SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar

1376  The Subtle Art Of Grief

"Nero..." The receptionist repeated after him, the name lingering on her lips as she gave him a cursory look. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

After a while she nodded and scribbled something onto a piece of parchment.

Neron heaved a sigh of relief as she did so.

For a moment, he thought that she had seen through his facade and knew who he was.

He chided himself for overthinking it. After all, the chances of him being recognized was improbable.

"Very well, Nero. The Adventurers Test is not to be taken lightly. Prepare yourself and return in three days. Only then will you face the challenges we've set for new recruits."

Her smile was toothy and for some reason, he found her tone mildly patronizing.

He didn't mind it as there were more pressing issues for him to worry about.

He inclined his head once more in a brief acknowledgment before turning and heading back through the bustling hall.

The eyes of the guild members followed him as he left, curiosity and skepticism lingering in their gazes.

Naturally, he became the next subject of discussion amongst them as they debated the identity of the weird stranger and his abilities.

By then Neron was already out of earshot.

The streets outside the guild were busy, filled with people going about their daily lives.

He swiftly made his way through the crowd, his mind already turning to the next steps.

As he walked, the people around him gave him a wide berth.

Despite his stature and physique, there was something in his gait that made them aware that this was not someone to be trifled with.

He was rather oblivious to the whole thing as his mind was focused on lodgings.

He needed a place to stay, somewhere to gather his thoughts and prepare for the test.

After a few inquiries, he found an inn not far from the guild.

It was a modest establishment, its sign creaking in the breeze, but it offered the warmth and quiet he needed.

There were some shady characters loitering about but he paid them no mind.

He knew that they wouldn't bother him and even if they did, he could handle them easily.

22:25

Thievery and violence was only to be expected in shabby and poor areas like this one.

Inside, the inn was cozy, with a crackling fire in the hearth and the smell of hearty stew wafting from the kitchen.

As the scent reached him, he felt a stab in his heart as it reminded him of the meals he relished growing up in the manor.

The broth he perceived had been his favorite and Mordred had always teased him about it.

"Hi there. Do you want a room?"

The innkeeper, a stout woman with kind eyes, asked warmly, breaking him out of his momentary daze.

"Yes. How much is it?"

After he paid the money, she showed him to a small room on the upper floor. It wasn't much but it was enough.

"I can make you some tea now if you want. There's no dinner but tomorrow, be sure to come down for breakfast, it comes with the room."

"Don't worry about the tea, I'm fine," He said, declining her offer as he didn't want to be disturbed again once he was inside the room.

As the innkeeper left him alone, he took a moment to survey where he was.

The room was small, with a single bed, a worn but sturdy desk, and a small window overlooking the bustling street below.

It was modest but reasonable for its fee. The best part was that it provided the privacy and solitude he needed.

He sat on the edge of the bed, removing his cloak and placing it neatly over the back of the sole chair in the room.

The mask he wore was next, revealing his face and he sighed softly as he felt a rush of cool air. He had truly missed the feeling.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a slow breath as he allowed himself to relax for the first time in days.

As he laid on the bed which creaked under his weight, his mind drifted to the events of the past days.

He found himself reflecting on the reasons that brought him to where he was and it was all he could do not to break down.

The grief of losing Mordred took a toll on his mind much more than he was letting on.

What pained him the most was that he had allowed himself to forget his initial hatred of magic because of the influence of Mordred and Serah.

If only he hadn't been that trusting of a power that was useless when you needed it the most. In the end, it was just tricks for showing off.

His new decision to abandon magic was solidified in his mind as he vowed to walk his path without using magic.

There was a time when magic had been his refuge, a means to protect and create, but that time had passed.

The realization that his magic, despite his best intentions, brought more harm than good had driven him to the brink.

He could no longer bear the burden of those memories or the fear of repeating the same mistakes.

Becoming an adventurer offered a chance for redemption.

It was a way to find a new purpose, to protect others without the risk of his magic causing unintended harm.

The guild's camaraderie and shared goals gave him hope, but he knew he had to keep his distance.

He was restless so he stood up from the bed and went over to the chair.

He sat by the window, looking out at the bustling street below.

"How ignorant but happy they look," He whispered to himself as he observed how they all went about their business.

He clenched his fists, a determined look settling on his face.

He had three days to prepare, three days to prove to himself that he could walk this new path and maybe find some purpose in it.

No one around him would get hurt if he kept his distance, if he didn't allow anyone in.

Allowing others into his life had only led to pain, and he couldn't afford that again.