Chapter 12: The Rat
Magic and mental power were intertwined, forming a symbiotic relationship.
Mental power determined the upper limit of one's magical energy, while meditation could refine magic, expanding its reserves. In turn, as magic grew, so did mental power.
Even if Leon Grant had mastered an offensive spell, there was no way he could thrive in the perilous expanse of the Arcane Realm. Facing hordes of ghouls or a pack of goblins, a handful of bone projectiles from White Fang of Bone would be utterly insufficient.
After hours of vigilance, Leon didn't detect any goblins trailing his path. His taut nerves began to relax. He leaned against the window frame, entering a shallow state of meditation to restore both his magic and mental energy.
Meditation was divided into two types: shallow and deep. In a shallow meditative state, Leon remained conscious of his surroundings, allowing him to react to any changes. Deep meditation, on the other hand, cut off all external perception. The meditator would remain oblivious until their session concluded or an attack forcibly disrupted their state.
While deep meditation was far more efficient, Leon couldn't afford such luxury now. The discovery of two significant threats—goblins and ghoul swarms—meant he couldn't take such reckless risks. If either enemy caught him in a defenseless state, it would be the end.
However, there was one notable upside. Both shallow and deep meditation could substitute for sleep. The circulation of magical energy through his body effortlessly dispelled fatigue. For Leon, it was a revelation—he could now rest while staying on alert.
As night deepened, the deserted streets outside began to stir with faint rustling sounds.
Leon peered through the cracked window but couldn't locate the source. Frowning, he smirked slightly and activated his mental scan—a skill that had already proven its worth.
Soon, his scan revealed the intruder: a single, scrawny rat scuttling near the base of a building across the street.
In the eerie silence of a dead city, it was shocking to find a living creature that wasn't a ghoul or another Arcane threat.
Unlike ghouls, which instinctively absorbed the realm's ambient magic to sustain themselves, the rat clearly lacked this ability. So, how had it survived here?
Before Leon could ponder further, a distant noise broke the stillness: the faint rhythm of many approaching footsteps.
Leon's heart sank. Ghouls.
He raised his gaze, spotting the unmistakable movement of a ghoul horde advancing in the distance.
Ghouls rarely moved alone. Their keen hearing allowed them to pick up on even the faintest noises, including those made by their own kind. A single moving ghoul was often enough to spark a chain reaction, drawing others into its path until an entire swarm formed.
Leon instinctively held his breath. His shallow meditation abandoned, he crouched low against the wall, watching the chaos unfold below.
The rat, oblivious to the looming threat, continued its aimless scurrying. It even dared to squeak loudly.
Leon couldn't help but smirk darkly. "You're dead, little guy."
And he was right. The leading ghouls of the approaching horde froze mid-stride, lifting their emaciated heads. Their heads jerked to the side, bony ears twitching as they honed in on the rat's sounds.
Moments later, the hunt began.
The ghouls surged forward with terrifying speed, their pale, sinewy bodies propelled like arrows. Their shriveled muscles bulged with unnatural strength, and their translucent skin glowed faintly in the moonlight, making them appear ghostlike.
The rat squealed in terror and bolted toward its burrow.
But it was too late.
The foremost ghoul reached the rat in seconds, its long, clawed fingers snatching the tiny creature mid-leap.
"Snap!"
The rat's desperate cries were silenced as the ghoul's yellowed teeth crushed its fragile body. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, splattering across the decrepit stairwell where the chase had ended.
A second ghoul crouched low, licking the bloodstains from the cracked tiles, unwilling to waste a single drop.
The entire spectacle left Leon horrified. He pressed himself against the wall, trembling as the sound of the horde's movements reverberated like thunder through the ruined streets.
For years, Leon had been told ghouls were slow, shambling creatures, barely able to outpace an elderly human. That was a lie.
These creatures, when provoked, moved with the swiftness of trained sprinters. If a ghoul spotted him, there would be no escape.
From his vantage point, Leon continued to scan with his mental power, unwilling to risk another glance. Below, hundreds of ghouls surged like a human tide, their collective mass filling the narrow streets.
The commotion finally began to subside as the ghouls consumed their meager prey. Some lost interest, their hollow gazes drifting back toward the road.
After what felt like hours, the horde's restless movements slowed.
Leon exhaled carefully, unwilling to even let his heartbeat quicken lest it somehow betray his position. His sweat clung cold to his skin, and he suppressed the urge to wipe his face. Even the faint scent of human sweat might attract their attention.
Eventually, the ghouls began to disperse, lumbering aimlessly in different directions.
Leon sagged against the wall, his breath shaky. His heart still pounded in his chest as he silently thanked the stars that they hadn't detected him.
One thing was now clear: surviving in this accursed city would require more than spells and meditation. His wits, stealth, and perhaps a bit of luck, were his only lifelines in the face of such overwhelming odds.
As he steadied his breathing, his thoughts turned back to the rat. Its brief life and violent end had left him pondering the cruel nature of this realm.
What chance did a single human stand against such relentless hunger?