"Every step toward power demands a price, whether it's your enemies' blood or your own soul."
---
The morning light filtering through the small, grimy window did little to soften the oppressive atmosphere in Farlan's Rest. Outside, the villagers moved about their daily tasks with an air of resigned monotony. Steven stood at the window, watching the world move while his mind churned over the events of the previous day. His wounds had healed somewhat, but the mental scars from the near-fatal raid and his haunting dream weighed heavier on him than the physical ones.
The image of his doppelgänger still lingered in his mind—an embodiment of his own ambition, perhaps, or maybe a warning. He couldn't deny the allure of the shadow magic he had begun to wield, the pull of its potential power. But the darkness had its cost, and deep down, Steven knew that once he fully embraced it, there might be no turning back.
But could he afford to be cautious in a world like this?
---
Steven descended the stairs of the tavern, his mind already moving toward his next steps. He needed information, allies, and resources. The last fight had shown him that brute force alone wasn't enough. He had to be smarter, more calculating. If he wanted to reach the pinnacle of this world and beyond, he needed to think like a king, not just a warrior.
The tavern was quiet this early in the day, with only a few patrons nursing their drinks in the dim light. Steven approached the bar, where the burly bartender from the night before was cleaning glasses. His eyes flicked up briefly as Steven approached, but he said nothing.
"I need information," Steven said, sliding a coin across the bar. "Where can I find someone with knowledge of enchantments and old magic?"
The bartender eyed the coin for a moment before scooping it up. "You're looking for Old Man Garick," he said, his voice low. "Lives at the edge of the village, near the forest. Don't know what you want with him, but be careful. He's… peculiar."
Steven nodded and turned to leave, but the bartender's next words stopped him in his tracks.
"Word of advice, stranger: power's a tricky thing. You chase it too hard, it'll turn on you. Seen it happen before."
Steven didn't respond. He didn't need the warning. He was well aware of the dangers that came with the path he had chosen. But unlike the others who had failed, he was determined to succeed.
---
The path to Garick's hut led Steven through the outskirts of the village, where the houses became more spread out and the trees of the Darkwood loomed ominously in the distance. The air was thick with the scent of earth and damp leaves, and Steven could feel the weight of magic hanging in the air. This was a place of old power, the kind that most people feared to tread near.
Garick's hut was a small, dilapidated structure, half-hidden by the overgrown foliage around it. Smoke rose lazily from the chimney, and the sound of bubbling liquids could be heard from within. Steven knocked on the wooden door, which creaked open slightly at his touch.
"Come in," a voice rasped from inside.
Steven stepped into the dark, cluttered interior of the hut. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of strange herbs, dried animal parts, and glowing crystals. In the center of the room sat Garick, an old man with a wiry frame and a long, scraggly beard. His eyes, though clouded with age, gleamed with sharp intelligence as he regarded Steven.
"What brings you here, boy?" Garick asked, his voice a gravelly whisper. "You don't look like the type to dabble in the old ways."
Steven stepped forward, keeping his expression neutral. "I'm looking for power. Knowledge about enchantments, particularly those that can augment my abilities."
Garick chuckled, a dry, brittle sound. "Everyone's looking for power, boy. But few understand the cost. You come here with your pride and ambition, thinking you can take what you want. But the old magic doesn't work that way."
"I'm willing to pay the price," Steven said coldly, his eyes locking with Garick's.
The old man raised an eyebrow. "Oh, are you now? Tell me, what price are you willing to pay? Your health? Your sanity? Your soul?"
Steven hesitated for only a fraction of a second. "Whatever it takes."
Garick's eyes narrowed as he studied Steven more closely. "I see," he muttered. "You're like the others who came before you. But unlike them, you might actually survive."
The old man gestured to the back of the hut, where a large, dusty book lay open on a pedestal. "The magic you seek isn't something to be learned lightly. Enchantments, particularly the kind you're after, require more than just a few words and a wave of the hand. They demand sacrifice."
Steven approached the book, feeling the weight of its power as he neared. "What kind of sacrifice?"
Garick leaned back in his chair, folding his bony arms across his chest. "Blood. Energy. Sometimes more. These enchantments are drawn from the very essence of life itself. If you're not careful, they'll drain you dry."
Steven stared at the book, his mind racing. He had expected something like this. Power always came with a cost. But he wasn't about to back down now. Not when he was so close to unlocking the next piece of the puzzle.
"I can handle it," Steven said, his voice steely.
Garick chuckled again. "We'll see about that, boy. We'll see."
---
The Ritual
That evening, Steven found himself standing in the center of Garick's dimly lit hut, surrounded by symbols drawn in chalk on the floor. The old man chanted in a language that Steven didn't recognize, his voice rising and falling like the rhythm of the wind.
In his hand, Steven held a small knife, its blade shimmering with an unnatural light. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at his reflection in the blade. This was the moment of truth. If he went through with this ritual, there was no turning back.
"Do it," Garick's voice rasped from the shadows.
Steven gritted his teeth and pressed the blade against his palm, drawing a thin line of blood. The moment his blood touched the symbols on the floor, the room shuddered, and a surge of raw energy pulsed through the air. The symbols glowed, and Steven could feel the enchantment taking hold, wrapping itself around him like an invisible chain.
Pain seared through his body as the magic tore at his soul, demanding more. He gripped the knife tightly, refusing to let go. He had faced worse than this. He had survived worse.
But just when he thought he couldn't take any more, the pain faded, replaced by a rush of power that filled every fiber of his being. His vision sharpened, his senses heightened, and he could feel the enchantment settling into his very bones.
Garick's voice broke the silence. "Congratulations, boy. You've taken the first step. But remember, the more power you seek, the higher the price. And eventually, you'll have to decide what you're willing to lose."
Steven sheathed the knife, his mind still buzzing with the aftereffects of the ritual. He could feel the power humming beneath his skin, waiting to be unleashed. But Garick's words echoed in his mind.
How far was he willing to go? What was he willing to lose?
For now, he pushed those thoughts aside. There would be time to worry about the cost later. Right now, he had power to gain.
---
[New Skill Unlocked: Blood Enchantment – Level 1]
[Warning: Using Blood Enchantment drains life force. Proceed with caution.]
---
As Steven left Garick's hut and made his way back toward the village, he felt stronger than ever. But deep down, a part of him wondered how many more sacrifices he would have to make before his journey was complete.
And whether, when the time came, he would be willing to make the final one.
---
The road ahead was growing darker, and the shadows were closing in.