Time Cursed Mage - Chapter 10: Paralyzed

"They... they're frozen?"

Kaspar couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. 

Even though the air was unbearable with the smell of ash and the hellish heat of the flames, those people didn’t move. They seemed to ignore all the chaos and destruction around them.

A deafening shriek got his attention. Above, a massive wyvern swooped low. It unleashed a torrent of fire upon the ritual's camp. The inferno engulfed the tent that housed the supplies. Three of the six mages were consumed by the blaze, yet none of them made any sound.

The heat was overwhelming. It was like a wall pressed against Kaspar, forcing him to shield his face. "There are still three of them," he thought, clinging to a sliver of hope.

Steadfast, Kaspar surged forward, weaving through the fires. In the distance, he could see more beasts circling back, their mouths alight with the impending flames.

Without hesitation, Kaspar lunged toward one of the remaining hooded mages. Kaspar grasped his arm, but there was no resistance, no acknowledgment of his presence. Gritting his teeth, Kaspar pulled with all his might, dragging the figure away from the attack.

"Move!" he shouted. But the mage remained limp, his eyes vacant beneath the hood.

A surge of adrenaline propelled Kaspar as he half-carried, half-dragged the man. Stopping only after reaching a group of rocks that could offer a brief refuge.

While panting, Kaspar lowered the mage to the ground. He pulled back the hood, revealing the man's face. The mage appeared to be in his early thirties, with a trimmed beard and dark hair. His eyes had a distant look, a haunting emptiness.

"Can you hear me?" Kaspar asked, searching the man's face for any sign of awareness.

Silence. The mage's gaze remained unfocused. Staring straight ahead as if locked in some trance.

As time moved, the heat intensified as fires spread. Kaspar glanced around, realizing they couldn't stay there much longer.

"Listen, we have to move!" he insisted, gripping the man's shoulders. But still, there was no response.

Frustration and fear tormented Kaspar. He leaned closer, peering into the mage's eyes. Then, a slight flicker. The man's eyelids fluttered, and he blinked.

"Can you blink?" Kaspar exclaimed, a spark of hope igniting within him.

The mage blinked once.

"Right," Kaspar nodded. "Blink once for yes, twice for no. Do you understand me?"

A single blink.

Relief washed over Kaspar. "Okay. Do you know how to break the paralysis?"

Two blinks.

"No," Kaspar murmured, his heart sinking. "You don't know."

"Is that it, then? That's why we die every time? The mages are all paralyzed," Kaspar exclaimed with frustration.

The man before him didn't blink; his vacant stare offered no solace.

"Is there any way to remove the paralysis? Could we stop the ritual?" Kaspar pressed, his tone edged with urgency.

Again, the man remained motionless, his eyes unblinking.

"You don't know?" Kaspar queried, a flicker of hope fading.

This time, the man blinked once.

"Is there someone who might know?" Kaspar implored.

The man didn't blink.

"Ah, damn it!" Kaspar cursed, anxiety knotting his stomach.

'What am I supposed to do?' he thought, his mind racing for solutions. But time was slipping away through his fingers.

Above, he caught sight of two wyverns circling. They were gliding toward him, ready to hunt prey.

The moment had come; there was no more evading the inevitable. Kaspar straightened from his crouch. With a swift motion, he unsheathed his sword.

The two wyverns swooped down, landing on the scorched earth nearby. The ground trembled beneath their weight, and dust puffed around their feet. Each beast eyed him with hunger, jaws opening to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

They lunged, snapping their massive jaws in an attempt to snatch him.

Though this was the first time on this route, Kaspar was getting used to fighting wyverns. Countless encounters in the relentless cycles had honed his instincts. He knew their tactics, their timing, and the subtle shifts in their posture that telegraphed their next moves.

The first wyvern struck with lightning speed, but Kaspar was quicker. He dodged to the side, the creature's jaws snapping shut mere inches from where he'd stood.

The second wyvern was upon him in an instant. Kaspar stood his ground, heart pounding, eyes locked onto the menacing approach.

'Wait for it...' he told himself.

At the last possible heartbeat, Kaspar thrust his sword with all his might before the creature's teeth could close around him. The blade soared toward the wyvern's maw, aiming for the vulnerable spot he knew lay within.

His sword pierced through the gap at the roof of the wyvern's mouth, sliding between bones and slicing through the tender flesh. The beast's momentum drove it further onto the blade, the metal cutting deeper as Kaspar held firm.

The wyvern let out a horrific roar as it felt the sword pierce through, almost splitting its head. Dark green blood erupted from the wound, spraying over Kaspar in a gruesome torrent.

His face and body were drenched, the warm liquid seeping into his clothes and dripping from his hair. Kaspar flinched, knowing too well the consequence of touching the creature's blood.

He braced himself, anticipating the searing pain of the acidic blood eating away at his flesh. 'It's only a matter of seconds now,' he thought, preparing himself.

But as the moments passed, nothing happened.

'Isn't this blood supposed to be corrosive?' Kaspar wondered, confusion mingling with cautious hope. 'Why am I not—'

A sudden, excruciating burn flared across his skin. He gasped, the pain searing through him like wildfire. His flesh began to sizzle and blister where the blood had soaked through, the agony intensifying with each passing second.

"Argh!" Kaspar cried out. He stumbled backward, dropping to one knee as his strength waned.

The world around him blurred; the edges of his vision darkened.

His senses dulled, overwhelmed by the pain. Kaspar knew his time was up.

'So, this is it,' he thought. 'Again.'

[Initiating Curse]

[Restarting Day]

[Toxicity Resistance Increased]

[Acid Resistance Increased]

It was one of the rare mornings when Kaspar did not awaken with a scream tearing from his throat. The echoes of pain and death still lingered in his senses, but today, they were less intense than before. Instead of leaping from his bedroll to face another harrowing day, he lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling of his tent.

The fabric above was a tapestry of patched seams and tiny holes. His heart felt heavy and constricted, each breath a conscious effort. It wasn't physical pain that consumed him now, but a deep, relentless sorrow. Silent tears welled in his eyes, warm streaks tracing down his cheeks. Those were tears of anger, frustration, and a profound sense of hopelessness.

The sensation was akin to grasping a lifeline, believing wholeheartedly in salvation. It was only to have it severed, leaving him to plummet into the abyss again. 'Gods, how will I ever escape this?' he thought. 'Am I condemned to remain trapped here forever? What have I done to deserve this?'

Minutes stretched on as he continued to stare upward. Finally, with a weary sigh, Kaspar forced himself to sit up. Reaching beside him, he picked up the battered book that served as his diary.

As he thumbed through the familiar pages, his gaze fell upon another tome lying nearby, one he had barely given attention to before. Curiosity flickered within him, a faint spark in the darkness. 'I don't even know what this is,' he reflected. 'It wouldn't hurt to try deciphering the title.'

He lifted the second book, noting how its aged leather cover seemed older than his journal. The edges were worn, and the ink of its embossed letters had faded. The texture was rough under his fingertips. Gently opening it to the first page, he began to read aloud, sounding out each letter slowly.

"A... R... T..." he murmured, piecing together the syllables. "Art..."

"A... N... D...   S... C... I... E... N... C... E... O... F... F... I... R... E   –   B... A... S... I... C B... O... O... K," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. The words formed laboriously on his tongue.

'Art and Science of Fire – Basic Book,' he translated mentally. For a moment, a glimmer of intrigue stirred within him. But it was overshadowed by resignation. 'It makes sense, but I can't use it. Not in my current state,' Kaspar thought.

Setting the book aside with a measured sigh, he rose and stepped out into the cool air of the morning.

Retrieving the sword and with the diary beneath his arm, Kaspar made his way toward his hideout. Today, he would not seek out Iris.

His final hope lay within the pages of his own writings.

"I need to translate it. I need a clue—one clue," he told himself, clutching the diary as if it were a lifeline.

Settling onto the cool, damp ground, Kaspar drew out his journal. Taking a deep breath, he opened the journal; the familiar scent of old parchment and ink rose to meet him.

Page by painstaking page, he delved into the writings of his former self. Some entries were hard to read. They were written quickly, mixing thoughts with a sense of urgency. Some pages were smudged as the ink bled where tears might have fallen long ago.

"Received my evaluation today. I have no core. My lord did not seem sad. Nor happy. He seemed to already know. As for my lady, my mother, she began to weep, repeating something I couldn't hear. Since then, they've ignored me."

Kaspar paused, the weight of the words pressing upon him. "Damn it, Kaspar," he muttered to himself. "What kind of family did you come from?" He felt a pang of empathy for his past self.

He continued turning the pages, each revealing more of the story that led him to the Academy. The entries painted a portrait of a young man desperate to prove himself, to find a place in a world that seemed determined to cast him aside.

"My last chance to awaken a Circle is here. They must have some answers."

"I've discovered something intriguing. Not only do I lack a Circle, I don't have a Grimoire. That's impossible."

Kaspar's brow furrowed. 'What's a grimoire?' he questioned himself.

Finally, he reached the page he had read the previous day.

"I received the letter from the Academy. It's my last chance; either I do well on this expedition, or I will be expelled."

"They have no idea I already wanted to go on this expedition. They've said we're heading to a cavern in the south. According to legends, it doesn't seem to be a place rich in Mana Stones. I've been investigating the oldest tomes. Some legends say the area was filled with dragons millennia ago."

"He wasn't wrong," Kaspar contemplated aloud, recalling the wyverns.

"Dragon blood was, for a long time, an alchemical component. It was used to enhance magical abilities before the dragons hibernated."

As he read on, Kaspar felt a stirring of hope. He was approaching the final entries.

"I need to ingest dragon blood. If it works, it might repair my grimoire."

He stared at the words, the ink appearing fresher and darker. "That's why I came here," he whispered. "I was willing to risk everything for a chance to awaken my magic."

"Where in the world am I supposed to find dragon blood?"