CHAPTER 12 — “Echoes Below”
I have four minutes.
Four minutes to decide: fight, hide, or run. Four minutes before five imperial scouts—people trained by Anton himself, probably—arrive at a village that has exactly one combat-capable person and he’s me.
Two combat-capable persons, Johnson corrects. I take offense at being excluded.
“You’re a rabbit.”
I’m a rabbit who has eaten more faces than you’ve seen. Don’t diminish my contributions.
Mariella is awake now, pulled from sleep by my sudden movement or maybe by instincts honed from seven years of running. She takes one look at my expression and goes pale.
“They found us.”
“Maybe. Maybe they’re just passing through.” I don’t believe that. Neither does she. “Five soldiers. Imperial gear. Moving toward the village.”
“Anton’s network?”
“Has to be. The timing—right after I cleared Floor 5, right after my class evolved—” I’m thinking out loud, pieces clicking together. “The mana surge. When I took the [Archmage Remnant] class, there would have been a signature. A beacon. If they have detection equipment sensitive enough…”
“They tracked your evolution.”
“They tracked something.” I’m already moving, pulling on clothes, grabbing my cleaver. “I need to intercept them before they reach the village. If they start asking questions, start connecting you to the Valdris family, start figuring out who I really am—”
“Velthar.” Her hand on my arm, stopping me. “If you fight them, you reveal yourself. If you kill them, you confirm every suspicion they might have.”
“And if I don’t, they walk into a village where Dario’s sister is hiding and a reborn Archmage is pretending to be a healer.” I meet her eyes. “The cover’s blown either way. At least this way I control the narrative.”
“The narrative of ‘mysterious mage attacks imperial soldiers?’”
“The narrative of ‘they never reported back.’ Disappearances happen. Especially out here, near a dangerous dungeon.”
She doesn’t like it. I can see that in her face. But she also can’t argue with the logic.
Three minutes, Johnson says. Whatever you’re doing, do it fast.
I head for the door.
“Stay here,” I tell Mariella. “If things go wrong—if I don’t come back—take Johnson and run. Get as far from here as you can.”
“Velthar—”
“Promise me.”
A long pause. Then, reluctantly: “I promise.”
I don’t know if she means it. I don’t have time to find out.
I step into the night.
The imperial scouts are good.
I’ll give them that. They move in formation, each one covering the others’ blind spots, communication handled through subtle hand signals that speak to extensive training.
Their equipment is top-tier—enchanted armor that my [Arcane Sight] identifies as military-issue, weapons that hum with contained mana.
They’re not expecting a fight.
That’s their first mistake.
I circle around through the treeline north of the village, using every bit of knowledge I’ve gained from two months of dungeon crawling. The darkness isn’t a problem—my evolved senses pick up mana flows, heat signatures, the small tells that reveal movement even without light.
They’re heading for the village center. For the square where we held the festival just hours ago. Where the torches have burned down and the tables still hold the remnants of celebration.
I intercept them at the bridge over Miller’s Creek.
“Evening,” I say, stepping out of the shadows.
To their credit, they react instantly—weapons drawn, formation shifting, mana flaring as they prepare defensive abilities. But I’m not attacking. Not yet. I’m standing in the middle of the bridge, cleaver sheathed, hands visible.
Definitely not threatening.
Definitely not about to kill them all.
“Who the hell are you?” The leader—woman, late thirties, the bearing of someone who’s used to being obeyed. Her status flickers in my vision.
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────┐│ TARGET ANALYSIS ││ \[Scout Leader --- Partial Scan\] │├─────────────────────────────────────────────────┤│ Name: Unknown (blocking identification) ││ Level: 21 ││ Class: Shadow Operative (implied) ││ ││ Visible Equipment: ││ --- Enchanted Short Sword (+15 damage) ││ --- Light Armor (mana-reinforced) ││ --- Detection Amulet (active) ││ --- Communication Crystal (powered down) ││ ││ Threat Assessment: Significant ││ Party Threat Assessment: Severe ││ ││ "She's blocking her details.
Professional. ││ Also blocking her teammates.
Very professional.││ You might actually have to work for this one.
" │└─────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
Level 21. Six levels above me. And there are four more behind her.
“Name’s Edrin,” I say, using the dead man’s identity. “I’m the local healer. Saw your approach and figured I’d see if you folks need any assistance.”
“In the middle of the night? A mile outside the village?”
“Strange patrol patterns. Keep the monsters guessing.”
She doesn’t believe me. Her eyes are doing that calculating thing that trained operatives do—assessing threat levels, running probability calculations, deciding how much trouble I’m worth.
“We’re looking for someone,” she says finally. “Imperial business. A mana signature was detected in this area about six hours ago. Unusual signature. Powerful.”
“Powerful how?”
“That’s classified.” She takes a step forward, hand resting on her sword hilt. “But if you’ve seen anything unusual—strange travelers, magical disturbances, anyone claiming abilities beyond their apparent level—the Empire would be very interested to hear about it.”
I pretend to think about this.
“Can’t say I have,” I say. “Pretty quiet out here, mostly. Just the dungeon and the monsters and folks trying to get by.”
“The dungeon.” Her eyes sharpen. “The sealed one? We’ve received reports that someone’s been clearing floors. Going deeper than anyone’s managed in centuries.”
“Village has a few adventurers passing through now and then. Can’t keep track of all of them.”
“Can’t you?” She’s definitely not buying it now. “Because our records show this village hasn’t had a registered adventurer in over a decade. And the dungeon’s seal was supposed to be impenetrable.”
Shit.
She knows too much, Johnson says. He’s somewhere in the darkness, watching, waiting. This isn’t a random patrol. They came here specifically.
“Sounds like your records need updating,” I say, maintaining my relaxed posture even as every muscle in my body tenses for combat. “Things change out here in the borderlands. Hard to keep track.”
“Things do change.” She steps closer, and her hand moves from resting on her sword to gripping it.
“For instance, six hours ago, there was a massive mana surge in this exact location. The kind of surge that happens when someone undergoes a high-level class evolution. Legendary tier, if our instruments are correct.”
Definitely shit.
“And then,” she continues, “we cross-referenced that location with historical records. Do you know what we found?”
“Enlighten me.”
“This property—this farm you’re standing on—used to belong to someone interesting. Two hundred years ago. Before the dungeon was sealed.” Her smile is cold, professional. “The records are incomplete. Redacted, actually. Someone didn’t want the connection traced. But we traced it anyway.”
She knows, Johnson says urgently. Maybe not everything, but enough. You need to end this now.
“Interesting history lesson,” I say. “But I’m just a healer who bought a cheap farm. Whatever happened here two hundred years ago isn’t really my concern.”
“No? Then you won’t mind answering some questions. Back in the capital. Under proper supervision.”
She’s going to take me in. Interrogate me. And when they dig deep enough—when they find the connections, trace the mana signature, figure out who I really am—
They’ll tell Dario.
They’ll tell Anton.
And everyone I’ve started to care about will pay the price.
“I don’t think I’ll be going to the capital,” I say quietly.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“I know.”
She draws her sword. Behind her, the other four operatives fan out, weapons ready, preparing for the violent uncooperative suspect they’ve clearly dealt with before.
Five against one. Average level 20. Trained killers, every one of them.
In any fair fight, I’d lose.
Good thing I don’t fight fair.
I activate [What Was Lost].
The world changes.
For thirty seconds, I’m not Velthar the Archmage Remnant. I’m not the Level 15 almost-mage struggling to reclaim his power. I’m Velthar the Archmage—Level 97, master of arcane destruction, the man who killed a Demon Lord with a thought.
Power floods through me. Real power. The kind I haven’t felt since the moment Dario’s blade entered my chest.
┌─────────────────────────────────────────────────┐│ \[WHAT WAS LOST\] --- ACTIVATED │├─────────────────────────────────────────────────┤│ Duration: 30 seconds ││ Effect: Full Archmage abilities restored ││ ││ TEMPORARY STATS: ││ Level: 97 (effective) ││ INT: 847 (restored) ││ WIS: 523 (restored) ││ MP: 15,340 (restored) ││ ││ AVAILABLE SPELLS: ││ --- All.
Every spell you ever knew. ││ --- The complete library of a legendary mage.
││ --- For thirty seconds, you are death ││ wrapped in human skin.
││ ││ COUNTDOWN: 30... 29... 28... ││ ││ "Remember what you were.
Now show them." │└─────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
The scout leader sees it happen. Sees my eyes flare from faint luminescence to blazing azure light. Sees the mana gather around me like a visible storm, reality bending under the weight of power that shouldn’t exist in a Level 15 body.
“What the—”
I raise my hand.
“[Stasis Field].”
The spell was one of my favorites in the old days. Not destructive—I was never about destruction for its own sake—but controlling. A bubble of frozen time, stopping everything within its radius.
The five imperial scouts freeze mid-motion. Weapons raised, abilities half-activated, expressions caught between surprise and terror.
I have twenty-three seconds left.
“Johnson.”
Here. He emerges from the darkness, moving to stand beside me. What’s the plan?