Chapter 12: Nice to Meet You, Author
The mana chamber was silent.
Caelus sat in the center, legs crossed, eyes closed. The runes on the walls pulsed with a soft blue light, circulating ambient mana through the room. The air was thick and heavy, dense enough that ordinary people would struggle to breathe.
He’d spent countless hours here. Countless hours trying to force his body to accept more than it could handle. Countless hours staring at walls that refused to move. Countless hours hoping that effort alone would be enough.
The mana pressed against his skin, seeped into his pores, moved through his pathways with familiar reluctance. His Twilight Circuit strained against the flow, constricted by the limits of his D-Rank Potential.
The walls that held him back refused to budge.
He opened his eyes.
The runes continued their steady pulse, unchanged.
D-Rank Potential.
Average mana.
Above-average swordsmanship.
Decent combat instincts.
Knowledge of the future.
He stared at his palms. The calluses from years of training were thick and familiar. The scars from countless mistakes were faded but present.
And that’s all I have.
That’s all I’ll ever have.
If I keep playing by the rules.
He thought about the Primordial Academy. The place where the strongest gathered to grow even stronger. The place where the weakest students could eventually crush him.
Even the worst candidates there had potential that outpaced his. They would grow faster, surpass him within months, leave him behind like a forgotten memory.
To even enter, he would have to be C-Rank and form a Core.
He’d written about Cores extensively. Researched them for weeks when designing his world. There were three major paths, each permanent, each irreversible.
Brain Core for mages. Intelligence-based. Magic amplification and mental clarity. The path of scholars and Archmages.
Heart Core for knights. Emotion-based. Physical reinforcement and combat instinct. The path of warriors and protectors.
Lower Core for martial artists. Mana-based body cultivation and endless stamina. The path of monks and Cultivators.
Once chosen, there was no changing it. The Core determined everything: fighting style, growth trajectory, future abilities. It was the single most important decision an awakened would ever make.
He didn’t decide now.
But he would.
Because if he couldn’t even form a Core, the world would not have a place for him.
He asked himself one question.
If I wanted to become stronger quickly...
Where would I go?
His mind began moving. Methodically and calculatingly.
He mentally reviewed the world. Every legendary treasure he’d ever written. Every forbidden technique. Every ancient inheritance hidden in the corners of his story. Every artifact that could break the rules he’d carefully constructed.
The Sword of Absolute Severance. A blade capable of cutting through anything. Conceptual damage. Absolute destruction. It would solve all his problems.
It would also destroy his body within months. The recoil alone would tear him apart. He’d written that as a "balance mechanic."
The Tear of Aetheris. A legendary healing artifact capable of regenerating any wound, extending lifespan, curing diseases. It would keep him alive through almost anything.
It required three days of travel to reach. He didn’t have three days. And the process of using it was excruciating, bone-shattering agony as the body reconstructed itself from the inside out.
The Primordial Light Circuit. A technique that could increase mana capacity by an order of magnitude. The kind of growth that should have been impossible.
It also destroyed memories. Useful ones. Important ones. The kind that made him who he was. The kind he’d need if he wanted to save the world.
The Phoenix Blood. A substance that could raise Potential permanently. The only thing in the world that could change a person’s ceiling.
It would also slowly consume his lifespan. A few decades per use. He’d written that as a "balance mechanic" too.
He almost regretted making them so balanced.
Almost.
He laughed quietly. The sound echoed off the stone walls.
I really made my own life difficult.
---
His thoughts returned to the sparring match. The way water had made his blade slide. The way it had reduced impact. The way it had altered footing and blocked vision.
Water never overwhelmed. It manipulated. Redirected. Interfered. It created opportunities. And it’s versatile. He had seen one of those pressure cutters in a video, and characters who could manipulate a humans body through moisture and that was the moment he understood he’d underestimated water too much.
Water isn’t weak.
Its greatest strength is absolute control.
Control over movement. Control over momentum. Control over battle itself.
His problem wasn’t the Affinity.
It was his control.
What if I could control it perfectly?
What would that change?
The answer came immediately.
Everything.
He stared at his palm. Summoned a small sphere of water. Watched it tremble in his grip. Unstable and uncontrolled.
There’s an item.
He remembered writing it. A villain’s relic. Something he’d designed to be powerful but dangerous. The kind of artifact that could turn a weakling into a threat at the cost of everything else.
The Eclipse ring.
He’d given it to a minor antagonist. A character who’d been overshadowed by the Hero’s light. A footnote in someone else’s story.
The ring didn’t increase mana. It refined Affinity Control to an absurd degree. It allowed users to manipulate their element with surgical precision. It turned weak abilities into deadly weapons.
The downside?
Every use slowly eroded the user’s sanity.
Perfect.
Exactly the kind of item I’d write.
Exactly the kind of item I’d now have to use.
He smiled.
A little bitterly.
His gaze drifted toward the softly pulsing runes.
The mana pressed against his skin, the chamber silent except for his own breathing.
His path was finally clear.
He already knew where the artifact was. Who possessed it. When it would appear. How dangerous it truly was.
The Eclipse ring.
Hidden beneath the Temple of the Moon.
Guarded by traps I designed personally.
Claimable by anyone determined enough. At the cost of their sanity.
His future suddenly had direction.
Something to work toward. Something that could break through the walls that had held him back for fifteen years.
He was still D-Rank.
But now—
Now he knew how to fix it.
He started to stand.
His muscles protested. His body was still exhausted from the spar. His hands still ached from gripping the sword. The shallow cuts from the golem still throbbed.
But his mind was clear.
Then—
Knock.
The sound echoed through the silent chamber.
Knock. Knock.
"Young Master."
Mira’s voice came from outside. Calm and professional. But with an edge of urgency beneath the surface.
"The Church delegates have arrived."
Caelus slowly exhaled.
Of course they have.
He pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt weak and his arms trembled. His body screamed for rest.
He straightened his clothes anyway and ran a hand through his hair. Tried to look like he hadn’t spent hours contemplating his own limitations.
He left the chamber.
The door closed behind him with a heavy thud.
---
He reached the guest room. Pushed open the door.
Inside were several Church priests and officials. Their robes were immaculate. Their expressions were severe. They sat in a semicircle around the room’s central table, arranged like judges awaiting a defendant.
The Saintess was present.
She sat at the head of the gathering, her golden-green hair catching the afternoon light. But something was wrong. She refused to meet his eyes. Her confidence from the duel was completely gone.
She looked exhausted. Tense. Strangely pale. Dark circles had formed beneath her eyes. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white.
Caelus noticed it.
He didn’t particularly care.
He greeted everyone with exaggerated noble politeness and fake warmth. A slight bow. A practiced smile. The kind of performance that came from years of dealing with people who despised him.
Before the Saintess could begin speaking, he casually raised a hand. Cut her off and smiled politely.
"Whatever you’re about to say... could it wait a moment?"
He paused.
"More importantly..."
"Where’s my money?"
One of the priests bristled. His face reddened. His jaw tightened.
"Lord Vespera," he began, his voice sharp with outrage. "You are speaking before servants of the Church. Show some respect—"
---
The Saintess suddenly interrupted.
Her voice cut through the priest’s reprimand like a blade.
"Enough."
Her breathing became uneven. Her hands began trembling violently. Her eyes widened. She clutched her head, fingers pressing against her temples.
"No..."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Not now..."
Her hands came away wet.
Blood dripped from one eye, then the other. Then from her nose, crimson streaking down her pale face.
Caelus froze.
What the—
The priests panicked. One reached toward her. Another called for help. A third began muttering prayers.
One priest reached her, but she instinctively flinched away.
The Saintess suddenly screamed.
"OUT!"
The command was wrong. Completely wrong. It didn’t sound like her voice. It was older, deeper. Something that had no business coming from a young woman’s throat.
The priests froze. Their faces went pale. They scrambled for the door. The room emptied within seconds.
The door slammed shut.
Only Caelus and the Saintess remained.
The room changed.
He noticed it immediately. The ticking clock on the mantle stopped. The hands froze mid-swing. Mana became completely motionless, the ambient energy that usually filled every space simply stopped circulating.
Dust hung unmoving, rooted still on the floor.
The room felt impossibly ancient. Like centuries had passed in a single breath.
Caelus instinctively wanted to move. To draw his sword. To run. To do anything.
He couldn’t.
His body refused to believe movement was allowed. His muscles locked and his thoughts slowed. His heartbeat became painfully loud in the silence.
The pressure was conceptual. Like existence itself had become heavier.
I wanted my compensation...
Asking for a refund shouldn’t escalate this far.
He tried to force his hand to move.
Nothing.
This is completely fine.
I’m trapped in a room with a bleeding Saintess who just screamed in a voice that wasn’t hers.
I should have stayed in the mana chamber.
---
The Saintess slowly lowered her hands.
When she looked up—
She was no longer the Saintess.
Caelus tried to describe her. Tried to find words that fit. Sunlight. Stars. Dawn. None of them worked. She felt older than concepts themselves. Her golden hair seemed to glow with an inner light. Her golden eyes held something ancient and vast.
She smiled.
Almost... curiously. Like someone finally meeting a person they’d heard about for a very long time.
The silence stretched.
Caelus couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
She studied him. Her eyes moved across his face. Through his body and into his soul.
Then she smiled again.
Almost... relieved.
"So..."
She paused.
"You’re finally here."
"..."
"Nice to meet you..."
"...Author."