In the end, Olivier managed to harness the magic, but each time he returned to his own body, he couldn't shake the discomfort of his depleted reserves.
"They're on the move," he murmured, opening his eyes. "They're combing through the forest now, trying to locate us."
An glanced at him, her expression tense. "How much time do we have?"
"About half a day."
---
Half a day later, the Black Crow group gathered in front of the waterfall, scanning the dark, dense terrain. The waterfall roared as usual, and there was no sign of fire damage. All around, the landscape was pitch black, shadows swallowing any detail.
"Hmm. With a place like this, anyone who goes in might as well be walking into a death trap," Tom muttered, clicking his tongue in annoyance.
As he weighed his options, Olivier quickly turned to relay the news to the others, The Black Crow was at the gate. In the commotion, no one noticed that two figures were silently approaching from the edge of the woods. They would, however, be noticed soon enough.
---
"What's wrong with your quiver?" Plamon asked, leaning in curiously to poke at it. As he reached out, a flash of heat seared his hand.
"What…?" Olivier pulled out his quiver, frowning as he examined it. The arrows seemed unchanged.
Plamon, nursing his burned hand as his blessing worked to heal the injury, leaned closer. "Doesn't seem like it's the arrows. Do you have anything else stashed in there?"
"Something else?" Olivier paused. "I think there's only one other thing left."
He removed a hidden partition, shaking out the contents piece by piece. The dark fragments clattered onto the ground, and everyone instinctively took a few steps back as a wave of intense heat radiated from them.
"Why is it so hot?" someone muttered.
Olivier, however, looked puzzled. He felt only a faint coolness where his fingers brushed the fragments. 'Why was he the only one unaffected?' He began to reassemble his longbow, hoping to understand.
---
"See? That's the group we were looking for." An old man pointed to the distant crowd, a look of relief spreading across his face.
"Got it," replied the figure beside him. Without another word, he strode forward, his steps quickening until he broke into a run. The Black Crows saw him approaching, and they immediately went on alert.
"Halt!" one of them shouted.
The young man seemed momentarily puzzled, scratching his head, but he didn't stop.
---
Meanwhile, Olivier completed reassembling his longbow. As he held it, an inexplicable chill seemed to radiate from the bow, though he was the only one who felt it. Everyone else had already scrambled outside, eyeing him warily from a distance.
Olivier scratched his head, baffled. Why was he the only one experiencing this strange reaction? 'What's different about me compared to them?' He wondered if it had something to do with his elven nature, but this didn't feel familiar, and his teacher had never mentioned anything like it before.
---
As the young man continued toward the Black Crows, ignoring their shouts, they quickly prepared for action. One of the mages tore a scroll, summoning a surge of crackling electricity that shot toward him; a clear warning.
But as the electric current surged forward, the young man's right foot made contact with it, absorbing the energy instantly. Without missing a beat, he raised his left hand, forming the energy into a concentrated sphere, and tossed it back at them.
The current slammed against the group's magical barrier, causing it to flicker, though the spell wasn't powerful enough to breach it. But the unexpected sight of a person absorbing and redirecting magic had already sent ripples of shock through the crowd.
'Absorbing magic, then reshaping it?' In the distance, the old man watched with satisfaction, nodding to himself.
As expected of a being that carries the memories of countless souls from the past, its strength had grown remarkably from the initial confusion it displayed upon waking.
---
In Olivier's hand, the longbow began to tremble uncontrollably. What was happening? The coolness from the bow seeped into his left hand, which had felt warm moments ago but was now chilled to the bone. Instinctively, he wanted to release the bow, but his left hand wouldn't obey, even with the help of his right.
He glanced up, seeking help from those around him, only to realize they were keeping their distance, casting wary glances his way.
'Was it really that hot?'
---
Meanwhile, the young man advanced steadily toward the barrier. Arrows bounced off invisible walls, magic dissipated into nothing as it reached him, and the defenders were left with no choice but to prepare for close combat.
"What's going on?" the old man murmured, perplexed. "Why isn't he being repelled? Is he testing himself, gathering data on close combat for this new body?"
He balled his fist and struck the barrier. Normally, his strength would have sent his fist straight through, but now it collided with a solid resistance, startling everyone. It defied all logic—living beings were supposed to pass through these barriers, yet here he was, shattering their assumptions.
With a steady increase in force, his fist pressed against the barrier until cracks spread like fractured glass, growing wider with each blow.
"Is it because he's a magical creature?" someone whispered.
As if answering the question, the barrier exploded, sending shards of energy outward, scattering the nearby soldiers.
The shock wore off quickly, and a combatant rushed forward, fist raised, ready to strike. But the young man surged forward, meeting him head-on with two swift punches to the chest and stomach, sending his opponent flying backward. The man fell to the ground, writhing, unable to rise.
Looking down at his hands with mild surprise, the young man sighed as though the reaction was involuntary. But then another attacker, a swordsman; charged in, gripping his sword with both hands and swinging it down with all his strength. The young man's left hand hardened to an almost stone-like density, catching the blade in mid-swing. With his right hand, he broke the sword cleanly in half, then struck his attacker across the head, sending him sprawling unconscious to the ground.
Seemingly pleased, the young man let out a satisfied laugh and resumed his march forward.
---
"Strange, why's it been so quiet?" An muttered, glancing toward the cave entrance, where the silence had stretched too long. She turned to one of the others. "Go check it out again."
"Huh?"
"Are you deaf?" she snapped, casting an impatient look over her shoulder.
"Oh, right," he replied sheepishly. He'd been keeping his distance from Olivier since the strange fever had come over him. Along with the heat, there was something else, a twinge of fear he couldn't quite place, though it unsettled him.
"Take another look, then," he grumbled. "Fine, I'll go."
He returned inside, dipped his free hand into the basin of holy water, conjured the spirit bird once more, and sent it soaring out of the cave to scout.
---
Outside, three fighters approached the young man; a muscular brawler, a wiry thief, and a tall spearman.
The brawler threw a powerful punch aimed squarely at the young man's face. Behind him, the wiry thief waited, watching closely. As soon as the brawler's punch connected, he used the moment to hook his arm around the strong man's neck, pulling himself up and slipping to the right. In mid-air, he twisted, drawing a hidden dagger and aiming its tip directly at the young man's chest as he rushed forward.
Behind them, the spearman braced himself, watching for the perfect moment. The instant the brawler and the thief made their moves, he lunged forward, thrusting his spear through the opening, aiming to finish the young man with a single strike.