The Exalted Mage - Chapter 27: Lured Out

Chapter 27: Lured Out

Finn hadn’t been paying attention to the time, but by the point he was binding the Viscount’s wounds, Veronica had already been fighting for nearly ten minutes. He’d barely spent any time with the steward before turning around and heading back into the forest.

Taking every shortcut he knew, he reached the ruins within minutes—this time without caring about stealth.

But the site had changed.

Cracked stone littered the ground. Gravel and shattered slabs lay scattered everywhere. The altar that once anchored the chanting—the solid block of stone—had been broken apart entirely.

They moved…

Finn swung back onto his bike and pushed on.

The cultists had mentioned the mines. He could only hope they meant the abandoned shafts—black and rotting at the mountain’s base—rather than the working tunnels the town relied on. If it was the latter, then half of Greystone would be in danger, and he’d be too late to help stop things.

He had no choice but to commit to this plan.

As he rode, a thunderous boom and bright flash lit the distant sky behind him. It lasted only a second.

Veronica! You’re alive!

Relief surged through him. Only she could make the sky burn like that. She was still fighting. And more importantly, still alive.

Finn tightened his grip on the handlebars and pedaled harder.

A minute later, he rode past the hill and accelerated down toward the mountain. Jagged stone rose against the night sky—and there, framed by splintered beams, framed a dark mouth in stone: the entrance to the abandoned mine.

The forest was still. No voices. No people.

He shoved the bike behind a tree, hiding it in the brush, and crept forward.

The air turned colder as he stepped beneath the beams. Darkness swallowed him whole. He slowed his pace, each step deliberate, soft as he could manage. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint scrape of his shoes against stone.

For a long moment there was nothing—only blackness and the sound of his own heartbeat.

Then, ahead, he saw a flicker.

Light. Torches, all burning in the dark.

It was odd to have torches lit up in an abandoned mine. It only meant one thing: the cultists were here.

Finn pressed himself against the damp wall as he crept deeper. The mine air was colder here, heavy with dust and something sharper—copper and rot. Each step was careful, slow. Even his breath felt too loud.

The flicker of torchlight grew stronger. He reached a bend in the tunnel and crouched low, inching forward until he could peer around the corner.

Two robed figures moved in the chamber beyond. Their shadows stretched long across the stone walls, bent by the dance of the flames.

Finn didn’t know their faces, not really—but one of them made his stomach twist. He’d seen that jaw, that hooked nose. On a poster nailed to the outside of an inn’s bulletin board months ago. A missing man. Farmer? Merchant? He couldn’t remember. Just that the face had been stamped with a word: Reward.

The two men worked in silence, bent over a ritual circle inscribed into the dirt. Dark streaks glistened along the lines. His gut tightened. Demon blood, Finn realized. It looked way too dark and vile for human blood. And he’d seen a dead deer carcass before, so it wasn’t animal, either.

They adjusted vials, poured measured drops of liquid, traced edges with care. It looked like… like maintenance. Keeping the circle alive.

Nearly a minute passed with nothing but the scrape of glass and the crackle of torches. Then one of them broke the quiet.

“They should’ve brought the girl by now.” His voice was impatient, fraying at the edges. He glanced at a pocket clock resting on a small table beside him.

The other—the familiar one—shifted, rubbing the back of his head in a nervous tic. “I don’t know. Those guys had the invisibility bracelets. Cost us a fortune, but they work. Maybe they ran into a boar or something in the forest.”

The first man scoffed, shaking his head. “If they’re dead, they’re dead. Doesn’t change the plan. We’ll use the townsfolk instead. The viscount and the baron won’t lift a finger for commoners, but they can’t afford to look weak. Not with the eyes of their peers watching. Image is worth more to them than coin.”

Finn’s chest thumped hard and fast. He dug his fingernails into the dirt to keep himself still, but the urge to run and shout clawed at him.

They really are going to do it. Even without Claire. They’ll slaughter anyone, just to finish this.

That sealed it. If the ritual wasn’t stopped here, it wouldn’t matter what Veronica did to the demon. It wouldn’t matter how many guards Hadrian rallied. The cult would just keep going until they had their sacrifice.

He pressed flatter against the corner as the two men turned, their backs to him now, crouched low as they worked again over the glowing circle.

His throat felt dry. But his thoughts drifted back to yesterday.

♠♠♠

It was midday in Greystone, the air bright with the lively hum of festival preparations. Veronica sat at a small iron table near the town open space that she called a park. Her hair was tied back loosely; a simple sandwich in her hands. She had just bitten into it when Finn plopped himself down in the wooden chair across from her. The second day in a row.

“Teach me,” he said flatly, chin propped on his fists.

Veronica chewed. Slowly. She stared at him over the edge of her sandwich, eyes narrow. “No.”

“You promised!”

“I did not.” She set the sandwich down, irritated. “I told you to stop following me, or I’d turn you into a frog.”

“Tree frog,” Finn corrected. “You said tree frog.”

Her eye twitched.

“Please,” he pressed, leaning forward, pouting. “I’m not gonna stop bugging you. Not until you show me something.”

She exhaled hard through her nose, pinching the bridge of it between two fingers. Minutes to hours of begging had this been going on. She couldn’t even find the boy’s family anywhere, so that didn’t help. If it was just something simple to get him to stop bothering her—

“Fine. Just—fine. If it shuts you up.”

Finn sat up straight like a soldier. “Yes!”

“Don’t celebrate.” She jabbed a finger at him. “I’m only telling you the bare minimum. It won’t make you a mage in the slightest. Just don’t overdo it and blow yourself up And believe me, you will blow yourself up if you try to rush it.”

His eyes went wide. “Wait, actually explode? Like—boom?” He made a little gesture with his hands.

“Yes. Boom. Now, give me your hand.”

He blinked. “Eh?”

“Your hand, idiot.”

He offered it across the table. Veronica took it in hers. He remembered how soft her fingers were—compared to his which were callused with from playing inside the forest. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling once. When she spoke, her voice was softer, more deliberate.

“You already have mana veins. Everyone does. But they’re sluggish—dormant, like rivers blocked by debris. To sense them, you need a push. So…”

A faint warmth spread from her fingers into his hand. He jerked slightly.

“W-what—”

“Relax. That’s my mana,” she said curtly. “I’m sending a little through you. Enough to travel your veins. Follow it. Pay attention to where it flows. It’ll disappear in a second, so focus on the path and that feeling. Once it’s gone, you’ll need to feel your own mana.”

Finn froze, eyes widening. He felt it—like a tiny spark drifting through his chest, a glowing thread curling along paths he never knew were there. Then, the sensation vanished. But he focused harder. Deeper within himself. And faintly, he could feel the same thing. But much, much weaker, coursing through his body.

“That’s… that’s me?”

“That’s you,” Veronica confirmed. Her tone was still annoyed, but faint amusement tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I just helped you see it. Now keep feeling for it. Don’t stop when I let go.”

Her hand released his. The warmth faded, but the impression lingered. He could still sense the little ember glowing beneath his ribs. He could feel it traveling through his body. There was also an empty channel at his finger tips, almost like he could send it outward.

“Now, the next step is control. Try to nudge it faster or slower. And don’t get clever.” Her gaze sharpened at him. “It takes weeks—months—for most to do even that. Don’t try actually using your mana or sending it out. If you do it while clueless about how to control it, you’ll blow up whatever is in front of you. You’ll even scorch yourself at the same time from the backlash. Worst case scenario, you blow out your mana core and become incapable of using any more magic. Do that and I’ll refuse to teach you anything else. And I mean it.”

Finn winced. “Got it. Only make mana flow. No sending it out.”

Veronica nodded. “Good. Now let me eat my sandwich.”

She hadn’t really taught him anything—at least, not the way he’d expected. It had only been the first step, the kind meant to help people feel their own mana. Some kids even discovered it by accident.

At least, that was what she had said.

For now—it was perfect for him, and as promised, he stopped pestering her.

♠♠♠

Back in the mine, Finn pressed tighter against the wall. His heart thundered in his chest, but beneath it, deeper, he felt something else. That faint ember Veronica had shown him yesterday. He’d spent all night focusing on it.

It was still small. Still weak. But it was there.

If she had been telling the truth, then he didn’t need to know fancy incantations or spell circles. He didn’t need training. He only needed that ember.

His first move. His own magic.

Detonate mana.

She had warned him. That it could burst outward, uncontrolled. That it could scar him—or worse. But… if he could take out the cultists and stop the ritual, then a few burned hands wouldn’t matter. If she stopped teaching him after this—maybe it was for the best. The greatest hero in Greystone didn’t need magic to save people. But for now, he’d borrow her power.

Finn gritted his teeth. He pressed his palms flat against the stone floor and pulled on the ember with all his will.

He clenched his teeth and pulled. Sparks raced clumsily down his arm, searing hot. His palms lit with erratic light, the smell of scorched skin hitting his nose. He bit back a cry.

Then he ran.

He tore out from the shadows with a shout, both arms outstretched. The closest cultist—the one from the poster—he was just a few steps nearer than the other. As Finn screamed forward, the man turned around in surprise. But it was too late for him.

Finn’s palms slammed into the man’s stomach.

“What the—”

The mana burst, detonating in a small, fiery explosion, straight from Finn’s palms.

A crackling explosion ripped outward, blasting the cultist off his feet. He flew, smashing into the ground and skidding across the glowing ritual circle before stopping just a couple meters away. His head bounced off the ground as he landed on his back. His body lay sprawled, groaning faintly but not rising.

The second cultist spun at the noise, knife already flashing from his robes. His eyes widened as he saw what stood there in the smoke: a filthy boy, no older than twelve, hands sizzling with erratic sparks of mana.

“What?!” he barked. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”

Finn stood shaking, palms raw and smoking, breath ragged. The skin on his hands were raw—nearly melted, like he had shoved them straight into a campfire. Yet despite the pain, his eyes were fixed forward, refusing to look away.

“… A brat?” He spat the word, filled with contempt. “You—you are from the town, aren’t you? What the hell are you doing all the way out here?” He clicked his tongue, taking a step closer, hand reaching to the knife at his side. “You’re going to regret what you just did.”

He raised the knife, about to rush forward, until—

The mountain roared.

A deafening explosion cracked from outside, shaking the tunnel walls. Torches flickered; dust and small rocks rained from above. A growing groan came from the stone of the mountain, almost as if it was the call to a coming avalanche.

The cultist’s head whipped upward, panic flashing across his face. “What—what was that?!”