CHAPTER 42: 42: THE PATH OF THE MAGE XV

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On the seventh day, they entered a rocky highland. Sharp wind cut across the terrain, carrying the faint smell of pine trees and distant rain. The path became steep and winding, climbing toward the shadow of a mountain ridge.

Fizz floated ahead, wings buzzing in excitement. "I can feel it. Something is humming in the air. We are close, Master Forgetful. Very close."

John felt it too. The faint pulse in his chest, the pull of mana, guiding him like an unseen compass.

They paused on a ledge as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the jagged stone. Below, a ravine cut deep into the earth, and beyond it rose the dark silhouette of their destination. It was a cluster of craggy hills and twisted trees that looked like the skeleton of a long-dead beast.

Fizz hovered beside him, unusually quiet for a moment. "You feel that, right?"

"Yes."

"It is strong. Stronger than the other particles. This one might fight back. Or maybe a bigger ugly thing will guard it. Either way, I am ready to look heroic again."

John adjusted his pack, feeling the weight of the revolver against his side. "Then let us finish this."

They descended carefully, the path winding along the ridge. The wind howled through the stones, carrying the distant cry of some unseen bird of prey. Shadows stretched long and sharp as evening approached.

After a full week of travel, every step felt heavy, but John’s determination only grew. His body had adapted to the constant walking, the climbing, the wet and cold nights. His physical abilities became better than before. Fizz had become his constant noise, his comic relief, and his alarm bell in the wilderness.

When the last bend in the path opened to a clear view of the final stretch, John stopped.

The location pulsed in his chest, his system confirming it silently. Just beyond the gnarled trees ahead, hidden in a shallow ravine, lay the third mana particle.

They were finally here.

Fizz floated to his shoulder, smirking. "One hour away. Then boom, you will become a circle One Mage. And then maybe I can finally use more than 0.1 percent of my fabulous self."

John exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the darkening forest ahead. "Alrigh, I am ready to be a mage."

The mist of evening rose around them as they stepped forward toward the last trial. The ravine swallowed the last light of day.

Its walls rose like the ribs of some ancient beast, jagged stone streaked with dark moss and thin veins of glowing crystal. Mist crawled along the floor of the gorge, swirling around twisted roots and slick rocks. The air smelled of damp earth and the faint metallic tang of mana.

John crouched on a ledge overlooking the narrow drop. His eyes scanned the shadows for movement. The system pulsed faintly in his mind, confirming that the third mana particle lay deep inside the ravine, almost directly below.

Fizz floated above his shoulder, unusually quiet, staring into the mist with a serious expression. His fur glimmered faintly in the low light, and his little wings buzzed in anticipation.

"This place gives me the creeps," he muttered finally. "It is like the world’s smelliest dungeon without the treasure chest smell."

John adjusted his grip on his dagger. "Stay sharp. The first particles had no guardian, the second one was eaten by a low level beast, but I can feel it. This one will not be that easy."

Fizz’s ears twitched under his fur. "Something is breathing down there. Something big. And I think it wants to turn us into dinner."

John exhaled slowly, scanning the mist. "Then we do not give it the chance."

They descended carefully, boots scraping stone, the sound echoing faintly in the gorge. By the time they reached the floor, the mist clung to John’s knees. The cold was sharper here, and the damp air clung to his skin like a warning.

Then the growl came.

It was deep, rumbling, and filled with menace. Stones rattled in its wake, and the mist rippled outward.

From the shadows at the far end of the ravine, the guardian emerged.

It was an E-rank beast like the other one (lizard puppy / wolf ) they had faced, but larger and more dangerous. A Ravine Fang Serpent — its body thick as a tree trunk, black scales gleaming with wetness. Its head rose from the mist, crowned with jagged bone spikes, and two venomous fangs dripped with greenish fluid that hissed when it hit the stone.

John’s heart hammered.

Fizz’s voice broke the silence. "Oh... no. Nope. I hate it. Zero cuteness. I want compensation for hurting my eyes."

The serpent hissed, its forked tongue tasting the air. Then it lunged.

As always, John rolled to the side instinctively, mud splashing up his arm as the serpent’s jaws slammed into the ground where he had stood, cracking stone. He came up in a crouch, dagger ready, breath sharp in his lungs.

Fizz zipped into the air, spitting a quick burst of fire at the serpent’s eye. The flames splashed harmlessly against the wet scales, leaving nothing but steam.

"Okay, note to self," Fizz muttered. "Wet snakes are fire resistant. Life is unfair."

The serpent coiled, its body sliding through the mist with terrifying speed. It struck again, and this time its tail whipped around, smashing a boulder into small shards.

John dodged again, his heart was pounding. His dagger was almost useless against that armor. He needed more firepower.

As if reading his thoughts, Fizz zipped into his face, glaring. "You know what time it is, right?"

John groaned. "No."

"Yes!" Fizz squeaked, poking his tiny furry paw at John’s pack. "Give me the gun. My gun. The heroic Fizz Blaster returns! No... wait, I changed the name into Baby Dragons fart of Doom."

"We talked about this— No fart naming." John replied.

"No time!" Fizz snatched the revolver from the pack with his teeth and flipped in the air to grab it in his paws.