Lew studied Bones carefully. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? Given the updated threat level, you won’t be penalized for canceling the contract.”

  Bones exhaled, his expression firm. “I’m sure.”

  Lew smirked faintly, reaching into his coat and retrieving a skill core—Veil Slip. “Then here, this is for you.” He tossed it over.

  Bones caught the core with a puzzled look, its faint glow illuminating his palm. Before he could ask, Lew continued.

  “Take it. Gauss authorized it as part of your reward.”

  Bones frowned. “Is it really okay to receive a reward beforehand?” The rules in Wolford clearly stated that rewards were distributed only upon mission completion.

  “It’s not a handout. You earned it,” Lew said, waving off his concern. “He insisted you’d need time to acclimate to the skill. It’ll be useful against the marauders.”

  Bones glanced at the core again, then nodded. “Then I’ll gladly take it off your hands.” He hesitated for a moment before retrieving a pair of werewolf fangs from his inventory. “Could I trouble you with delivering these in my stead?”

  Lew accepted the mission items, mentally calculating the merits Bones would earn from them. Even excluding the Veil Slip, Bones had already accumulated enough for two additional skill cores.

  With their conversation settled, they departed the cottage. After several hours of travel, they parted ways. Lew bid Bones farewell with a final warning to be cautious before vanishing into the distance, his speed explaining how he had managed to cover the journey from Wolford to Valencia in just three days.

  Bones continued southward, traveling until dusk before setting up camp. He summoned his golems, assigning them to patrol the perimeter while he focused on the system notifications he had dismissed.

  The mission had yielded unexpected gains—not just in resources but in power. His Bonemancer class had leveled up. But first, he turned his attention to the newly acquired skill core.

  Bones sucked in a cold breath. “I forgot about the darkness affinity requirement…” He stroked his chin in thought. “That means I won’t be able to learn this for a while. Speaking of affinities…”

  His words trailed off as he focused inward, searching for signs of the chaos worms within him. Master Vyrus had warned him that their effects would become apparent three to four months after the operation, and it was about time he started feeling an impact on his mana flow. So far, aside from a slight reduction in mana regeneration, there were no other noticeable changes.

  “Perhaps I should speed up the process myself,” Bones mused. He already had an idea of how he might do that. Storing the skill core, he brought up the next notification.

  The upgrade was straightforward—increasing the size and penetrative force of each Bone Lance. Additionally, it received a new name and the "Maxed Out" tag, signifying that the skill had reached its highest tier.

  A tinge of disappointment crossed Bones’ face but quickly faded. Instead, he shifted his focus to the final and most significant notification.

  This advancement had been a long time coming—one he had anticipated for months. It was as straightforward as his previous promotions, but the gains were far greater.

  Bones exhaled deeply, then uttered a quiet, “Yes.”

  A sudden shift overcame him. His mana flow surged erratically, as if something inside him had broken loose. A dull thump echoed within his core, reverberating through his body like a hammer striking an anvil.

  Then another.

  His muscles tensed involuntarily, cracks forming in the dirt beneath him as tremors rippled outward.

  Thump.

  The final pulse sent a shockwave through his form before abruptly dissipating, like a valve releasing pent-up pressure. The sudden release left him breathless, his body slumping onto the ground.

  Bones clutched his aching skull, fingers digging into his temples as he waited for the pounding to fade.

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  “That… startled me,” he muttered, finally bringing up the system screen to examine his new class.

  The Soul Reaver builds upon the intricate soul manipulation of the Soul Weaver but adds a more predatory aspect, enabling the user to consume, harness, and repurpose soul energy. Unlike necromancers, who manipulate the dead, a Soul Reaver feeds on the essence of both the living and the departed, making them feared by mortals and spirits alike.

  Like previous advancements, the class granted a boost to stats and two new skills. The Soul Reaver provided a retroactive INT bonus, significantly increasing Bones’ mana pool and spell potency. Additionally, it retained the one free attribute point per level, just as Soul Weaver had.

  After brief consideration, Bones decided to continue investing these points into WIS before turning his focus to his newly acquired skills.

  Bones smirked, a newfound understanding settling over him.

  “A master of consumption and refinement… capable of tearing fragments of soul essence from foes to fuel my own power. While Soul Weavers delicately manipulate souls like threads in a grand tapestry, Reavers shred and devour them, transforming what remains into a resource for their own survival and growth.”

  This class opened up new paths for survival in combat, enabling the detection of lingering spirits and utilizing the remnants of past lives to augment his own strength.

  For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Bones exhaled, wondering if things would have turned out differently had he advanced before the mission in Valencia. Perhaps. But deep down, he knew the truth—it wouldn’t have mattered. Even as a second-tier class, the gap between him and Count Faas would have been insurmountable.

  Pushing himself off the ground, he settled into a seated position. His recent advancements were only the beginning—other skills weren’t far from advancing as well. The last mission, aside from its final days, had been far too passive. Bones was eager to test himself against foes within his power range. One encounter with an opponent of Faas’ caliber had been enough; he wasn’t looking forward to another anytime soon.

  "Focus," he muttered, raising his right hand, palm facing upward. He concentrated, straining to draw chaos mana from within and shape it into a small vortex above his palm. Just like he had done with mana manipulation months earlier.

  The theory was sound. The execution, however, proved difficult. Bones had unintentionally wielded chaos mana before—once in desperation, and when he burned down more than one inn—but channeling it deliberately, under controlled circumstances, was an entirely different challenge. The night passed without success, but he refused to let failure deter him.

  After seeing no results by midday, frustration gnawed at him. He began to question whether he was approaching this correctly, and felt as though he was overlooking something significant—an essential piece of the puzzle. He recalled the moments he had used chaos mana, then thought of the nether realm’s denizens, creatures baptized in chaos from their very inception. And then, realization struck.

  “My mindset is wrong.”

  Bones realized he had overlooked the fact that chaotic mana was inherently volatile; thus, attempting to approach it as he would with mana manipulation was fundamentally flawed. What he needed now to draw forth the chaos was to embody the chaos itself and behave as an undead would.

  He rose to his feet, relaxing his posture. He muted the world around him—the rustling leaves, distant animal calls, even the faint breeze brushing against his bones. One by one, he shut off his senses until only darkness and silence remained.

  Then, he opened his wrinkled eyes.

  A Revenant stood before him, in a familiar space within himself, mirroring his every move. He glanced at his own hands, their calloused surface familiar, and smiled. "It’s been a while…"

  He turned his gaze sideways, half-expecting the shadowy part of himself to emerge—but there was nothing. Just him, his reflection, and the faint threads of green flickering at the edge of his vision.

  "I see."

  He reached for the glowing threads, but as soon as he moved, they shifted, keeping just beyond his grasp. Another puzzle, Bones thought as he disregarded the thread and turned his attention back to the Revenant.

  Perhaps it was misguided to attempt to use my former self for this—I did say I needed to act like an undead would.

  The moment that thought crystallized in his mind, his perception shifted. The reflection before him changed and he found himself facing an old man. Bones looked down. This time, his hands were no longer rough and calloused but ivory, layered in hardened bone armor.

  “I see,” he repeated, his understanding of the situation deepening.

  From the Revenant’s perspective, the green threads coiled and twisted around the mage standing before him, shifting like living tendrils. This time, when he extended his hand, the threads didn’t retreat. They drifted toward him on their own, as if acknowledging his presence. The moment his fingertips made contact, reality warped.

  The space around him spiraled inward, twisting and collapsing, dragging him with it. His vision blurred, the world folding and contracting until—

  He was back at the camp.

  A volatile clump of chaotic mana hovered above his palm, flickering erratically like an unstable star. It pulsed in sync with something deep within him.

  Beneath the tattered sleeves that had yet to regenerate, green veins surged to life, pulsating. The eerie glow traced along the thin crevices binding his bones, coursing through him like a second heartbeat.

  “Just like back then,” Bones muttered. He remembered the aftermath of the battle against the Aphitonian soldiers in Wezar Kingdom—how he had awakened to find these same veins thrumming with corrupted mana. It hadn't harmed him then, nor did it now, but the sensation was intoxicating. Power seeped through his limbs, invigorating the chaotic mana clump. The swirling energy crackled, expanding, feeding off the corruption inside him.

  "That's no good," Bones remarked, already foreseeing the impending disaster.

  Acting quickly, he clamped his other hand around his wrist, trying to contain the unstable force. He focused, attempting to compress the chaotic mass into a condensed sphere—the next step in learning Chaos Bolt. But the energy refused to obey. The more he tried to force it into a controlled form, the more it resisted, swelling outward like a balloon on the verge of bursting.

  Then, without warning, the volatile mass erupted.

  A shockwave of raw chaos mana exploded outward, tearing through the camp in a three-meter radius. Bones remained in the center, untouched, but he felt it—the chaos worms lurking within his mana, writhing and feasting on the sudden surge. They had become more active, stimulated by the release of energy.

  The true casualties, however, were his surroundings.

  Bones turned, watching as the land around him withered. Grass and foliage, once vibrant, lost their color, fading into sickly, decayed hues. The soil darkened, as if tainted by rot, while the plants caught in the blast curled inward, their vitality drained. The shockwave's reach left an unmistakable scar—a lifeless, bilious stain spreading outward from where he stood.

  Above him, the trees rustled as their yellowed leaves began to fall. It was not yet autumn, but in this cursed clearing, it had arrived early.