In his three-sided bedroom, Tars was leafing through the final sections of Mage Armor while snacking on a "grub-juice shaved ice." The empty elixir vial served as a perfect, albeit narrow-necked, container for his treat.

  Sucking on a shard of ice, he reflected on how much easier Mage Armor was to learn than Frost Ray. It seemed "attunement" wasn't a binary state but a spectrum; among non-attuned spells, there were levels ranging from "slightly awkward" to "utterly incompatible." He should have realized this earlier; it was a logical necessity of magical theory.

  "Maybe I should find some sour berries to flavor this..." he mused, glancing up at the crystal lamp just as its light-cycle flipped. "One more day, and I'll have it."

  He decided to save his last Elixir of Lucid Mind for a future "hard bone" to crack. While the potion could technically be used to speed up meditation, using such a precious resource on the slow, daily grind of mental cultivation felt like a luxury he couldn't afford. Besides, drinking too much of any potion was bound to be bad for the system, even those without listed side effects.

  The shaved ice made him think of the hot springs. Most of the vents there were too scalding, but if he could find a spot with the right temperature, soaking in the water while eating shaved ice would be pure bliss.

  That female elf's skin was incredibly thick, he thought. Once I master Mage Armor, maybe I can try it too. Mage Armor plus Frost Ray equals a bath and a snack. These days, even a kobold needed profound strength just to enjoy a soak; anyone with lesser skills was liable to end up boiled.

  This wasn't about hedonism, he told himself. This was practice—essential cultivation on the path to uncovering the profound mysteries of magic.

  Upon mastering Frost Ray, his first priority after recovering his mana had been to test his limits. From a full state of meditation, he could cast the spell seven times in rapid succession before his mental energy tapped out. To increase that count and his casting speed, frequent use was the only way—aside from the obvious goal of breaking through to the Second-Level of a wizard apprentice.

  Currently, his most "spammable" spell—excluding his solidified ones—was Depilation. His mental capacity could support fifteen casts. It was a low-cost spell to begin with, and his high attunement made it even more efficient. He simply didn't practice it much because practicing Depilation was too hard on his kin. His tribe was small and poorly fed as it was; they didn't have much hair to spare, and he didn't have the heart to leave them all bald. Occasionally, he'd test it on an unfriendly passerby, earning nothing but a couple of shrill, ugly shrieks.

  He stood up and stretched. Balancing labor with rest was the true way of the scholar. Recalling the finer points of Mage Armor, he began to navigate the twisting tunnels. His goal: to treat Aiskin to some shaved ice. The kobold girl had surely never tasted anything like it. He also wanted to pick Old Gold-Tooth's brain about a few things.

  Rumble!

  A massive sound erupted from the direction of the Great Cave of the Grey-Neck Lord, so violent the earth beneath his feet trembled. Tars froze; he was currently very close to the source.

  Rumble!

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Steeling his nerves, he crept forward. After a moment of hesitation, he rounded a corner to investigate. He felt he finally had the credentials to be a "spectator" in this land. Ever since learning that the charcoal-skinned elf and her companions were only wizard apprentices, his back had straightened. It wasn't that he felt he could defeat them, but rather that the most terrifying layer of the unknown had been stripped away.

  Self-induced terror, like Humph's deep-seated fear of him, stems from a total lack of understanding. Now that Tars understood a bit about spells and apprentices, his fear was no longer a blind, panicky thing; it was a rational, healthy respect for power and knowledge. Even facing death, it's better to know how you're dying than to perish in a fog of mystery.

  He pressed himself against the wall, peeking out with half his head exposed. An impossibly large, greyish-white serpent dominated his vision.

  So this is the "Grey-Neck Lord"? he thought. The neck is indeed quite long.

  Opposite the serpent stood a small, humanoid figure. From this distance, it was hard to tell if it was a human or some other being. The great snake raised its head high, nearly touching the ceiling of the kobold sanctuary. Its very presence exuded a sense of formidable intelligence. Tars almost expected it to speak, wondering what its voice would sound like.

  Right on cue, a mental ripple vibrated through the cavern, reaching even the little kobold hiding in the corner.

  "Strange kobold, begone from my domain! The price of my wrath is more than you can pay."

  The serpent's words startled Tars, but something felt off. He squinted, leaning out a bit further. The figure defying the serpent was actually a tall, powerful kobold.

  "The Red-Horn Tribe will claim all kobolds! Kobold King... the kobolds have their own King now! The King says we will break the wizards' curse! Kobolds no longer need masters! A kobold Kingdom! No masters, only one King! The Kobold King! THE KING!"

  The tall, lean kobold spoke with a halting, disjointed cadence, but the complexity of his sentences and the weight of his words left Tars stunned.

  Before Tars could process the shock, the serpent began to laugh. Waves of mental energy rolled out like a tide, each ripple a physical manifestation of the creature's uncontrollable mockery.

  "Wizards? Ignorant kobold! You actually dream of opposing wizards?" The serpent's head swayed with its laughter, knocking dust and stones loose from the ceiling.

  This serpent clearly knew how to use mental energy and had some understanding of wizards. And then there was this kobold with grand ambitions... Tars was now thoroughly intrigued.

  Rumble!

  The tall kobold and the serpent lunged at each other. Surprisingly, the serpent seemed to be struggling. As it thrashed, Tars noticed it was covered in scars; a missing segment of its tail was clearly an old injury. It was these wounds that allowed the strange kobold to gain the upper hand.

  The kobold's muscles surged as he brought down a massive metal blade with all his might.

  CRACK! The sound was dull and wrong. The crude, hammer-thick blade snapped in half against the serpent's skull. The snake lunged like a fired arrow, snapping its jaws shut on the retreating kobold. In desperation, the kobold braced his hands against the snake's open maw, gripping the fangs in a grim stalemate.

  Dust filled the air amidst a deafening roar as the serpent began to thrash and slam its body against the cavern walls.

  "Kobolds... need no masters!" the warrior screamed, suddenly snapping one of the serpent's fangs.

  The momentary flash of agony allowed the kobold to break free.

  "Don't run this way!" Tars hissed as the warrior scrambled toward his hiding spot. The thundering footsteps behind the warrior told Tars exactly what was coming next.

  With a quick thought, Tars activated Bull's Strength and lunged out. The grey-white serpent's skin flushed a bloody red as several short, stubby legs sprouted from its sides, propelling it forward in a berserk charge.

  Tars was faster and more agile. He met the fleeing warrior head-on. He saw the tall kobold's eyes go wide with shock before they rolled back into his head. As the warrior's momentum carried him forward into a slide, Tars reached out, tucked the massive creature under his arm, and bolted.

  The serpent, witnessing this bizarre rescue, hesitated for a moment and did not immediately pursue.