Renard knelt over Elder Thomas's lifeless body, breath still ragged from their violent encounter. The small bathroom reeked of iron and wet stone. The warmth of the corpse was already fading, and Boa remained coiled nearby, silent and watchful.

He had done it.

Things went outside his expection, he was caught offguard by the reaction speed of the elder but he had managed to kill Thomas at the end!

Now came the harder part.

With a deep breath, Renard placed both hands on the elder's chest. "This has to work," he whispered to himself.

He activated his Blood Crest ability: Devour.

Dark tendrils of energy slithered out from Renard's hands, sinking into Thomas's body like hungry roots. Up until now, Renard had only used Devour to steal physical or magical abilities—skills stored in the flesh, etched into bloodlines. This time was different. He wasn't here to copy a spell. He was here to steal knowledge.

And that meant entering Thomas's soul.

The air thickened. Essence swirled like ink in water. A powerful suction yanked at Renard's consciousness. His body stiffened, eyes glazing over as his mind was pulled inward, deeper and deeper, until it plunged into a cold, endless abyss.

Then suddenly—he was falling.

Renard hit a surface, but not solid ground. It felt like warm water. He gasped and stood, feet sinking slightly into the liquid beneath him. All around, an ocean stretched infinitely in every direction. But it wasn't normal water. It shimmered faintly, like liquid memory.

He was inside Elder Thomas's Soul Sea.

The surface rippled as he walked across it, each step sending soft pulses through the strange ocean. But there was something wrong. The water level was dropping. The entire Soul Sea was collapsing.

Of course. The soul of a dead man couldn't sustain itself.

Renard looked up instinctively.

Four radiant spheres floated high above the sea, like miniature suns hanging in the sky. Each burned with a different hue—scarlet, silver, pale blue, and gold. They pulsed slowly, steady and powerful.

Blood Crests.

They were still intact, clinging to the dying soul. He could devour them. He could gain the elder's combat abilities, refine his strength. But that wasn't what he needed.

Not today.

Renard turned his eyes downward and dove into the sea.

The water closed over his head as he swam into the depths, the shimmering liquid pushing against him with increasing resistance. His breath held effortlessly in this place. He could feel the fragments of memory swirling around him like drifting leaves.

But time was short. The Soul Sea was draining.

Deeper and deeper he went, searching for something—anything—that resembled knowledge. Lessons. Techniques. Magical theories. He'd never done this before, had no guide, no precedent. But he trusted instinct.

Eventually, he saw it.

A sphere of light.

It floated in the darkness like a heart pulsing with quiet rhythm. It glowed a deep, tranquil blue, brighter than anything else in this world of vanishing thoughts.

Renard approached slowly. The closer he got, the louder the sound of whispers became, as if voices echoed from inside the light.

He extended his hand.

This is it.

His fingers brushed the surface, and the light responded.

Instantly, a crushing pressure descended upon his mind.

He screamed, though no sound left his lips. The blue light flared and pulsed as it began to unravel, and with it, Elder Thomas's knowledge began to pour into Renard's soul.

The pressure was unbearable. It felt like his mind was being pulled apart at the seams. Images flashed—so fast, so many. Faces. Formulas. Memories. Words spoken years ago. Lessons given, spells taught, students failed and promoted. It was an avalanche of foreign thought, and it crashed down on Renard without mercy.

He tried to resist. Tried to control it. But the more he pushed back, the worse the pain became. He realized he was doing it wrong. He wasn't supposed to fight it.

He had to embrace it.

Renard forced himself to breathe. Or, rather, he willed himself to breathe—there was no body here, just spirit and thought. But it worked. The chaos slowed, just a little. Enough for him to get his bearings.

He envisioned a net inside his mind, a structure designed to catch what he needed and let the rest fall away. Not everything was useful. He didn't need memories of childhood scoldings or romantic regrets. He needed knowledge: magic theory, formation patterns, spell inscriptions, historical context.

The net worked. Slowly, the flow stabilized. Renard began absorbing the pieces that passed through his mental filter. Each bit settled into his consciousness with weight and clarity. It was like watching books arrange themselves onto shelves inside a vast library.

He spent what felt like hours there, sorting, sifting, storing. Time didn't move the same way in the Soul Sea. It was both eternal and fleeting.

Finally, the water around him turned darker still. The sea had dropped so low it barely reached his knees. The end was near.

Renard looked up again. The four Blood Crest suns were dimming. One of them—gold—flickered out with a soft hiss.

He turned back to the sphere, now duller than before. He placed his hand one last time on its surface.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The light responded, glowing faintly. Then it shattered like glass, dissolving into nothing.

The sea collapsed.

Renard screamed as his mind was ejected, violently torn from the Soul Sea and slammed back into his physical body.

His knees hit cold stone.

He gasped, drenched in sweat. The world swam. His heart thundered.

Beside him, the corpse of Elder Thomas lay cold and unmoving. Boa hissed softly, her eyes watching him with recognition—and perhaps, a hint of awe.

Renard looked around himself for a few minutes before realizing that not much time has passed in reality.

'Maybe 5-10 minutes'

He wasn't sure but he could with that.

Renard stood slowly. The weight in his head was immense. But so was the clarity.

He knew things - things that he had never learned or experience himself!

And that changed everything.

---***---