less vibrant, fireflies compared to the bright embers coming from the dungeon.

They were just floating around, most of them, but sometimes he could see a little rock, or perhaps a sign, or some little debris by the side of the road glowing with the faintest traces of magic. Some of them were items of significance, others were just random junk or literal rocks just lying there and doing nothing. It was puzzling. Of them all, the clouds of mana were the most common phenomenon, drifting lazily in the air, undisturbed by the actual air currents and moving according to their will or moved by forces unseen. He could somewhat manipulate them if he concentrated on regenerating mana hard enough, drawing the cloud towards him and into his body, slowly but surely diminishing its bulk, but even as he struggled to maximize his pulling power, the amount of mana was vanishingly low. A single Copper coin easily held as much mana as the bigger clouds he encountered, which would take him ages to absorb if he tried. And again, their taste was unpleasant. They would do in a pinch, he thought, but they felt disgusting.

This means that there is mana in the world after all, he thought as he was once again driving home, this time keeping a keen eye out for any abnormalities. Was it here the whole time, or did it start appearing after the dungeon started releasing mana into the atmosphere?

The stale taste of the clouds of mana, surely a byproduct of his mana sense which was not limited to sight, led him to believe that perhaps this mana had been here a long time, from perhaps before the dungeon had made its first appearance in the world. Did this mean that there had been an age of magic, long ago, and that for some reason magic had been slowly vanishing from Earth, at least until the dungeon arrived? It could explain some things, he guessed, but it was too early to make assumptions.

Seeing magic at large in the world also made him paranoid. Resting on the passenger seat, his backpack was literally glowing with magical power coming from the 68 Copper coin inside of it. And if I can see it, then someone else with a similar skill or ability can also see it. It was like a bright beacon in the dark, compared to the mana-starved rest of the world.

I need to hide them, and myself, until I know more. Are there other entrances? Other people getting powers? Was magic a thing before the dungeon, like perhaps in shrines and monasteries, churches in Europe that were supposedly built on Ley-Lines of some sort, or was that just bogus? If things like Stonehenge were really magical, where did all the magic go, and why is it coming back? So many questions.

He felt his mind expand just by thinking about all these possibilities, the edges of thought touching upon worrying topics, ones that could upheave his prospects of life forever, opening up opportunities and exposing him to risks.

For now, I need to lay low. No need to get abducted by the CIA or something along the lines. But I also need to create connections and find other people with powers, lest I be left in the dark while the world changes around me.

***

The next day, first thing in the morning, Michael was at Old Dave’s after barely enough time to eat and train. He was starting to put on some good muscle thanks to his cheating training regimen, but apart from his height he was still a long way from threatening. He knew he would need to toughen up if Old Dave was to give him the job he promised. Probably a bouncer at some shady club, but money is money and you can meet all sorts of people in clubs. It’s far enough away that any issues shouldn’t reach all the way to where I live.

Making up his mind to convince the old man to get him the job as soon as possible, he walked into the pawn shop with the loot from yesterday’s dungeon delving to sell.

“Welcome back, kid.” Old Dave beckoned him over, “I was wondering whether you’d show up again.”

“I was late yesterday,” Michael said, forcing himself not to thrust his hand in the pocket where he held some coins for emergencies. “You were closed.”

“Just knock next time. I live upstairs. If I ain’t sleeping, I can make time for a friend. So, what do you have for me?”

Michael took out the bracelet and the coin. Mustang was soon called, bursting out of his tiny room in the back with a slew of instruments. As the large man crouched over the goods, Michael and Old Dave made small talk.

“It sure is hot, these days.”

“It is. I go hiking and it’s always a sweaty business. That’s why I bring a lot of water with me.” Michael said, pointing at his large backpack. The bulk of the coins was in the car, hidden, as were the dagger, shield and gun. But the backpack stayed with him.

As they talked, Michael tried to use his mana sight to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. It was harder to tell in daylight, but not impossible. Old Dave has no mana signature, and neither does Mustang. So far, I have seen nobody with even a shred of mana in their bodies. He had examined himself in a mirror in the dark, at home, and had confirmed what he had seen back at the Trail: he was glowing faintly. Nothing compared to the coins, probably due to the body somewhat insulating his mana, but it still made it impossible to hide his magic from anyone who could see mana.

There are some items in this shop that have a faint glow to them, though. Like this one.

“Ah, that one,” Old Dave said, noticing Michael’s gaze, “it was an old heirloom. A sweet old lady sold it to me. I gave her a good deal because she was nice, but she never came back to buy it back. Sad, it happens all too often. Sometimes I wonder, what’s the story behind all these things they sell me? They rarely tell me, and Mustang here surely doesn’t care, only trying to strike the good bargains and shooing people away once we have their stuff. Cold heart.”

“You’re the one to talk!” The man grumbled, “don’t listen to him kid. He’s ruthless.”

“Well,” Old Dave shrugged with a grin, “you gotta make yourself a living, don’t you?” he looked at Michael. “I did help you with the silver, didn’t I. Friends get treated well.”

Since Mustang was still studying the coin, having finished his evaluation of the ornate bracelet, Michael decided it was time to broach the other topic he wanted to talk about.

“Listen, Old Dave,” he began, and saw that he had the old man’s undivided attention. It felt sharp, heavy. “About the job you talked about last time.”

Old Dave hummed. “Yes, you have been eating. Doing other things too… perhaps. It ain’t worth it, kid, not for this job and not for any other.”

“I’m not on gear. I have a… special training method.”

Old Dave shrugged. “If you say so. Even then, I don’t know about it. It’s a bit early. You look tougher, and your eyes… you have seen some shit these last few days, I can tell. But do I know for sure that you can keep your cool when some rich brat and their drunk friends start making a mess of things in a club, with all the music and mess? I don’t know about that.”

“Just give me a chance to prove myself. If I mess up, I don’t get paid. But trust me, I have skills. I just hide more than I show.”

There was a twinkle in the old man’s eyes. “You know how to speak my language kid, I’ll give you that. I’m all for fair wages, heck, even more than fair wages, but I don’t give no shit to people who don’t deserve it. Right now, you need to show me that you deserve my help.”

“You tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Old Dave thought about it for a few seconds. “Mmh. That, plus whatever the hell your side hustle is…” he looked at Mustang, who was salivating over the coin like a hound presented with a juicy steak, “yes, I can see the profit in working with you. Plus, my gut tells me you will surprise me. Perhaps it’s bullshit, but gut doesn’t lie, and my gut says you can be a good asset. Fine.” He held out a hand, and they shook.

“Come back this evening,” Old Dave said, “you don’t have the presence to do any real bouncer stuff yet, but that can be fixed with time and practice. This job I got for you will give you an idea of the sort of stuff you gotta do as well. If you like it, and I like you, then there’s more down the line.”

They shook hands again, and Michael walked out with a nice sum of money from the bracelet and coin he sold to an overly excited Mustang. The job would also pay well, and bouncer duty at a club would play well into his current skill set, even though he had no intention of making it into a career.

I can make some decent money from it, though, and it’s relatively safe compared to other ways to make money quickly.

He could also scan the crowd in search of other magically enhanced people, as well as make connections. Tonight’s club was supposedly nothing of importance, but Old Dave had hinted at bigger jobs where the sons of some big shots liked to hang out, the kind of people with more money than sense, and always with problems to solve.

Ideas upon ideas quickly sprung to his mind as he sat at the small diner close to the pawn shop, taking notes on his phone and ordering coffee after coffee so as not get thrown out of the place.

Healing is probably the safest route. There are a lot of rich people with incurable illnesses who would pay handsomely for a cure. I need to find the limits of my skill and how to improve it of course, but… yeah, I could make a lot of money with it. But to do that, I need to win Old Dave’s complete trust if I want to use him and his connections, or forge my own connections if I can’t. Which would be harder and expose me to more danger too…

Old Dave had more experience, invaluable experience from running a pawn shop all these years. He could be an asset, but Michael needed to find a way to enter the old man’s good graces. He needed to know he could trust him, he needed to be sure the old man would react well once he found out about his magical powers.

One step at a time. Do the job, meet people, gain some little trust with Old Dave. Repeat as many times as needed, while still delving the dungeon every other day. Then, when the right opportunity presents itself, make the move. No earlier. I’m not some sort of superhuman who can lift cars or shrug off bullets. If I mess up, no amount of healing or repulsive force bubbles will save me from my mistakes.

It was at that moment that someone walked in, the little bell attached to the diner’s door jingling twice. Michael looked up, and his jaw snapped shut. Shit. So it’s real.