Extra's Ascent

Eric limped into the apartment building, his steps slow and measured, supported by a walking stick prescribed by the hospital from which he had only recently been discharged. His right hand clutched the stick for balance, while his left hand carried a polythene bag stuffed with miscellaneous items.

Upon entering, he slumped onto the couch with a grunt, resting the walking stick beside him and carelessly tossing the bag onto the glass-topped coffee table. His weary gaze fell upon two cards lying dormant at the table's centre, untouched for longer than he cared to admit. Memories swirled behind his eyes as he stared at them, weighing the unresolved decisions they represented.

After a long moment of contemplation, Eric let his head fall back against the cushion, staring blankly at the ceiling. Exhaustion clung to his body and mind alike, yet a definitive answer to the pressing choices before him remained frustratingly out of reach.

He closed his eyes, hoping that a brief nap would grant some solace to his battered spirit, but his mind refused to grant him that mercy. As fatigue pulled at him, snippets of conversations drifted through his consciousness, all tied to the two cards on the table.

It had been during his two-week hospitalization time that these conversations had taken place. In that vulnerable window, two different corporations had reached out, extending offers that could alter the trajectory of his life.

The first offer was a familiar one: Gerald had formally invited him to join the Mystic Executive Arms, an esteemed division dedicated to the governance and protection of mystic affairs. A prestigious, life-changing opportunity.

The second had come as a surprise from none other than Marvellous Kennedy, the enigmatic business associate of Dravin Ramprandt himself.

Apparently, the harrowing escapade with Hector hadn't just brought Eric to the brink of death; it had also catapulted his reputation, elevating his standing in both the national and mystic orders. His worth had skyrocketed, making him a highly sought-after figure.

And now, the burden of choice rested squarely on his shoulders.

A sigh escaped Eric's lips, breaking the stillness.

"Who would've thought I'd end up a celebrity one of these days," he muttered, a wry chuckle following.

Strange how nearly losing his life had, in some twisted way, turned out to be a blessing.

Shifting on the couch, Eric tried to will himself into slumber, but rest eluded him as restlessly as ever. His entire existence for the past few weeks had revolved around the same tedious cycle: wake up, eat, watch TV, sleep and repeat. It was maddening.

Taking time off was supposed to be a luxury. For Eric Aldaman, it had become a curse.

Thanks to his considerate employer, he'd been on leave ever since his hospital discharge, with no pressure to return until he was fully recovered. While his mind had mostly cleared from the fog of stress, his body continued to betray him. Aches and strains linger despite his mana rejuvenation techniques.

The damage he had sustained was so severe that even magic couldn't erase it entirely. The walking stick by his side served as a grim reminder of just how far he had pushed himself past his limits.

Frustration gnawed at him. He could no longer stand the endless, pointless repetition that his days had become. Grunting, Eric pushed himself off the couch with determination.

"Time to hit the gym," he announced, grabbing his walking stick like a battle standard.

Between endless late-night assignments and hardly any personal time, he had never seriously considered getting a gym membership. Mystics didn't need gyms or so he had thought. His recent experiences had humbled him enough to realize how wrong that belief was.

It wasn't just about his identity as a mystic anymore. It was about survival.

Eric was more aware than anyone of his greatest shortcomings. An inadequate mana reserve.

His bloodline Art, potent though it was, demanded vast amounts of mana to operate at full strength.

He had managed to offset that weakness by refining his mana to an extreme level, condensing it until even a drop carried the potency of another mystic's entire cup. Yet refinement alone wasn't enough, not when wielding something as powerful as the Three Clover Eye.

You needed a monstrous mana pool to sustain it.

Unfortunately, mana reserves were immutable set at birth and unchangeable even in death. It was a cruel reality Eric had long since accepted.

Still, acceptance didn't mean surrender.

If he couldn't alter the size of his mana pool, then he could at least adapt the way he fought, making every drop of mana count even more. Until now, he had leaned too heavily on his bloodline abilities and primary elemental Art. He had never trained in formal combat techniques, never studied supplementary Arts to diversify his approach.

It was time to change that.

By learning new Arts, Eric could expand his combat style, giving himself more options in battle and reducing his reliance on the Three Clover Eye. Not only would that preserve his mana reserves, but it would also drastically increase his survival chances against powerful adversaries.

It was a winning strategy. No downside to be found.

So why hadn't he thought of this earlier? Probably because until recently, his enemies had been civilians or low-level mystics, never someone like Hector whose strength bordered on terrifying.

Pausing at the door, walking stick in hand, Eric hesitated. A thought surfaced, one that unsettled him.

"Am I seriously considering this?" he murmured, astounded at how naturally the idea had crept into his plans.

"No way," he reassured himself quickly. "I'm committed to Mister Ramprandt and Mister Ramprandt alone."

Loyalty wasn't just an obligation; it was a principle he held dear.

Besides, Dravin paid him exceptionally well. What reason did he have to go looking elsewhere?

He chuckled at himself, shaking off the creeping doubts.

But just as he reached for the doorknob and opened the door to head out, two cheerful voices interrupted his moment of resolve.

"Hello again, Sir Aldaman!" chimed the first, energetic and far too enthusiastic for Eric's liking.

"Nice seeing you once more," followed the second, equally upbeat.

'Crap...' Eric muttered inwardly, already feeling the impending headache building behind his temples.

His day had just taken a turn for the worse.