The system notification blazed in Jack's vision:
[LEVEL UP!]
[AVAILABLE NEW SUPERNATURAL TRAIT] CHOOSE ONE:
[EBU GOGO'S VOICE ECHOES]
[ALRAUNE'S MYRIAD AROMAS]
[JUBOKKO'S BLOOD THIRST]
Jack stared at the options. As usual, the system offered no explanations. No hints. Just cryptic names.
He had to rely on his memory repository. On fragmented knowledge of supernatural tales in his spectral mind. Remnants of his past life as a content creator.
He dove into the mental archives. He sifted through the collection of horror stories, legends, and myths. For anything that could shed light on these bizarre choices.
Ebu Gogo… That rang a faint bell. He recalled blurry images, grainy documentaries watched late at night.
He remembered now. It was legends from Flores Island, Indonesia. Ebu Gogos were small, hominid-like creatures. It was said that they ate anything, including children. They were malevolent and capable of mimicking human speech.
Could 'Voice Echoes' in the trait name imply some kind of vocal mimicry? Ventriloquism? It could be useful for deception, sowing discord, or even just messing with people.
But it felt ultimately… weak. He already had [Mysterious Lullaby] for similar functions.
Alraune... This one was clearer for Jack. Alraunes, or Mandrakes as they were sometimes known, were mythical plants. It was said they shrieked when uprooted and bring death to those who heard them.
Part of the plants supposedly resembled human figures. Some said the roots, some said the stamens. They were associated with potent magic and alluring scents.
The term 'Myriad Aromas' in the trait name suggested the ability to manipulate smells. Probably enabling him to create intoxicating perfumes. Or repellent stenches. Or maybe even hallucinogenic vapors.
That had potential. Especially when considering what it could do when used together with his [Mysterious Dream] trait.
Jubokko... The most brutal of the three. Japanese folklore. Trees grown on battlefields. Nourished by spilled blood.
These trees were said to sprout monstrous roots that searched for more blood. They sucked the life out of anyone who came near. 'Blood Thirst' screamed aggression. Maybe even a vampiric ability to drain life force.
It was tempting. A direct upgrade to his offensive capabilities. But it also felt… problematic. He might consider it in a better light if the name didn't have the word 'Thirst'.
Having a trait that implied he might be tortured by the feeling of 'thirst' didn't really feel fun for him.
Jack weighed the options. The ghostly cogs in his mind grinding. [Voice Echoes] was redundant. [Blood Thirst] was too undesirable. [Myriad Aromas]… that had promise.
He could already craft terrifying illusions with [Mysterious Dream]. Adding the power of scent, that would elevate his dream to a whole new level.
Illusion wasn't just visual or auditory. It was olfactory too. A sickly sweet smell of decay accompanying a phantom figure. The metallic tang of blood permeating a horrifying vision. The fresh fragrance of flowers amidst peaceful dream…
He made his choice, and chose [ALRAUNE'S MYRIAD AROMAS].
A wave of energy washed over him. It was tingling and strange. He tried to focus, to sense the change. But it was subtle, intangible. Only through actively experimenting could he see the benefit of the new trait.
...
Life in Ironpile Town settled back into a routine for Jack. Albeit a spectral one.
His days were spent either for exploring the town or in his Mirror Room. Practicing cantrips and exercising his supernatural abilities.
Part of his nights were spent haunting the library. Poring over dusty tomes on Mystic Arts.
The rests were dedicated to his personal brand of judgement. Punishing the sinful with nightmares. Rewarding the virtuous with good dreams.
The mayor always verbally abused his orphaned nephew. In his dream, he found himself old and decrepit. His wife and sons gone. And his nephew had become the mayor. This-once-pathetic nephew was now assertive, scolding and mocking him and his pathetic accomplishments every hours.
The baker's wife consistently shortchanged customers on their loaves of bread. She dreamt she was trapped in a rising tide of dough. Suffocating and sticky. Petty crimes, petty punishments.
Then there was the blacksmith's apprentice, who had rescued an injured stray dog. Nursing it back to health in secret. That night, he dreamt of soaring through the sky. On the back of a magnificent winged dog. The wind whipping through his hair. As he looked down on a landscape of rolling green hills.
The seamstress, anonymously donated her time mending clothes for the poor. She found herself dreaming of dancing under a sky filled with shimmering stars. Each one was a tiny act of kindness rippling through the universe.
Jack found a strange satisfaction in these simple acts of judgement. It wasn't a grand blessing or divine retribution. Still, it kept his sense of justice.
It was just a nudge here and a gentle push there. But it was his invisible statement. It was a subtle reminder that even in a town as mundane as Ironpile, actions had consequences.
Between his busy times of learning and acting as a judge, Jack was still trying to complete his spectral grimoire project.
It was slow going. Full of trial and errors. It was painstaking work to convert the complex runes and alchemic concepts of magic into a non-physical form.
His spectral fingers ached with the effort. He had made a progress. But it was not an instant ones.
One month passed...
He finally broke through. The grimoire shimmered. It worked. It was finally constructed. Although only the first three pages were accessible for now.
But it meant... he had space for three spells. Limited first tier spells. Still they should be stronger and more useful than cantrips. He carefully selected the first three:
Lesser Ward... This was a defensive spell. It created a shimmering barrier of energy that could deflect a single threat. It provided basic protection against one attack, physical or magical.
But it would shatter like a glass after deflecting just one thing. It could not be layered. And the cooldown after it was broken was quite long, three minutes.
Magic Missile... A simple, standard, offensive spell for mages in fantasy setting. It conjured a bolt of pure energy that hit a target. Its plus point was that it was reliable and accurate. It would not missed. But it could be blocked, and the damage output was quite low.
Healing Chant... A low-powered restorative spell. It channeled energy to mend small wounds and alleviate pain. It could even stabilize severe wounds. But it had huge problem with efficiency. The energy used to recover even from a small wound was way too high.
He practiced his chosen spells either in his personal Mirror Room, or in town while being invisible. He fumbled at first. But then, he slowly gained proficiency.
His progress, however, was cut short. A prickling sensation crawled across his spectral skin. His spectral senses felt the undisguised immense power descending upon Ironpile Town. He knew who it was.
He had heard the news. People in tavern were still gossiping about this. The local newspaper, Weekly Gems, had put the news in the front page...
Cardinal Gawain took over the Church of Justice in Ironpile. Planning to rebuild it into another Cathedral of Justice.
Jack was vigilant. This was one of the characters responsible for the Highcliff Town fiasco. He was the puppet master behind the Church of Justice's schemes. And he was... at least an Illuminated Transcendent.
Jack estimated that the Cardinal could not sense him. Not with his [Mysterious Nature] trait shielding him from detection. But he didn't want to bet his existence on that estimation.
Besides, his presence in the town was quite suffocating for Jack. Being in the same town with a guy who was strong enough to pinch him to death with one hand was not comfortable. Being vigilant all the time was tiring.
Jack sighed. It was time to move. His leisure time in Ironpile Town had reached its end.
He had started learning Mystic Arts, delivered small scaled judgements, practiced his magic, and leveled up. Here, in this smoggy mining town.
Now it was time to seek new horizons. New opportunities.
...
That night, he snuck into the library for the last time. He phased through the locked doors. Using his [Mysterious Control], he grabbed every volume of the Encyclopedia of Mystic Arts he could find.
Using the mirror in the restroom, he took them and kept them in his personal Mirror Room. Knowledge was power. And he wasn't about to leave this treasure trove behind.
Then, under the cover of darkness, he slipped out of Ironpile Town. Heading towards the coast. His destination was... Calmcoast Town. One of the only three tourist-resort towns in the Elrush Kingdom.
It was time for… vacation.