Gravity Mage with Level-Up System

From MC's Perspective:

I could feel the tension in the air, a thick and suffocating weight that warned of an imminent disaster. I expected the Don Blaire's people outside to storm in any second, their boots thundering against the wooden floors as they demanded blood. But then—before that chaos could unfold—the inn exploded.

The room was violently torn apart, like it had been hit by a storm made of jagged stone and splinters. A deafening boom rang in my ears as debris flew in every direction, slicing through the air with deadly precision. The very roof I had been standing under a moment ago was gone, ripped away like paper in a gust of wind. The evening sky loomed overhead, dark and foreboding.

Then I saw him—the true cause of this destruction.

A powerful wizard hovered just above the wreckage, his robes flowing with unnatural energy, his face twisted in cold concentration. Suspended in the air before him was the innkeeper, flailing helplessly like a trapped bird. His desperate cries echoed through the wreckage, but they were nothing more than the clucking of a chicken in the wizard's grasp. Pathetic.

I felt a twinge of pity, yes, but that was it. I wasn't a hero, never had been. In this world, strength ruled. Those who had it took what they wanted. The weak... well, they simply perished, as was the natural order.

I wasn't foolish enough to get involved, to jeopardize my own plans for someone who couldn't save himself.

My thoughts sharpened. If my suspicions were correct, this wizard was likely one of Don Blaire's lackeys. That man had his fingers in everything that mattered.

I sighed softly, barely audible amid the crackling remnants of the inn.

"This place will be gone soon enough," I muttered under my breath, my eyes narrowing at the scene before me.

The wizard, seemingly satisfied with his captive, vanished just as quickly as he had come, leaving behind nothing but destruction and a chilling silence. I barely had time to consider my next move when another figure stepped out of the shadows, gliding into the ruined inn with an unsettling calm.

This one had a different aura. More restrained, but far more dangerous. His eyes scanned the wreckage before he lazily raised his hand, as if brushing away an insignificant mess. And then, with a flick of his wrist, the entire building crumbled into dust. The sheer force of it made the ground tremble beneath my feet.

Boom!

The explosion was not one of sound, but of sight—everything reduced to debris in an instant.

My eyes sharpened, a sudden glint of interest flickering through them. The move was casual, almost boring. But there was something off. Something more.

He wasn't just some high-level wizard flexing his power for the sake of it. No, his presence was different. Darker. More refined.

"Maybe..." I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible over the settling dust. "An Advanced Level Wizard?"

This was no ordinary destruction. It was precise, deliberate, and far beyond the capabilities of most. It meant trouble.

For someone else, that is. Not for me. I had other plans.

I shook my head, trying to clear the growing sense of unease. No, there was no way Don Blaire would simply let things be. Even if he wasn't physically present, his spies would undoubtedly track me down. His web of influence stretched far and wide. If anything, his absence only made it more dangerous.

"What to do?" I muttered, sinking deeper into thought, my mind racing through possible escape routes and strategies. Every option seemed too risky, too exposed. There was no room for error. In this world, one wrong move meant death—or worse.

Meanwhile, across town, the atmosphere around Don Blaire was as thick as a noose tightening around the inn owner's neck.

Gerald and Peter, Blaire's loyal wizards, had returned to his side, their expressions unreadable. Before them, the innkeeper knelt in the dirt, his body battered and broken. Blood stained his torn clothing, and his breathing was ragged, shallow.

Every breath looked like it might be his last, but somehow, the man clung to a fragile thread of life, shaking uncontrollably as if the mere presence of Don Blaire was enough to drain whatever remained of his spirit.

Don Blaire stood still, his eyes cold and calculating, as he regarded the trembling figure before him. There was no sympathy in his gaze, only the dispassionate interest of a predator deciding whether to strike.

Slowly, he reached into his storage bracelet and pulled out a sleek, black device. It was simple, unassuming, but in Blaire's hands, it was a tool of absolute control. With a few taps on the screen, a new image flickered to life.

It was a picture of a young man, captured moments after leaving the administration building. The stranger. Blaire had obtained the image for a huge sum of money—bribery that ensured access to records most wouldn't be able to touch. The image showed the stranger alongside Gloria Moody, the very moment he received his temporary ID. His name was clearly visible on the screen.

A thin smile played at the corner of Blaire's lips. He had what he needed.

"You're the inn owner?" Blaire's voice was cold, as emotionless as the steel beneath his coat.

The innkeeper's head snapped up, his eyes wide with terror. "Y-Yes, my Lord," he stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper, each word trembling in fear.

Blaire stepped forward, holding the device out for the innkeeper to see. "Look at this picture. Did he come to your inn?"

The innkeeper's gaze fell on the screen. His already pale face turned ashen. The image was unmistakable—it was the young man who had rented a room earlier, the same one who had vanished without a trace.

His pupils flickered in confusion and fear. How had the man escaped without him noticing? He hadn't seen the stranger leave, but the room had been empty when the attack came. It was clear now that these men were hunting him, and they wouldn't stop until they found him.

A fresh wave of dread crashed over the innkeeper. His heart raced, his palms clammy. He could feel the noose tightening around his neck. One wrong word, one slip, and it would be over. Don Blaire was not a man who tolerated failure, especially from the weak.

A hint of desperation crept into the innkeeper's eyes. He knew he was balancing on a knife's edge, but he didn't know what to do. If he lied, Blaire would see through it. If he told the truth... the outcome might be even worse.

The innkeeper's lips trembled as he struggled to find the right words.

Don Blaire's sharp eyes never left the innkeeper, catching every flicker of fear and hesitation in the man's expression. Gerald and Peter, standing beside him, were equally attentive. The shift was subtle but unmistakable—the innkeeper's face had betrayed him.

"So, he was here?" Don's voice was low, almost a hiss, dripping with cold menace.

The innkeeper's panic surged. His body shook uncontrollably, and his words spilled out in a rush, desperate to save his own skin. "F-Forgive me, my Lord! The young man... he did come to my inn, yes, but I swear, I don't know where he went! He—he must've left without me noticing!"

The moment those words left his mouth, Don's face darkened. His once-cool expression twisted into one of barely-contained rage. Gerald and Peter exchanged a glance, sensing the shift in the air, the mounting storm.

"Vincent Carey." Don uttered the name like a curse, each syllable laced with venom. His tone was ice-cold, but beneath it simmered something dangerous.

How had this man, this insignificant stranger, managed to escape right under their noses? No one had seen him leave, no one had sensed his movements, and now, for the second time, Don Blaire felt as though he'd been humiliated by this unknown individual.

A sharp tremor ran through Don's body. His frustration boiled over. The blue veins on his forehead bulged, throbbing with the fury he struggled to contain. The air around him thickened, growing heavier with the weight of his mana.

It surged out of him in violent waves, distorting the space, like a coiled beast ready to unleash its wrath. The very ground trembled beneath his feet, and nearby structures groaned under the pressure.

Gerald and Peter, seasoned wizards though they were, took an instinctive step back. They could feel the raw power emanating from Don, the kind of power that could level cities if left unchecked.

"Young Master, please, calm yourself!" Gerald's voice cracked slightly, betraying his nervousness. "We will capture that bastard for sure. He can't have gotten far." His words were carefully measured, soothing, like a hand trying to pacify a snarling beast.

Enjoy more content from empire

Peter nodded in agreement, his eyes darting toward the wreckage of the inn and the terrified locals who were watching from the shadows. They'd already drawn too much attention. The destruction of the inn—a simple, local establishment—was bound to stir up rumors.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

If Don unleashed any more of his fury here, it wouldn't just be the building that made the headlines. This town, this region, would feel the aftershocks. And that was something they couldn't afford, not yet.

Gerald, sensing the growing tension, stepped forward, his tone more urgent. "Young Master, we've already made a scene. If we push further, it will only draw more eyes, more questions. We can still fix this. We'll find him. But we need to be smart about it."