I Was Reincarnated as the World's Final Boss but I Just Want a Quiet Life

[Harry Styles]

The stone wall exploded outward with no ceremony, no warning, no sound beyond the soft crack of ancient masonry giving up its structural integrity all at once. Ren had tapped it twice with his knuckle, a polite knock really, and the entire northern face of the dungeon's final chamber ceased to exist in any meaningful architectural sense.

He stepped through the rubble cloud with his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sudden influx of actual sunlight, which was frankly offensive after three hundred years of ambient dungeon glow. Or was it three hundred? Time got weird when you were a magical construct designed to murder adventurers. The memories of being Akatsuki Ren, seventeen-year-old student who'd fallen asleep during a late-night gaming session, sat uneasily next to the memories of being the Archon of the Abyss, terror of the deepest dungeon level, commander of seventeen lesser demons and one very apologetic lich.

The lich was probably still waiting in the throne room for instructions. Ren made a mental note to feel bad about that later.

Outside the dungeon, the world was aggressively green in a way that suggested nature had opinions about proper color saturation. Trees lined a valley that sloped down toward what might have been a road, if roads in this world were the kind of packed-dirt affairs that wouldn't pass a basic infrastructure inspection back home. The air smelled like pine and dirt and the absence of recycled dungeon atmosphere.

Ren took a breath. It tasted like freedom, which was sort of like regular air but with more existential implications.

A translucent blue window materialized in front of his face with the cheerful persistence of a pop-up ad.

[SYSTEM INTERFACE INITIALIZED]

Name: Akatsuki Ren

Title: Archon of the Abyss, Dungeon Core Entity (Unbound), He Who Waits in the Deep, The Final Question

Level: MAX

Class: Sovereign Mage (Mythic+)

Magic Power: [ERROR: VALUE EXCEEDS DISPLAY PARAMETERS]

Status: Dungeon-Unbound / Core Integrity: Stable / Existential Crisis: Moderate

Ren dismissed the window with a thought, which was convenient because his actual hands were busy brushing rock dust off the black coat that had apparently come standard with his reincarnation package. The coat was nice, he had to admit, some kind of enchanted fabric that repelled dirt and probably low-tier offensive magic. It made him look like a final boss, which was accurate but unhelpful given his current objectives.

Those objectives, in order of priority: Don't let anyone figure out he was an apocalypse-class magical entity. Find a town. Acquire tea, if this world had invented tea. Live quietly.

The problem with being catastrophically overpowered was that it showed. His magical aura was currently suppressed down to what he estimated was Archmage-level output, which was still probably enough to make every sensitive creature within a mile radius nervous. He needed to go lower. Much lower.

Ren closed his eyes and pulled on the mental thread connected to his power, the vast reservoir of magical energy that had been designed to make him an unkillable raid boss. He pushed it down, compressed it, wrapped it in layer after layer of containment spells he'd learned from absorbing the knowledge of every mage who'd died in his dungeon. Which was a lot of mages. Frankly an embarrassing number of mages.

The air around him stopped vibrating. The faint corona of purple-black energy that had been leaking from his skin faded to nothing. Birds, which had gone silent when he'd demolished the wall, started making bird noises again in the distance.

Better.

He pulled up the system interface again and focused on the appearance settings, which apparently existed because even magical reincarnation had a character creation screen. His current body was an idealized version of himself, aged up to maybe twenty, with the kind of bone structure that suggested "final boss" more than "wandering adventurer looking for honest work." The silver-white hair probably wasn't helping.

Ren cycled through options with the speed of someone who'd spent too many hours on character customization in games he barely remembered playing. Dark brown hair, ordinary. Eyes less silver, more dark gray. Facial features slightly less symmetrical, because perfect symmetry read as inhuman to most people. He kept the height, because he'd been short in his previous life and spite was a valid motivator.

The changes rippled across his reflection in a nearby puddle. Better. He looked like a moderately attractive human in his early twenties, the kind of person who might know a few spells and could probably handle himself in a fight but wasn't going to accidentally crack the continental shelf if he sneezed wrong.

Ren permitted himself a small smile and started down the slope toward the road, carefully not thinking about how each step covered about three times the distance it should have because his body still defaulted to movement-enhancement magic as a baseline state of existence.

He made it perhaps two hundred yards before he heard the scream.

It was a good scream, as screams went. Clear projection, genuine distress, the kind of scream that indicated an actual problem rather than someone being startled by a spider. Ren's feet changed direction before his brain finished processing the decision, carrying him through the trees at a speed that was definitely not normal human velocity but probably fell under the acceptable threshold for "talented adventurer in a hurry."

He found the source in a small clearing where the trees opened up around an ancient stone marker. A woman in traveling leathers was backed against the marker, her bow drawn but the string slack, facing down a creature that Ren's dungeon-boss knowledge base immediately classified as a Forest Maw. Six legs, crystalline hide, mandibles designed to shear through leather armor and the soft flesh beneath. Threat level: moderate for trained combatants, lethal for civilians, basically a nuisance for anyone with actual magical firepower.

The woman was an elf, he noted with the part of his brain that wasn't calculating threat vectors. Pointed ears, silver hair pulled back in a practical braid, the kind of face that would be pretty if it wasn't currently locked in an expression of controlled panic. Her quiver was empty, three arrows already buried in the Maw's hide with all the effectiveness of toothpicks.

The creature lunged.

Ren flicked his wrist, a gesture so small it barely qualified as movement. A lance of compressed force punched through the air and caught the Forest Maw mid-leap, stopping it dead. Not killing it, because that would require actual magic and he was trying to keep a low profile, but definitely ruining its day. The creature hit the ground hard, stunned, its legs scrabbling for purchase.

The elf spun toward him, her bow coming up again with the smooth speed of trained reflex. Her eyes were green, he noticed, and currently very wide.

"You should run," Ren suggested, keeping his voice level and non-threatening. "It'll recover in about thirty seconds."

She stared at him. At the Forest Maw, which was indeed starting to shake off the impact. At him again.

"What did you do?" Her voice had an accent he couldn't place, musical in the way elf voices apparently were in this world.

"Kinetic pulse. Basic force magic." Ren was already turning to leave, because standing around explaining things was how you ended up in conversations, and conversations led to questions, and questions led to people figuring out you were a walking apocalypse in a nice coat. "You're welcome. Goodbye."

"Wait!"

He did not wait. Waiting was for people who wanted social interaction. Ren walked back into the trees at a brisk pace that definitely wasn't enhanced by movement magic, no matter what the small trench his footsteps left in the soft earth might suggest.

The elf followed him anyway, because apparently "goodbye" was a suggestion rather than a command in this world.

"That wasn't basic force magic," she said, jogging to catch up. The Forest Maw was making angry chittering sounds behind them but didn't seem interested in pursuing, which was wise of it. "I've seen force magic. That was something else. That was..." She trailed off, her eyes searching his face for something.

Ren kept walking. "You're imagining things. Adrenaline does that. You should get to safety."

"The nearest town is three hours south." She was keeping pace with him now, her longer legs compensating for his magically-enhanced stride. "You're going the wrong way."

He was going the wrong way. Ren adjusted his trajectory without acknowledging the correction, which earned him a look that suggested the elf was reassessing her opinion of his competence.

"I'm Lysera," she offered after a moment of silence. "Lysera Windcrest. I'm a ranger for the northern territories. Well, I was. I'm currently between postings."

Ren made a noncommittal sound that could have meant anything from "fascinating" to "please stop talking to me."

"You're not from around here," Lysera continued, apparently immune to social cues. "The accent is wrong, and you're wearing dungeon-craft. That coat is warded against at least six different damage types. I can see the spell matrices from here."

Of course she could. Ren added "find less obviously magical clothing" to his mental checklist, right below "acquire tea" and above "figure out if this world has invented coffee."

"I bought it from a merchant," he said, which was technically not a lie if you considered "manifested it from ambient magical energy when I gained sentience as a dungeon boss" to be a form of transaction.

Lysera's expression suggested she was not buying this explanation, but to her credit, she didn't push. Instead, she said, "The town I mentioned. It's called Millbrook. Small place, but they have an adventurer's guild hall. If you're looking for work, or just a place to rest, it's your best option for fifty miles."

An adventurer's guild. Ren turned the concept over in his mind, prodding at the memories he'd inherited from his dungeon-boss existence. Guilds were where adventurers registered, took jobs, formed parties. They were also where people asked questions about your background and abilities, which was exactly the kind of attention he was trying to avoid.

But they were also where you could establish a cover identity, blend in, become just another face in the crowd of people trying to make a living by hitting monsters with swords.

"I might stop by," Ren said, which was apparently enough of an opening for Lysera to smile.

It was a nice smile, warm and genuine, the kind of smile that probably got her out of trouble on a regular basis. It also made Ren deeply suspicious, because people didn't just smile at strangers who'd saved them from monsters unless they wanted something.

They walked in silence for a while, the forest gradually thinning out as the road became more defined. Other travelers appeared, farmers with carts, a merchant caravan with guards who eyed Ren's coat with professional interest. Lysera waved at a few of them, exchanged brief greetings, played the role of friendly local ranger with practiced ease.

Ren kept his head down and his magical aura compressed so tightly it was practically non-existent. Just a normal person. Nothing to see here. Definitely not a former final boss trying to retire from the apocalypse business.

Millbrook appeared around a bend in the road, a collection of timber buildings clustered around a central square. Smoke rose from chimneys, people moved through the streets with the purposeful chaos of a functioning community, and somewhere a blacksmith was hammering metal in a rhythm that suggested either great skill or profound stubbornness.

The adventurer's guild hall was impossible to miss, a three-story stone building with a sign depicting a sword and staff crossed over a shield. People came and went through the main entrance, a mix of armor types and weapon configurations that would have made a raid coordinator weep with joy.

Lysera stopped at the edge of the square and turned to face him, her expression suddenly serious.

"Before you go in there," she said quietly, "I should tell you something. That spell you used on the Forest Maw? I've only seen magic like that once before, in an old temple in the eastern mountains. The elders there called it divine intervention. They said a spirit of the forest had blessed us."

Ren's stomach dropped. "It wasn't divine intervention. It was basic force magic."

"I know what I saw." Lysera's eyes searched his face again, and this time there was something else in her expression. Not suspicion. Reverence. "The elders were wrong about it being a forest spirit. But they weren't wrong about it being divine."

Oh no.

"I'm not divine," Ren said, putting as much mundane certainty into his voice as possible. "I'm a mage. A normal, regular mage who knows a few tricks."

Lysera nodded slowly, but her eyes said she didn't believe a word of it. "Of course. A normal mage. I understand."

She didn't understand. She understood the exact opposite of the situation. Ren could see the misunderstanding crystallizing in real-time, could see her mentally filing him under "mysterious powerful entity pretending to be normal," which was accurate but deeply unhelpful.

"I should go register," he said, because standing around trying to convince her he wasn't a divine being was only going to make things worse. "Thank you for the directions."

"I'll be staying at the Broken Wheel inn," Lysera offered. "If you need anything. Or if you want to talk."

Ren nodded and fled toward the guild hall before she could say anything else that would complicate his life further.

Inside, the hall was exactly what he'd expected: quest boards covered in notices, tables full of adventurers comparing scars and exaggerating stories, a bar that served food of questionable origin and alcohol of certain potency. The noise level was substantial, the smell was a mix of leather and steel and too many people in close quarters, and absolutely nobody looked at him twice.

Perfect.

Ren approached the registration desk, where a tired-looking woman with ink-stained fingers was processing paperwork with the enthusiasm of someone who'd processed ten thousand identical forms and expected to process ten thousand more.

"New registration?" she asked without looking up.

"Yes."

"Name?"

"Ren."

"Just Ren?"

"Just Ren."

She made a note. "Class?"

"Mage."

"Specialization?"

Ren considered saying "apocalyptic destruction" but settled for, "General practice."

The woman finally looked up, her eyes scanning him with professional assessment. "You'll start at Iron rank. Standard probation period, no solo contracts above threat level two, mandatory skill assessment within thirty days. Registration fee is five silver."

Ren produced five silver coins from his coat pocket, which he'd manifested from ambient magical energy about three seconds ago but which looked and spent like regular currency because matter transmutation was a basic skill for Sovereign-class mages.

The woman took the coins, stamped a card with practiced efficiency, and handed it to him. "Welcome to the guild. Try not to die."

"I'll do my best," Ren said, and meant it in ways she couldn't possibly understand.

He was turning to leave when someone behind him said, "Did you see that?"

Ren froze.

"See what?" another voice responded.

"The way the air sort of... shimmered around him when he paid. Like heat distortion, but cold."

"You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk yet, it's only noon."

Ren walked faster, keeping his expression neutral and his magical aura clamped down so hard it was probably giving him a metaphysical headache. He made it to the door, out into the square, and halfway to what looked like a general store before he allowed himself to acknowledge the fundamental problem with his plan.

Hiding his power was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought.

Behind him, in the guild hall, someone was asking the registration clerk about the new mage who'd paid with coins that smelled like ozone and possibility.

Outside the town, in the Broken Wheel inn, Lysera Windcrest was writing a letter to her elder council about a chance encounter with what she was absolutely certain was a divine spirit walking in mortal guise.

And in the dungeon he'd abandoned, the lich was still waiting for instructions, patient and confused and increasingly concerned about the structural integrity of the north wall.

Ren bought a cup of tea from a street vendor, found a bench in a quiet corner of the square, and tried very hard to pretend he was just a normal person having a normal day in a normal town.

The tea was terrible, but at least it was hot.

 

[StormFalcon7]

This seems like a fun spin for an adventure! Excited to see where it goes.

 

[Harry Styles]

The terrible tea had gone cold in Ren's hands by the time Lysera found him again, which was unfortunate because it had been terrible when it was hot too, and cold made it somehow worse. He'd been sitting on the bench for maybe twenty minutes, watching the flow of people through the square and trying very hard to project an aura of "completely normal person who definitely did not used to be an apocalypse-class magical entity." The projection was not going well, based on the way a group of children had stopped playing near him and moved to the other side of the square without any of the adults telling them to.

Lysera approached with the kind of careful stride that suggested she'd been thinking about this conversation the entire time she'd been gone, which Ren found deeply concerning because conversations that required thinking were never the kind of conversations he wanted to have.

"I've been asking around about you," she said without preamble, settling onto the bench beside him with the easy grace of someone who'd spent a lot of time sitting in trees waiting for prey to wander past.

Ren took a sip of the cold, terrible tea and immediately regretted it. "That seems like a waste of your time, considering we met approximately an hour ago and I haven't done anything interesting."

"The guild receptionist said your coins smelled like ozone."

"All coins smell like ozone if you smell them hard enough," Ren offered, which was not true but sounded plausible if you didn't think about it too much. "It's a property of metal. Very scientific."

Lysera's expression suggested she was thinking about it too much. Her eyes had that particular quality of someone trying to solve a puzzle while the puzzle was actively trying to convince her it wasn't a puzzle at all, just a regular pile of non-puzzling objects that happened to be shaped like puzzle pieces.

"The tea vendor said you paid him with a silver coin that was still warm, like it had just come out of a forge."

"I keep my coins in my pocket," Ren said, which was technically true in the sense that the coins had been in his pocket for approximately three seconds before he'd handed them over. "Body heat. Also very scientific."

"You're not making this easy."

"I'm not trying to make anything," Ren said, setting the cup down on the bench with the careful deliberation of someone abandoning a failed experiment. "I'm just a person who wants to register at the guild, take some low-level contracts, and live quietly. That's the entire scope of my ambitions. It's actually a very boring scope. You'd be disappointed by how boring it is."

Lysera studied him for a long moment, her green eyes searching his face for something he very much hoped she wouldn't find. The problem with elves, Ren was beginning to realize, was that they had a cultural tendency toward mysticism and pattern recognition, which was a terrible combination when you were trying to pretend you weren't a walking magical anomaly.

"Alright," she said finally, and Ren felt something in his chest unclench slightly. "I'll accept that you're just a normal mage with a normal amount of power who does normal things in a normal way."

"Thank you," Ren said, meaning it.

"But I'm coming with you."

The thing in his chest clenched right back up again. "That's not necessary."

"I disagree," Lysera said, and there was something in her tone that suggested the disagreement was not up for negotiation. "You saved my life. In my culture, that creates a debt. I can't repay it if I let you wander off and potentially get yourself killed by something mundane like a contract gone wrong or a tavern brawl over a card game."

Ren was fairly certain he could survive a tavern brawl with a dragon, let alone a drunk card player, but pointing that out would rather defeat the purpose of the conversation. "I'm not planning on getting into any tavern brawls."

"Nobody ever plans on getting into a tavern brawl," Lysera said with the certainty of someone who had gotten into several tavern brawls. "That's what makes them tavern brawls instead of scheduled duels. If you're going to insist on pretending to be a normal adventurer, you'll need a party. Normal adventurers have parties. It's suspicious if they don't."

This was, Ren had to admit, an annoyingly good point. Solo adventurers were either extremely powerful or extremely stupid, and neither category was the kind of attention he wanted. A party made him look cautious, which was the same as looking weak, which was exactly what he needed.

"Fine," he said, because arguing would take more energy than accepting, and he was trying to conserve his energy for the much larger task of convincing the guild to give him the lowest possible rank. "But I'm not looking for combat-heavy contracts. I'm thinking more along the lines of herb gathering, maybe some light monster culling if the monsters are particularly small and non-threatening."

"Slimes," Lysera said, nodding as if this made perfect sense. "You want to hunt slimes."

"Slimes are an underappreciated part of the ecosystem," Ren said, which was true and also completely irrelevant to his actual motivations. "Someone has to manage their population."

Lysera's expression had shifted into something that might have been amusement or might have been the early stages of a headache. Ren wasn't sure which would be worse for his long-term goals of being left alone.

"Most adventurers consider slime hunting to be beginner work," she said carefully. "The kind of thing you do when you're still learning which end of a sword is sharp."

"Then it's perfect for me," Ren said, standing up and leaving the cold tea on the bench like a small monument to his terrible decisions. "I'm extremely bad at sword work. Catastrophically bad. If you gave me a sword right now, I would probably cut myself before I managed to cut anything else."

This was a lie. Ren had absorbed the combat knowledge of approximately two hundred swordsmen over his three centuries as a dungeon boss, and he could probably bisect a building if he really put his mind to it. But Lysera didn't need to know that, and the image of him fumbling with a blade like an untrained recruit was exactly the kind of impression he wanted to cultivate.

They walked back toward the guild hall together, and Ren tried not to notice the way people moved slightly out of their path without quite looking at him directly. It was subtle, the kind of unconscious avoidance that happened when something set off a prey animal's instincts without triggering conscious recognition. He'd compressed his aura as far as it would go, wrapped it in so many layers of containment that he could barely sense his own power, but apparently some part of it was still leaking through in ways he couldn't quite control.

The guild hall was busier than it had been during his registration, the main room now packed with adventurers in various states of preparation and inebriation. A group near the bar was arguing loudly about the best way to skin a rock lizard without damaging the hide, while another cluster was studying a map spread across a table with the intense focus of people planning something either very clever or very stupid. The quest board on the far wall was covered in notices, everything from escort missions to dungeon raids, each one carefully ranked by threat level and expected reward.

Ren headed straight for the registration desk, where the same tired woman was processing paperwork with the mechanical efficiency of someone who'd long ago accepted that this was her life now and there was no point fighting it.

"I need to register a party," he said, sliding his brand-new Iron rank card across the desk.

The woman glanced at the card, then at him, then at Lysera, who had followed him to the desk with the patient air of someone watching a fascinating experiment unfold. "Party name?"

Ren hadn't thought about a party name. Party names seemed like the kind of thing that attracted attention, and attention was the opposite of what he wanted. "Do we need a party name?"

"It's required for registration," the woman said, her tone suggesting she'd had this conversation roughly ten thousand times and had stopped caring about the answer somewhere around conversation number three.

"The Quiet Ones," Ren said, because it was the first thing that came to mind and also because it was possibly the least threatening party name in the history of adventuring.

Lysera made a small sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a cough. The receptionist wrote it down without comment, which Ren chose to interpret as a good sign.

"Party rank starts at Iron, same as the lowest-ranked member," the woman continued, pulling out a second form and beginning to fill it in with practiced speed. "You'll need to complete at least five contracts before you're eligible for rank advancement. Standard liability waiver applies, the guild is not responsible for death, dismemberment, or transformation into small woodland creatures as a result of contract fulfillment."

"That last one seems oddly specific," Lysera murmured.

"Wizard's duel went wrong last year," the receptionist said without looking up. "Don't take contracts from anyone who introduces themselves as 'The Magnificent' anything. It never ends well."

She stamped the form with a heavy brass seal, added a second stamp that looked like it might be magical based on the way it glowed briefly before fading, and handed Ren a small bronze token embossed with the guild's symbol. "This is your party identifier. Show it when you take contracts. Try not to lose it, replacement fees are unreasonable."

Ren pocketed the token and turned toward the quest board, trying to project the enthusiasm of someone excited about their new adventuring career rather than someone trying to find the least dangerous possible way to look busy. The board was organized by rank, with Iron-level contracts clustered in the bottom right corner like an afterthought.

Most of them were exactly what he'd expected. Herb gathering in the eastern meadows, five silver per basket. Clearing rats from a merchant's warehouse, three silver plus whatever you could sell the tails for. Escorting a traveling scholar to the next town over, eight silver and meals provided. All perfectly boring, perfectly safe, perfectly suited to his needs.

And then there was the slime contract, pinned to the very bottom of the board like it was embarrassed to be there.

WANTED: Slime Population Control

Location: Northern bog, two hours from town

Threat Level: Minimal

Reward: 1 silver per slime core, minimum 10 cores required

Notes: Slimes have been breeding faster than usual this season. Local farmers concerned about crop damage. Bring your own containers for core storage. Do not eat the slimes. We shouldn't have to say this, but apparently we do.

Ren pulled the notice from the board and brought it back to the desk, where the receptionist looked at it with an expression that suggested she was reassessing her opinion of his intelligence.

"You want the slime contract," she said, and it wasn't quite a question.

"It seems straightforward," Ren replied, which was true. "Low risk, clear objectives, minimal chance of complications."

"It's also the lowest-paying contract on the board," the woman pointed out, though her tone suggested this was information rather than judgment. "Most parties use slime hunting as training for new members, not as their primary income source."

"We're starting small," Ren said, and tried to make it sound like ambition rather than desperation to avoid anything that might require him to use actual power. "Building experience before we take on bigger contracts."

The receptionist stamped the contract notice and handed it back to him along with a small leather pouch. "Slime cores go in here. Don't let them touch each other or they'll try to merge back into a slime, and then you'll have a very angry slime inside your storage pouch. Return the cores within three days or they start to dissolve and we won't pay for dissolved cores."

Ren accepted the pouch and the contract, trying not to think about how he used to command demons that could level cities and was now being warned about angry slimes in storage pouches. This was fine. This was exactly what he wanted. A nice, quiet life hunting slimes and definitely not accidentally revealing that he could reshape reality with a thought if he wasn't careful.

Lysera was waiting by the door when he finished, her bow slung across her back and a small pack of supplies at her feet. She'd changed out of her travel-stained leathers into something slightly less worn, though the practical cut and reinforced stitching suggested she wasn't the type to prioritize fashion over function.

"Slimes," she said as he approached, and there was definitely amusement in her voice now. "We're really doing this."

"We're really doing this," Ren confirmed, pushing open the door and stepping out into the afternoon sunlight. The square was still busy, still full of people going about their lives with the comfortable certainty that nothing world-ending was about to happen.

Behind them, in the guild hall, someone was asking the receptionist about the new party that had just registered. The one with the mage who'd paid with warm coins and the elf who kept watching him like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite solve.

Ahead of them, the northern road stretched toward the bog and its population of slimes, which Ren was absolutely certain he could handle without accidentally vaporizing the entire ecosystem.

Probably.

The road out of town was well-maintained, the kind of packed earth and gravel surface that suggested regular merchant traffic and municipal investment in infrastructure. Ren walked at what he hoped was a normal pace, though he had to keep consciously reminding himself not to let his movement enhancement activate out of habit. Next to him, Lysera moved with the easy stride of someone who'd spent most of her life outdoors, her eyes constantly scanning the tree line in a way that suggested ranger training went deeper than just knowing which plants were edible.

"So," she said after they'd been walking for about twenty minutes, "are you going to tell me why a mage capable of stopping a Forest Maw with a gesture is starting his adventuring career by hunting slimes?"

Ren had been expecting this question, which didn't make it any easier to answer. "I told you, I'm bad at sword work."

"You're a mage," Lysera pointed out with the patience of someone explaining basic concepts to a child. "Mages don't use swords. They use magic. Which you clearly have, based on the way you casually violated several laws of physics back in that clearing."

"I got lucky," Ren said, which was possibly the least convincing lie he'd ever told. "The Maw was already injured, and I just sort of pushed it at the right moment. Beginner's luck, really. Could have gone very badly if the timing had been off."

Lysera made a humming sound that indicated she was filing this information under "obvious lies to revisit later." The problem with traveling companions, Ren was realizing, was that they had time to ask questions and notice inconsistencies. Solo adventurers could maintain a cover story through sheer lack of sustained observation, but party members saw everything, including the things you very much didn't want them to see.

The system interface flickered into existence in the corner of his vision, unprompted, which it had been doing with increasing frequency since he'd left the dungeon. Ren had a theory that the interface was either bored or concerned about his life choices, though it was hard to tell with magical constructs that communicated primarily through status screens.

[ARCHON'S VEIL: ACTIVE]

Power Suppression: 99.97%

Apparent Level: 15 (Adept-class Mage)

Actual Level: ∞ (ERROR: LEVEL CAP EXCEEDED)

Warning: Extended suppression may cause magical pressure buildup. Recommend controlled release within 72 hours.

Ren dismissed the warning with a thought, which was probably unwise but he'd deal with magical pressure buildup when it became an actual problem rather than a theoretical one. The suppression was holding, his apparent level was solidly in the "competent but not exceptional" range, and as long as he didn't do anything stupid like accidentally destroy a mountain, he should be fine.

The bog appeared gradually, the road transitioning from solid ground to slightly squelchy ground to definitely squelchy ground over the course of about half a mile. The air got heavier, thick with the smell of stagnant water and decomposing plant matter, and the trees changed from the sturdy oaks and pines of the forest to twisted willows that looked like they'd given up on growing upward and decided to spread sideways instead.

"Slimes like bogs," Lysera said, apparently deciding to move past the interrogation phase and into the practical information phase of their partnership. "The moisture keeps their membranes from drying out, and there's plenty of organic matter to absorb. They're not actually dangerous unless you're stupid enough to try to eat one or let it engulf your head."

"I wasn't planning on either of those things," Ren assured her, stepping carefully around a puddle that looked deep enough to have opinions about his footwear choices.

"The cores are in the center of their mass," Lysera continued, pulling her bow around and checking the string with practiced efficiency. "You can kill them with pretty much anything, they're not structurally complex. The trick is getting the core out cleanly. If you rupture it, the slime dissolves into useless goo and you don't get paid."

Ren nodded, trying to remember if he'd ever actually fought a slime during his time as a dungeon boss. The Abyss had been a high-level area, the kind of place that spawned demons and cursed spirits, not basic blob monsters. Slimes were what you found in the starting zones, the tutorial areas where new adventurers learned that hitting things with swords was an effective problem-solving strategy.

The first slime appeared about ten minutes into the bog, a blue-green blob roughly the size of a large dog, pulsing gently as it absorbed nutrients from a rotting log. It noticed them with what Ren assumed was slime-level awareness and began moving in their direction with all the speed and menace of a particularly motivated puddle.

"That's a slime," Lysera said helpfully.

"I can see that," Ren replied, watching the creature approach with the kind of focus he'd once reserved for planning the defense patterns of his dungeon's seventeenth level. The slime was, objectively, not threatening. It was also not fast, not particularly large, and not showing any signs of having magical abilities beyond the basic "I am a blob" functionality.

This was going to be fine. He was going to kill a slime, extract its core, collect his silver, and take one small step toward building a completely normal adventuring career.

Ren raised his hand, channeling the absolute minimum amount of magical energy he could manage into a basic force bolt, the kind of spell that novice mages learned in their first week of training. It was simple, clean, and completely incapable of causing any collateral damage beyond making a small hole in whatever it hit.

The spell formed at his fingertip, a tiny point of compressed energy that would punch through the slime's membrane and crack the core with surgical precision.

He released it.

The slime exploded.

Not in the "slime dies and collapses into goo" sense. In the "slime ceases to exist as a physical object and becomes a fine mist distributed across a fifteen-foot radius" sense. The core, which was supposed to remain intact, had apparently decided that remaining intact was for cores that weren't caught in what amounted to a localized physics violation.

Ren stared at the space where the slime had been, which was now just empty bog with a slight shimmer in the air that suggested reality was still processing what had happened.

"That was supposed to be a basic force bolt," he said, more to himself than to Lysera.

Lysera was staring at the empty space too, her expression cycling through several emotions before settling on something between awe and concern. "That was not a basic force bolt."

"It was definitely supposed to be a basic force bolt," Ren insisted, running through the spell structure in his mind and trying to figure out where he'd miscalculated. The problem, he realized with growing horror, was that his sense of "minimum magical energy" had been calibrated by three hundred years of being a catastrophically powerful dungeon boss. What felt like barely any power to him was apparently still enough to atomize a slime.

"You vaporized it," Lysera said, and there was a quality to her voice that suggested she was updating her internal file on him from "mysteriously powerful" to "potentially world-ending." "You didn't kill it, you removed it from existence. That's not how force bolts work. That's not how any of this works."

Ren took a breath and tried to recalibrate. He needed to go lower. Much, much lower. So low that it barely qualified as magic at all, more like aggressively suggesting that physics do something rather than commanding it.

"I'll try again," he said, spotting another slime making its way toward them through the bog. This one was slightly smaller, a yellow-tinged blob that seemed very excited about the prospect of absorbing whatever nutrients they might provide if they died horribly. Which they wouldn't, because Ren was going to kill this slime properly, with the correct amount of force, and everything would be fine.

He raised his hand again, this time pulling so little power that it barely registered as a spell at all. Just a tiny push, a gentle suggestion that the slime's structural integrity might want to reconsider its current arrangement.

The force bolt hit the slime and bounced off its membrane like a rubber ball off a wall.

The slime jiggled, possibly in confusion, and continued advancing.

"Too low," Ren muttered, trying to find the middle ground between "vaporize" and "harmlessly bounce off." This was harder than it should be. When you'd spent centuries operating at power levels that could crack continents, finding the sweet spot for "kill a slime without destroying it" required a degree of fine control he apparently didn't have.

Lysera had drawn her bow and put an arrow through the slime's core with the casual efficiency of someone who'd done this roughly a thousand times. The creature collapsed into goo, the core rolling free and intact.

"Like that," she said, picking up the core and dropping it into the storage pouch. "You just have to hit the center with enough force to crack the membrane and the core simultaneously. It's not complicated."

Ren watched her do it again with a second slime that had emerged from behind a fallen tree, the arrow punching through the blob and leaving the core perfectly intact. It looked easy when she did it, which made his own failure more embarrassing.

"I think I need to recalibrate my spell power," he admitted, because denying the obvious was only going to make things worse.

"I think you need to recalibrate a lot of things," Lysera said, but her tone was more amused than accusatory. "How about you let me handle the slimes, and you work on figuring out how to not accidentally destroy everything you touch. That seems like a useful skill for someone trying to live quietly."

It was a reasonable suggestion, which made it hard to argue against even though it meant admitting he couldn't handle the simplest possible combat scenario. Ren nodded and stepped back, watching as Lysera methodically worked her way through the bog, dropping slimes with practiced accuracy and collecting cores with the efficiency of someone who'd done a lot of beginner contracts in her career.

By the time they'd collected fifteen cores, the sun was starting to dip toward the horizon, painting the bog in shades of orange and gold that almost made it look less like a disease-ridden swamp. Lysera sealed the storage pouch and tucked it into her pack, then turned to him with an expression that suggested she'd been thinking about something for a while and had finally decided to say it.

"You're going to have to tell me eventually," she said. "Whatever you are, whatever you're running from, it's going to come out. Secrets like yours don't stay buried, they just wait for the worst possible moment to surface."

Ren wanted to argue, wanted to insist that he could maintain this cover indefinitely, that he could learn to be normal through sheer force of will and careful power management. But Lysera was right, and they both knew it. The vaporized slime was proof that his control wasn't as good as he needed it to be, and if he couldn't handle a basic combat scenario without revealing his power, he was going to have much bigger problems when something actually dangerous showed up.

"I'm not running from anything," he said, which was true in the most literal sense. "I'm just trying to live quietly. That's all. No grand plans, no hidden agenda, just a quiet life."

Lysera studied him for a long moment, her green eyes reflecting the sunset in a way that made them look almost gold. "Alright," she said finally. "I'll accept that for now. But when the quiet life stops being possible, and it will, I'm going to expect an explanation."

"That's fair," Ren agreed, because it was the best he was going to get and arguing would only make her more suspicious.

They walked back toward town in the fading light, the storage pouch heavy with slime cores and the weight of unspoken questions. Somewhere behind them, the bog continued its slow process of decomposition and renewal, completely unaware that it had briefly hosted a conversation about the nature of power and the difficulty of hiding from your own abilities.

When they reached the guild hall, the evening crowd was in full swing, adventurers celebrating successful contracts or drowning their sorrows after failed ones. Ren handed over the storage pouch to the night receptionist, a different woman than the one who'd registered them but with the same expression of someone who'd seen everything and was no longer impressed by anything.

She counted the cores, made a note in a ledger, and handed him fifteen silver coins that clinked together with the satisfying weight of actual money. "First contract complete," she said, stamping their party token with a small mark. "Four more and you're eligible for rank advancement. Try not to vaporize anything important."

Ren pocketed the coins and tried not to wonder how she'd heard about the vaporized slime already. Information traveled fast in small towns, apparently, which was another thing he'd need to account for in his ongoing quest to remain unremarkable.

Outside, the square was lit by magical lanterns that cast a soft blue glow over the cobblestones, and the evening air had that particular quality of warmth fading into coolness that made people want to find somewhere comfortable to sit and reflect on their day. Lysera was heading toward the Broken Wheel inn, her pack slung over one shoulder and her bow across the other, moving with the tired satisfaction of someone who'd done a good day's work and earned a good night's rest.

Ren watched her go, then turned his attention to the quest board visible through the guild hall's window. Tomorrow there would be more contracts, more opportunities to practice being normal, more chances to prove that he could live quietly without accidentally revealing that he used to be the terror of the deepest dungeon.

The system interface flickered into view again, its message brief and somehow judgmental.

[FIRST CONTRACT COMPLETE: SLIME ELIMINATION]

Slimes Killed: 0 (Lysera: 15)

Slimes Vaporized: 1

Performance Rating: NEEDS IMPROVEMENT

Suggestion: Consider letting party members handle combat until power calibration is complete.

Ren dismissed the interface and started walking toward the general store, because if he was going to be useless in combat, he could at least make himself useful by acquiring supplies. Tea, for instance. Better tea than the terrible stuff the street vendor had sold him. If he was going to build a quiet life, it should at least include decent tea.

Behind him, in the guild hall, someone was already telling the story of the new mage who'd somehow made a slime cease to exist, and the story was growing in the telling, as stories always did. By tomorrow it would be two slimes, by next week it would be a whole nest, and by next month someone would probably claim he'd fought a slime king and won.

Ren bought his tea, found a small inn that looked cheaper than the Broken Wheel, and settled into a room that was clean enough to sleep in and small enough to feel safe. Through the window, he could see the town settling into its evening routine, people finishing their days and preparing for tomorrow, living their lives with the comfortable certainty that nothing world-ending was lurking in their midst.

He pulled up the system interface one more time, checking his suppression levels and making sure everything was holding. The Archon's Veil was still active, his power still compressed down to manageable levels, and according to the readout, he had about sixty hours before the magical pressure buildup became a real problem.

Sixty hours to figure out how to kill a slime properly. Sixty hours to learn how to be normal. Sixty hours before he'd need to find somewhere private to release the pressure without accidentally creating a new geological feature.

It was fine. Everything was fine. He was just a normal mage, in a normal town, starting a normal adventuring career by hunting slimes and drinking tea.

The fact that the tea was mediocre and the slimes kept exploding was just part of the learning process.

 

[Harry Styles]

The northern bog looked worse in daylight. Ren stood at the edge of the water, watching a cluster of slimes pulse and merge near a half-submerged log, and tried to calculate exactly how much power he needed to not accidentally create a new lake where the bog used to be.

Lysera was checking her bowstring for the third time, her movements precise but slightly too quick. Nervous energy, Ren recognized, the kind that came from spending the night thinking about mysterious mages who made Forest Maws stop existing.

"The contract said ten cores minimum," she said, not quite looking at him. "But there are at least thirty slimes visible from here. If we're efficient, we could probably collect twenty cores before sunset."

Ren nodded and continued his mental calculations. A basic flame spell required approximately point-zero-three percent of his available power. He'd used point-zero-five percent yesterday and vaporized a slime.

The system interface flickered into view, uninvited.

[QUEST ACCEPTED: SLIME POPULATION CONTROL]

Objective: Collect 10+ slime cores

Recommended Party Size: 2-3 Iron Rank Adventurers

Estimated Difficulty: Trivial

Warning: Current power suppression may cause spell instability. Recommend manual power regulation.

Suggestion: Let the elf do it.

Ren dismissed the interface with more force than necessary. The system had been getting increasingly sarcastic since he'd left the dungeon, which suggested either developing sentience or a very passive-aggressive programmer in whatever cosmic framework had created this world.

"I'll try the first one," he said, because standing around thinking about it was only going to make Lysera more suspicious.

A blue slime was oozing its way toward them, probably attracted by the vibrations of their footsteps or possibly just wandering in the vague direction of potential food. It was about the size of a large cat, translucent enough to see the darker core suspended in its center, moving with all the urgency of a particularly lazy puddle.

Ren raised his hand and pulled on his magic, wrapping the power in so many layers of containment that it felt like trying to thread a needle while wearing oven mitts. He shaped the spell structure for a basic flame bolt, the kind of thing apprentice mages learned in their second week of training.

The spell formed at his fingertip, a tiny point of heat that would, theoretically, punch through the slime's membrane and crack the core without destroying it.

He released it.

The flame bolt hit the slime and expanded.

Not into a fireball. Into something that looked like someone had opened a door to the sun and then immediately closed it again. The slime didn't vaporize this time. It sort of ceased to exist in stages, starting from the point of impact and radiating outward in a perfect sphere of not-there-anymore. The core hung in the air for half a second before it too decided that existing was optional.

The bog was very quiet.

"That was supposed to be a flame bolt," Ren said to nobody in particular.

Lysera was staring at the empty space where the slime had been. Her bow hung forgotten in her hand, the string slack. "What," she said, and it wasn't quite a question, more like her brain was trying to process something and failing to find the right words.

"I think I used too much power again," Ren admitted, running through the spell structure in his mind and trying to figure out where he'd miscalculated. The problem was that his sense of scale was completely wrong. What felt like barely any magic to him was apparently still enough to delete things from reality.

"Too much power," Lysera repeated slowly. "That's what you're calling that. Too much power."

A green slime was approaching from the left, either unaware of what had just happened to its blue cousin or operating on slime-level intelligence that didn't include pattern recognition. Ren watched it ooze closer and tried to think of a different approach.

Maybe the problem was using offensive magic at all. Offensive spells were designed to destroy things, and his offensive spells were calibrated for destroying demon lords and raid parties. What he needed was something gentler, more precise.

"I'm going to try something different," he said.

"Please do," Lysera replied, and there was a quality to her voice that suggested she was reconsidering several life choices that had led her to this moment.

Ren focused on the green slime and instead of attacking it, he simply asked the universe very politely if the core could maybe separate itself from the rest of the slime's mass. It was barely magic at all, more like a suggestion than a command, the kind of thing that shouldn't work unless you had enough power to make the universe listen to suggestions.

The slime stopped moving. Its membrane rippled once, twice, and then the core just sort of drifted out of the center and landed on the ground with a soft plop. The rest of the slime collapsed into a puddle of inert goo that would probably be absorbed back into the bog within a few hours.

Ren stared at the core. Lysera stared at the core. The core sat there being a core, completely intact and definitely not destroyed.

"Did you just," Lysera started, then stopped. "Did you just ask it to die?"

"I asked it to separate," Ren corrected, walking over to pick up the core. It was warm in his hand, about the size of a marble, pulsing with faint magical energy. "There's a difference."

"Normal mages can't do that," Lysera said, and she was using that tone again, the one that suggested she was mentally filing him under categories that included words like divine and possibly world-ending. "Normal mages have to destroy the slime to get the core. You just, what, convinced it to give up?"

"It's a slime," Ren said, dropping the core into the storage pouch. "It's not complicated enough to have opinions about dying."

This was technically true but also completely missing the point, which was that casual reality manipulation was exactly the kind of thing that attracted attention. He needed to find a middle ground between vaporizing things and politely asking the universe to rearrange itself for his convenience.

Lysera had recovered enough to start moving again, circling around to where another cluster of slimes was congregating near a pool of standing water. She drew her bow, sighted, and put an arrow through a yellow slime's core with the kind of precision that came from doing this exact task hundreds of times.

"Like that," she said, collecting the core. "That's how normal people do it."

Ren watched her drop two more slimes with the same efficient accuracy and tried to figure out how to replicate that level of mundane competence. The problem was that he didn't think in terms of physical projectiles and trajectory anymore. His magic was conceptual, working on the level of what should happen rather than what physically happened.

A red slime was oozing toward him, slightly larger than the others, its membrane darker and more opaque. Ren focused on it and tried to think like a normal mage. Force, not reality manipulation. Physical impact, not conceptual dissolution.

He shaped a kinetic bolt, the same spell he'd used on the Forest Maw but smaller, weaker, calibrated for slime-level durability instead of crystalline hide. He released it.

The bolt hit the slime and the slime exploded.

Not into mist this time. Just exploded, membrane rupturing and core fragments scattering across the bog in a spray of red goo that painted the nearby reeds in shades that would probably attract scavengers.

"Too much again," Ren said, because stating the obvious was better than standing in silence while Lysera's expression cycled through several stages of disbelief.

"You're doing this on purpose," she said finally. "You're testing something. Seeing how much power you can use without, without," she gestured at the red-stained reeds, "without that."

It was close enough to the truth that Ren didn't bother denying it. "I'm trying to find the right level. It's harder than it looks."

"Most mages have the opposite problem," Lysera pointed out, dropping another slime with an arrow that punched through the core so cleanly it barely disturbed the membrane. "Most mages struggle to generate enough power for basic spells. You're struggling to use less."

She wasn't wrong. Ren watched her collect the core and tried to think of this as a calibration exercise. He had approximately twenty-eight more slimes to practice on, assuming he didn't accidentally destroy the bog in the process.

The next attempt went better. He used a force bolt so weak it barely qualified as magic, just enough energy to crack the membrane without rupturing it. The slime died, the core rolled free, and nothing exploded or ceased to exist.

"That looked normal," Lysera said, and there was something like relief in her voice.

"It felt normal," Ren agreed, which was a lie because it had felt like trying to whisper while standing next to a volcano, but the result was what mattered.

He killed three more slimes the same way, each one a small victory in the ongoing battle against his own catastrophic power levels. Lysera worked parallel to him, her arrows finding cores with mechanical precision, and slowly the storage pouch filled with the small warm spheres that represented their contract completion.

The system interface appeared again, this time with what Ren was fairly certain was approval.

[SLIME ELIMINATION: IN PROGRESS]

Cores Collected: 15/10

Slimes Destroyed: 4

Slimes Vaporized: 1

Slimes Exploded: 1

Slimes Convinced to Die: 1

Performance Rating: IMPROVING

New Skill Acquired: [Power Regulation - Novice]

Effect: Reduces chance of accidental apocalypse by 5%

Ren dismissed the interface and tried not to think about how a five percent reduction in accidental apocalypse chance was both helpful and deeply concerning.

They worked through the afternoon, the sun tracking across the sky and painting the bog in shades of gold and amber. Lysera had relaxed slightly, falling into the rhythm of the work, though she still watched him out of the corner of her eye whenever she thought he wasn't paying attention.

By the time they'd collected twenty-three cores, Ren had managed to kill six slimes in a row without any reality-breaking side effects. It wasn't perfect, his power control was still terrible by any reasonable standard, but it was progress.

"We should head back," Lysera said, sealing the storage pouch. "The guild closes the contract desk at sunset, and I'd rather not carry these cores overnight. They start to smell."

Ren nodded and followed her back toward the road, his boots squelching in the soft ground. The bog looked the same as when they'd arrived, minus twenty-three slimes and plus several areas where the local plant life was going to need time to recover from his learning process.

They walked in silence for a while, the forest gradually replacing the bog, solid ground replacing mud. The sun was lower now, filtering through the trees in long golden shafts that made everything look slightly more magical than it actually was.

"Can I ask you something?" Lysera said finally.

Ren had been expecting this. "You can ask. I might not answer."

"Fair enough." She adjusted her bow across her shoulders, her expression thoughtful. "That spell you used on the green slime. The one where you just, convinced it to die. What was that?"

"Conceptual magic," Ren said, because it was technically accurate and completely uninformative. "It's a school of magic that works on ideas rather than physical forces."

"I've never heard of conceptual magic."

"It's not very common," Ren replied, which was true in the sense that it required enough power to make reality listen to abstract commands, and most mages couldn't generate that kind of power if they tried for a century.

Lysera made a humming sound that suggested she was filing this information away for later analysis. "And the other spells? The ones that vaporized things?"

"Calibration errors," Ren said. "I'm still getting used to, to working at lower power levels. It's an adjustment."

This was perhaps the most honest thing he'd said all day, and Lysera seemed to recognize it. Her expression softened slightly, some of the suspicion replaced by what might have been understanding.

"Most mages spend their whole lives trying to get stronger," she said quietly. "You're the first one I've met who's trying to get weaker."

"I'm not trying to get weaker," Ren corrected. "I'm trying to look weaker. There's a difference."

They reached the town as the sun touched the horizon, the sky painted in shades of orange and purple that would have looked fake if someone had tried to paint them. The guild hall was still open, light spilling from the windows and the sound of evening crowd noise drifting through the door.

The same tired woman was at the desk, processing paperwork with the mechanical efficiency of someone who'd long since accepted their fate. She took the storage pouch, counted the cores with practiced speed, and made a note in her ledger.

"Twenty-three cores," she said. "Contract fulfilled. Payment is twenty-three silver." She counted out the coins and pushed them across the desk. "Good work. Try not to destroy the bog next time."

Ren accepted the coins and tried not to wonder how she'd heard about the destroyed sections of bog already. Information traveled fast in small towns, faster when it involved mysterious new mages who made things explode.

Lysera collected her share of the payment and tucked it into her pouch. "I'm going to get dinner at the Broken Wheel. You're welcome to join if you want."

It was a casual invitation, the kind that didn't require acceptance but suggested that refusal would be noticed. Ren considered his options. Eating alone would be suspicious, eating with Lysera would lead to more questions, but eating with Lysera would also be more normal than eating alone.

"Alright," he said, because normal was the goal even if it was harder than fighting demon lords.

The Broken Wheel was crowded, full of travelers and locals and adventurers comparing stories over plates of food that smelled better than it probably tasted. They found a table in the corner, away from the main crowd, and ordered something the server called hunter's stew that turned out to be mostly vegetables with occasional chunks of meat.

"So," Lysera said after they'd been eating in silence for a few minutes, "what's your plan? Are you staying in town, or just passing through?"

"Staying for a while," Ren said, because leaving immediately would be suspicious and he didn't have anywhere else to go anyway. "I want to take more contracts, build up some experience."

"Experience in not destroying things," Lysera said, and there was amusement in her voice now, the kind that suggested she'd decided he was more entertaining than threatening.

"Experience in looking normal," Ren corrected. "It's harder than I thought."

"Most things are," Lysera agreed. She took a bite of stew, chewed thoughtfully, and then said, "I'm staying too. For a while at least. So if you want a party member for future contracts, I'm available."

It was an offer, but also a statement of intent. She wasn't going to let him wander off and potentially cause more reality-breaking incidents without supervision. Ren couldn't decide if that was helpful or concerning.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, which was noncommittal enough to not be a rejection but not enthusiastic enough to be acceptance.

They finished their meal in comfortable silence, the kind that suggested they'd reached an understanding even if neither of them was quite sure what that understanding was. When Ren paid for his portion with coins that were only slightly warm this time, the server didn't comment, which he chose to interpret as progress.

Outside, the square was lit by magical lanterns that cast everything in soft blue light. People moved through the streets with the easy confidence of being home, going about their evening routines with the comfortable certainty that nothing world-ending was lurking nearby.

Ren walked back to his small inn room, the silver coins heavy in his pocket and the system interface flickering with what he was fairly certain was satisfaction.

[QUEST COMPLETE: SLIME POPULATION CONTROL]

Cores Collected: 23/10

Bonus Payment: 13 silver

New Skill Progress: [Power Regulation - Novice] 15%

Achievement Unlocked: [Completed First Contract]

Reward: +1 to Reputation (Millbrook Guild)

Note: The elf is suspicious and definitely going to keep following you.

Ren dismissed the interface and tried not to think about how accurate that last note probably was. He pulled up his [STATUS] screen, something he'd been avoiding because seeing his actual power level displayed numerically was always slightly horrifying.

[STATUS]

Name: Ren

Level: ∞ (Displayed as 15)

Class: Sovereign Mage (Displayed as Adept Mage)

Active Abilities: [Power Regulation - Novice], [Archon's Veil - Active], [Reality Manipulation - Sealed], [Conceptual Magic - Limited]

Passive Abilities: [Dungeon Lord's Authority - Suppressed], [Immortal Core - Hidden], [Magical Absorption - Dormant]

Current Suppression: 99.97%

Magical Pressure Buildup: 45% (Recommend release within 48 hours)

The pressure buildup was getting worse. Ren had known it would, compressing that much power for this long was like trying to hold a dam together with willpower and hope. He'd need to find somewhere private to release it soon, somewhere far enough from town that nobody would notice when he accidentally rearranged the local geography.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, he had successfully completed a contract, collected payment, and only destroyed two slimes in the process. By the standards of his new life, that counted as a victory.

Ren lay down on the small bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the town settling into night. Somewhere nearby, someone was playing a stringed instrument badly. Further away, a dog was barking at something that probably didn't deserve barking. Normal sounds, mundane sounds, the kind of sounds that came from a world that wasn't ending.

The system interface flickered one last time before he fell asleep.

[CORE LOOP ESTABLISHED]

Pattern Recognized: Attempt normalcy → Minor threat → Casual solution → Misinterpretation → Return to normalcy

Prediction: This loop will repeat with increasing complications

Suggestion: Get used to it

Additional Note: The elf is writing a letter to her elder council about you. You should probably worry about that.

Ren closed his eyes and decided that worrying about elven elder councils was also a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, he was just a normal adventurer who'd completed his first real contract and earned enough silver to buy better tea.

The fact that he'd nearly destroyed a bog in the process was just part of the learning experience.

 

[asdfjklö]

Fun to read, except the fact that he has no spine, it seems like. If he wants to live a quiet life just ditch the bimbo and live in a library or something instead of heading into a guildhall of all places lmao