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As Ziradith cackled about her plans, Noah walked the silent evening streets back towards Valia’s home. Shannon had insisted on transporting him to the palace on her back, but he abstained, telling her that he wanted to do some night fishing and she might scare the fish away. His first catch tugged hard on the line when an attack came, a ring of glowing wind passing through his clone and striking the ground. Noah, walking several feet away in his invisible state, turned and looked up at a nearby building, with his clone mimicking his actions.

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.

After the third round of fights, the tournament was suspended until the next day, and everyone returned home. Sitting at the desk in Valon’s room, Noah was busy replicating the headband he got from Saimallah. He had already used alchemy to create an exact replica, including the engraved runes, and was now applying a suitable ink. As he worked, he scrutinized the formula repeatedly, making sure it did what it was supposed to. For all he knew, putting it on could brand him with a curse. In his long years across the multiverse, he had learned to always look a gift horse in the mouth. Reading the formula was like reading a contract, and he had to be wary of fine print.