The Spatial Seed Stirs

"Whoosh—"

Ripples spread through space like silk slashed by a sharp blade, churning violently before smoothing out again.

Dago's towering figure abruptly appeared in this unfamiliar dimension.

The spatial particles left in the air still crackled, as though protesting his violent intrusion.

The instant his feet touched solid ground, several sharp senses locked onto him.

Ahead, the wizards who had been conferring in low voices sprang up as one, like startled beasts.

Their eyes showed undisguised tension, wariness, and even... an instinctive fear of a higher form of life.

Elemental light flickered at the tips of their wands. They looked ready to fight to the death at any moment.

Dago swept a cold gaze over them.

They were several young-looking Second-Ring Wizards. Their finely made, uniform black robes snapped in the surging magic.

The stark white skull emblems on their chests were especially striking. Beneath each skull writhed an unstable shadow pattern that seemed almost alive.

Black Marsh wizards.

Weaklings still trying to huddle together for warmth in the ruthless Wizarding World.

Dago looked away without sparing them another glance.

By his rational assessment, they posed no threat under the present circumstances and were not worth speaking to.

Killing them would only waste precious magic and time. Right now, both were the currency of survival.

He silently rubbed the Mirror Dagger in his hand, feeling its cold surface slowly warm—the countdown until it could be used again.

His mind, meanwhile, raced.

Dago had only two choices: carve his way through these meat-grinder rules alone and escape by himself,

or find his companions from the Thorn Ring and regroup, relying on their combined strength to gain some breathing room from the Resurrection Society's inevitable, relentless pursuit.

Reason told him that escaping alone involved more uncertainty, but offered the greatest mobility and