The beast’s nostrils flared, its massive chest rising and falling with each deep breath. It didn’t move away, but it didn’t move closer either. That was enough for Traebus to work with.
Kneeling down, he pressed a hand to the ground, channeling what little mana he had left into the soil. Slowly, he shaped a small, shallow pool of water, letting it fill naturally from the condensation in the air. He cupped some of it and let it trickle through his fingers, showing the three-horn that it was clean before stepping back.
The herbivore hesitated for a moment, then finally stepped forward and lowered its massive head, drinking deeply. Traebus exhaled. "That’s right. Just focus on that."
As it drank, he reached out carefully, touching its thick hide near the worst of the claw wounds. The moment his fingers made contact, a wave of feeling surged through him—not words, not true thoughts, but something deeper. The raw pulse of pain, fatigue, and lingering panic hit him all at once.
He winced but didn’t pull away. Instead, he focused, calling on the rings on his fingers to filter and purify the mana flowing through him. He had never used healing magic in this way before, but he’d seen it done enough times back home to have a rough idea of what to do.
The first pulse of magic sent a numbing warmth through his palm and into the three-horn’s body. It twitched, tensing as if expecting more pain, but when none came, it let out a slow exhale. Traebus kept his touch steady, focusing on closing the worst of the wounds—enough to stop the bleeding and ease the immediate suffering.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as the strain of the spell settled into his bones, but he pushed through it. Bit by bit, the torn flesh knitted together, leaving faint scars where deep gouges had once been. He wasn’t a miracle worker, but at least the beast wouldn’t be an easy target for scavengers now.
Finally, his mana reserves gave out, and he slumped back onto his heels, breathing heavily. "Well," he muttered, wiping his forehead, "that either worked or I just gave you a magical rash. Either way, you’re welcome."
The three-horn blinked at him, then let out a deep, rumbling huff—not quite aggressive, but not exactly grateful either. Still, it didn’t try to trample him, which he decided to count as a win.
Traebus pushed himself up onto one knee, but the second he tried to fully stand, the world around him spun wildly. The ground tilted sideways, the stars overhead stretched into streaks, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he was certain he was both floating and falling at the same time.
"Oh wow," he slurred, blinking rapidly. "I can taste colors. Purple tastes like disappointment."
Then, with all the grace of a felled tree, he collapsed onto his back, arms splayed out as unconsciousness took him instantly.
Darkness wrapped around him, but it was not the empty void of deep sleep. Instead, he found himself standing in a vast, shimmering expanse, the ground beneath him shifting like liquid silver. Colors swirled through the air, pulsing and twisting in unnatural patterns, a chaotic dance of energy that seemed almost alive.
A single, dark mass floated ahead of him, writhing and pulsing with jagged, flickering energy. It was raw mana—corrupt, dense, and unstable. He recognized it instantly, its chaotic signature reminiscent of the primal energy he had struggled to control since arriving in this world.
Traebus frowned, stepping closer. His hands instinctively reached out, fingers brushing against the volatile mass. The moment he touched it, pain lanced up his arm—sharp, electric, alive.
He gritted his teeth but didn’t pull away. Instead, he focused, calling on the principles of purification, of filtration. The rings on his fingers shimmered, and the unstable energy began to shift, breaking apart in controlled spirals, untangling itself from the chaos. Slowly, the dark mass lightened, transforming into something cleaner, more structured—something he could use.
The dreamscape rippled as understanding sank into him.
Mana here isn’t corrupt—it’s raw. Untamed. But it can be refined.
A surge of excitement and renewed determination filled him, just before the dream dissolved, pulling him back toward waking consciousness.
Traebus groaned as he blinked awake, his body heavy with exhaustion. The first thing he saw was Dusk, looming over him with his usual unimpressed stare. The second thing he saw was the massive three-horn, standing beside Dusk, looking down at him with an expression that could only be described as thoughtfully concerned.
A wave of relief washed over him—not just from Dusk, but from the three-horn as well. The sensation hit him all at once, and he realized, with a dawning sense of absurdity, that he had somehow formed a bond with the giant herbivore.
He groaned again, rubbing his face. "Oh, fantastic. I’m collecting lethal lizards like bad decisions."
Dusk chuffed in amusement, while the three-horn merely blinked, unbothered by its newfound connection with the odd biped lying in the dirt.
Traebus exhaled, trying to push himself upright, only to feel a heavy nudge against his side. The three-horn had stepped closer, using its broad head to prop him up, offering a silent but firm support. He blinked at the gesture, then let out a weak chuckle. "Oh, now you''re helpful. Where was this when I was getting ready to taste dirt?"
The three-horn rumbled, clearly unimpressed with his sarcasm, but it didn’t move away as Traebus leaned against it for balance. He patted its thick hide and gestured toward the house. "Alright, big guy, let''s get me somewhere I can collapse properly."
With slow, careful steps, the three-horn helped guide him back across the clearing. Dusk paced alongside them, keeping a watchful eye, though his usual sharp-eyed judgment was softened with something that almost resembled concern.
As they reached the entrance of the house, Traebus slumped onto the nearest stable surface, exhaling. "Okay, I’m officially done for the day. Probably tomorrow too. Maybe the rest of the week."
He glanced at Dusk and the smaller lizards, rubbing his aching temples. "Alright, you lot—gather firewood, hunt, do something useful while I figure out how not to die of magical exhaustion. Dusk, you’re in charge. Try not to bully them too much."
Dusk chuffed in acknowledgment, while the smaller lizards trilled excitedly before scurrying off on their assigned tasks. Traebus, meanwhile, let his head fall back, allowing himself at least a few moments of well-earned rest.
The moments stretched into hours, and by the time he stirred again, the sun had already climbed high into the sky. He groaned as he sat up, feeling a dull ache in his muscles and a lingering exhaustion that told him he hadn’t fully recovered yet. Still, most of his mana had trickled back, though not all of it—he was going to have to be more mindful about draining himself completely in the future.
With a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet and stretched, wincing as stiff joints popped. He had work to do. His eyes drifted toward the bridge, where the half-built wall stood as a stark reminder of how much remained unfinished.
He rubbed his face, muttering, "Alright. Before some oversized nightmare decides to come back for second helpings, let’s get that wall finished."
He stepped outside, stretching his limbs as he breathed in the cool morning air. The three-horn stood just a few paces away, its large frame casting a long shadow in the morning light. At the sight of Traebus, it let out a soft huff and took a few steps forward, clearly intent on following him.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Traebus arched a brow. "Oh, so we’re a team now? Fantastic. I hope you know I don’t have a pension plan for prehistoric tank-lizards."
The three-horn simply blinked at him.
Shaking his head, he made his way toward the wall. The herbivore followed without hesitation, walking in slow, heavy strides. As they reached the half-built barrier, Traebus placed a hand against its rough surface and turned to his unexpected companion. "Alright, big guy. How did you even end up in that mess last night?"
The response wasn’t words, but rather a flood of images—disjointed flashes of memory pressing into his mind. A herd, moving through open fields, the scent of water in the distance. Then panic. Roars. A hunt. The herd scattering, the three-horn forced away from the others by a relentless pursuit. It had fought before, had survived by sheer determination, but this time, it had found itself alone. A chase that lasted too long, until exhaustion finally set in.
Traebus blinked, the images fading as quickly as they had come. He let out a slow breath. "Well… that’s depressing as hell. You really got the short end of the stick, huh? And there were multiple roars… so you weren’t just being chased by one thing. Fantastic. Because what I really needed in my life was more giant things that want to eat me."
The three-horn huffed again, shaking its heavy head as if to dismiss the past.
Traebus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Let’s focus on making sure you don’t end up in that situation again. Step one—finishing this damn wall."
The three-horn let out a low rumble before turning away, lumbering just past the bridge to a patch of sparse grass. It lowered its head and began to graze, seemingly unbothered by the conversation.
Traebus, meanwhile, rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles before getting to work. He was done playing around with half-measures. This wall was going to be absurdly thick—thicker than any reasonable wall needed to be. If anything was going to get through it, it would have to do so with a siege engine, and last he checked, dinosaurs weren’t known for their engineering skills.
He pulled mana into his rings, focusing on reinforcing and molding the earth. Foot by foot, the wall grew in height and density, layer after painstaking layer of compacted stone forming under his guidance. It took hours, the relentless drain of magic forcing him to take short breaks every so often, but the results were undeniable. By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the wall had reached a respectable five feet in height—far from complete, but already leagues ahead of where it had been that morning.
Traebus exhaled and slumped against the half-built barrier, wiping sweat from his brow. "Alright… not done, but definitely thicker. Thicker is good. Thick stops things from eating me."
He glanced toward the three-horn, who had settled down near the far side of the bridge, chewing lazily while watching him with something that might have been approval. Maybe.
"Yeah, yeah, I’ll finish it tomorrow," Traebus muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Unless, of course, something else tries to kill me first. That seems to be the trend lately."
With that, he pushed himself off the wall and made his way back across the bridge, stretching his sore limbs as he walked. The three-horn watched him go, then snorted before following suit, its heavy footfalls echoing in the quiet evening air.
As they passed through the gatehouse, Traebus turned and hauled the reinforced stone door closed behind them, sealing off the entrance. He gave it a firm pat, nodding in satisfaction. "Alright, that should keep out most unwanted guests."
Dusk was waiting just outside the house, his sharp gaze flicking between Traebus and the three-horn. The smaller lizards chirped excitedly as they scurried around, clearly eager to show off whatever minor victories they had accomplished in his absence.
Traebus sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, let’s get inside. I need food, and then I need to collapse."
He took a step toward the house but hesitated, glancing back at the three-horn. It was already settling into a comfortable position near the clearing, its bulk lowering slowly as it exhaled a deep, contented breath.
"Hey, uh… do you need a house or something? A cave? A big, prehistoric barn? I can probably make one, but it might take a bit."
The response came swiftly—another surge of images, this time conveying rolling storms, thick canopies, and sheltered cliffs. The clear preference was for cover when necessary, but otherwise, sleeping in the open was perfectly fine.
Traebus exhaled. "Well, that’s convenient. One less thing for me to build. Let me know if that changes, big guy."
The three-horn huffed in what might have been agreement before closing its eyes, unconcerned. With that, Traebus turned and finally headed inside, already dreading how sore he was going to be tomorrow.
As he prepared for bed, pulling off his boots and rubbing his aching arms, a thought struck him mid-motion. He froze, staring at the floor as his mind replayed the events of the day.
He had healed the three-horn. He had condensed water from the air. Both without effort. Both without explosions, backfires, or—most importantly—spontaneously lighting himself on fire.
He narrowed his eyes. "Wait a damn minute..."
He sat back down heavily, fingers tapping against his knee as he tried to piece it together. Magic here had fought him at every turn, reacting unpredictably, surging, twisting, and often backfiring with catastrophic results. But today? Today, it had worked. Cleanly. Efficiently. Like magic should work.
Traebus frowned, thinking back to the dream. Purifying mana. Refining it. Could that be it? Had he finally stopped trying to brute-force this world''s magic to work like his own and, instead, started adapting to it? It was as if the energy here had its own rhythm, its own temperament—one he had spent weeks fighting against like an idiot trying to swim against a current. But today, for the first time, he hadn''t fought it. He had listened to it. Let it guide him instead of forcing his will upon it.
Or was it something deeper? Something about the way he had felt when casting? His intentions had been different—no frantic desperation, no panicked grasping for control. Just focus. Purpose. And somehow, the magic had responded in kind. That was... new.
He flexed his fingers, considering the rings he had reforged. They had helped—had to have helped. But there was still something missing, something fundamental that separated effortless casting from the dangerous, unstable mess he had been dealing with before.
"Alright, brain, let’s break this down before I do something stupid again."
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. Magic wasn’t just about power—it was about control, refinement, and understanding. Back in his world, mana had structure, predictable pathways, and refined techniques to regulate its use. Here, it was wild, unfiltered, raw energy, and every attempt he had made to mold it into something familiar had ended in disaster.
Yet today had been different. Healing the three-horn, condensing water—both had worked seamlessly, without a single catastrophic reaction. What had changed?
He thought back, narrowing his eyes. He hadn''t tried to force the magic. Instead, he had shaped it as it wanted to be shaped. He had worked with it, not against it. The rings he reforged had helped, filtering and directing mana without forcing it into rigid patterns it clearly didn’t want to follow. And intention—his mindset had been focused, calm, deliberate, rather than desperate or reactionary.
"So, the key is... adaptation?" he muttered to himself. "Less ‘beat magic into submission,’ more ‘persuade it into cooperating’?"
It made sense. If the rules of magic here were different, then brute-forcing old methods onto it was like trying to shove a square peg into a round hole—with explosive results. But if he learned how this world''s mana wanted to move, how it flowed, then maybe—just maybe—he could actually start using mid-to-advanced magic without turning himself into a cautionary tale.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the latent hum of magic still lingering in his rings. "Alright. Step one: stop fighting it. Step two: refine it. Step three… don’t explode. Sounds like a solid plan."
Still deep in thought, Traebus glanced down at his fingers. His current rings were built for utility—gathering, storing, purifying, and projecting mana. But he had yet to create a set dedicated purely to offense. If he wanted to truly take advantage of this new understanding of magic, he needed to be able to defend himself properly.
He exhaled and stretched out his hands, calling forth his mana. This time, he didn''t force it. He let it move naturally, shaping the earth with steady precision. Small slivers of stone rose from the ground, smoothly forming into four new rings, each slightly thicker than the ones he already wore. He turned them over in his palm, inspecting their texture before setting them on his lap and pulling a bone needle from his coat pocket.
"Alright," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Let''s make something a little more aggressive this time."
Using careful, precise strokes, he began carving runes into the stone. These weren’t delicate inscriptions meant for passive magic—these were designed for raw power. One for fire, one for force, one for cutting wind, and the last for electricity. He worked methodically, channeling what little mana he had into each mark, testing the flow as he etched the symbols. The fire rune sparked faintly under his fingertips, the force rune sent a light tremor through the stone, and the wind rune hummed with a sharp edge. The electricity rune, however, flickered inconsistently.
He frowned at it. "Figures. Lightning always gives me trouble."
Dusk stirred from his resting spot near the doorway, cracking an eye open to watch. The lizards trilled softly in curiosity, creeping closer to see what their leader was tinkering with now.
"Relax, I’m not about to blow us up. Probably," Traebus said, narrowing his focus back to the unstable rune. "But if I get this right, I’ll have the closest thing to a proper battle kit I’ve had since arriving here."